“Two,” Nathan said. His hand came to the card and closed over hers, pulling it away so that she couldn’t open it and look for herself. She trembled slightly as he held her hand, but her eyes were still curious.
“Which two occasions?” she asked.
“Well, my eighteenth birthday, of course. And then when I returned from my stint in the Army. My brother was so proud of me and so happy to have me back that we decided to open it up again for the first time in many years. And yes, before you ask, we hadn’t had many happy occasions to celebrate in the intervening years. Ours was not an easy, happy life with a father like ours.”
“So you have only ever drunk this scotch with him before?” she asked.
“Yes.” Nathan nodded. “And that was his fourth condition: that I was never to drink the scotch alone.”
I’m sorry, big brother, but I had to break that, just once.
“Well then, I am very honored that you would open it with me,” she said, smiling slightly. They were still holding hands, and at last, very gently, Nathan released hers.
“I am honored to share it with you,” he said. Turning away, he made a show of grabbing glasses from the sideboard, hoping it would distract her from the flush on his own cheeks.
Once the glasses were ready, he uncorked the bottle and drank deeply. At once, the rich honey notes, complemented so perfectly by cinnamon, cardamom, and even a hint of anise, hit him. And with those smells also came a wash of memories.
It had always been like this for him: certain smells could trigger memories that were so deep and so intense that he would have to struggle not to cry. And now was no exception. As the notes of the scotch filled his nose, he was immediately transported back to his eighteenth birthday, sitting on the South Lawn with Ethan, uncorking this bottle for the first time, having that first, perfect glass.
And then again, six years later, when he returned from the Army, and they each had a glass in the orangery, overlooking the hillsides around them, laughing together as Nathan regaled his brother with stories of his adventures in the Army.
“What was he like?” Rosalie asked as memories swirled around Nathan as potent as fragrances. He opened his eyes and turned to look at her.
“Ethan?” he asked, stupidly.
“Yes.” She took another step toward him. “What was he like?”
“He was…” Nathan laughed as more and more memories of his brother hit him. “He was very funny. He could make me laugh like no one else, the way he could point things out about the world that were unfair or unkind but always in a way that was humorous, never cynical.
“In fact, he was one of the kindest men you’d ever meet. He loved animals, and he was always out with the horses whenever he could get the chance. And he had a whole crew of dogs following him all over the house. And of course, he was a great artist. He would draw sketches of all the animals in the forest, and he could sit for hours, just watching and drawing birds.”
Nathan shook his head. “But he was fragile, too. Too tenderhearted for this world. He hated when Father and I fought, when I would get into trouble and Father would tell me what a disappointment I was. He was so much like our mother, but he wasn’t able to adapt the way she could. It was also one of his strengths—he stayed true to who he was, and he never forgave my father for his cruelty the way my mother did. But he always hoped Father would change, right up until the end.”
He was expecting Rosalie to tell him how sorry she was that he had died. That’s what most people did when you told them about a loss.
Instead, she came and joined him at the sideboard and looked up at him. “I wish I’d known him,” she said simply.
Nathan tried to laugh. “If you knew him, he’d still be alive, and then I wouldn’t be the Duke of Carramere. I’d still be a mere marquess, and you wouldn’t be a duchess.”
Rosalie raised an eyebrow. “Do you really think I care about titles?”
“No,” he admitted. “But it certainly fits better into the idea you have of yourself as a heroine in a novel. Heroines marry dukes, not lowly marquesses.”
“For one thing, a marquess isn’t lowly,” she tutted, “and for another thing, I don’t see myself as the heroine of a novel.”
Now it was Nathan’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Well, now I know you’re lying. Of course, you do! That’s why you were so good at fooling Redfield. That’s why you read all those novels!”
Rosalie bit her lip, and Nathan paused.Is it possible she’s telling the truth—that she doesn’t see herself as the heroine?If that were true, he would have to rethink everything he thought he knew about her.
“Of course, Iwantto be the heroine of my own story,” she said softly, and her eyelashes fluttered as she looked down at her feet. “But for some time now, I have felt myself to actually be a secondary character in my own life.”
There was a long silence as Nathan absorbed this. He was shocked, to say the least. Of all her sisters, Rosalie had always been the most outgoing, the most spirited, the most likely to go and have an adventure. She had always seemed like the last person who would see herself as a secondary character in her life—as a sidekick instead of the protagonist.
“But… why?” he asked at last. “You always seemed to me as if you were the greatest heroine of all.”
“Perhaps I thought that about myself once,” she said, glancing up and smiling sadly. “But the last few years have hardened me. Growing up, I escaped my father’s bullying by reading. I admired the women in my books so much that I made myself into them: fierce, opinionated, and going after what they want. I longed for adventure to prove myself as the strong heroine I dreamed of.
“And then that mess happened with Lord Cain. He used me to kidnap my sister, and I realized what a fool I was for believing in fairytales, for letting myself get swept up in the story of romance without actually getting to know the man. And after that, I became cautious. I lost… something.”
