Chapter One
The most pressing concern, as far as Alexander could tell, was whether or not he was going to vomit.
He kept his eyes tightly closed, in the hopes that the nausea would recede.
It wouldn’t, of course. Even with his eyes closed, he could see the vibrant patterns of the colourful and highly expensive carpet decorating his mother’s parlour as it lay partially revealed beyond the edge of the chaise longue. Alexander didn’t remember choosing that particular chaise longue to sleep on instead of his own bed, but then, he didn’t remember coming home at all.
He couldn’t vomit in his mother’s parlour. The carpet would be ruined, and she had so few joys left in life. With an effort, Alexander rolled onto his back, head knocking against the hard wooden backing of the seat.
“Ow,” he rasped. This way, he would only throw up on himself, and that was a fairly ordinary occurrence.
What day was today? Thursday? Was it Thursday? Or Friday, perhaps?
Either way, today marked the halfway point of their late father’s deadline. Six months in, six to go. Two siblings married out of four.
Henry, of all people,Alex thought, cracking a smile. His brother had just returned from his honeymoon, already plunging back into the pottery business which he now ran with his new wife. Henry liked to stay busy. Liked todothings. Admirable, really. Who had the energy?
Alex cracked open his eyes again, swallowing down bile. It burned in his throat, not unlike the whiskey he’d imbibed generously the previous evening. His head pounded, and his tongue felt as though it were made of sandpaper. He’d obviously drank more than usual last night, and now he was paying the price.
I ought to get up. Get up, and make my way to my room before Mother comes down. I don’t want her to see me like this.
Even as he formulated the thought, Alex realized that it was pointless. Lady Mary Willenshire, the Dowager Duchess of Dunleigh, was remarkably skilled at not seeing things she did not wish to see.
Seeing her third and favourite son drunk and ridiculous was certainly a sight she would not want to behold. She’d likely find excuses to avoid the parlour until Alex had stumbled away.
As if to contradict his point, footsteps echoed in the hallway outside, determinedly approaching the door. Alex just had time to wonder if he should haul himself into a sitting position, deciding against it just as the door opened.
There was a brief silence.
“Here you are, then,” came a familiar voice.
Alex cringed. “You sound more like Father every day, Will.”
He couldn’t see the expression on his older brother’s face, but it was probably a sour one.
“And you’re turning into quite a drunkard. You look awful, by the way.”
“I’m aware.”
William’s footsteps crossed the room, and his face loomed into Alex’s range of view.
The brothers resembled each other well – the Willenshire siblings were famous for it. Hazel-green eyes, olive skin, chestnut locks, and well-arranged features graced all of their faces. There was hardly any of the wan, colourless Mary to be seen in her children. Alex often wished he resembled his mother more than their wretched father. Nothing could be done about that, though. Recent glances in the mirror informed him that his olive skin was turning yellowish, probably from long nights staying awake and far too much wine. His eyes, more green than brown, were growing bloodshot and puffy.
I can’t stand much more of this.
The thought had occurred to him suddenly and from nowhere, and Alex had done his best to suppress it.
It hadn’t worked, naturally.
He dreaded to think whathelooked like, but William was as crisp and well-groomed as always, his hair smoothed back, freshly shaved, his cravat white and fresh as new snow.
Ugh.
“Could you lower your voice, Will, my dear?” Alex managed, smiling faintly.
His brother did not smile back. “You can’t stay here. Mother will be down soon. Have you forgotten about the gathering? You promised Mother you would help.”
A cold feeling of trepidation swept through him. Hehadforgotten.
