“I came to speak to you about your performance at dinner.”
Roswell frowned. “Did Mother send you?”
“She did,” Charles replied. “She wants me to remind you that Miss Bentley is a guest in our home and should be treated with respect.”
“It is a waste of time.”
“It is Mother’s time to waste,” Charles insisted. “Furthermore, Emma is pleased with Miss Bentley’s presence because Mother is now focused on someone besides her.”
“Emma should already be married,” Roswell said. “She is on her fourth Season.”
“I daresay that she is only twenty-two and has many Seasons ahead of her.”
Roswell shook his head. “Emma is entirely too headstrong for her own good,” he said. “Her husband will need to take her in hand.”
“I disagree,” Charles responded, “and you would, too, if you spent any time with her.”
“Emma hates me.”
“Well, you do give her ample reason to.”
“Is that so?”
Charles gave him a knowing look. “You mope around the townhouse and are quick to criticize. It is quite maddening.”
“I do not mope.”
“No?” Charles asked. “Do you prefer the term ‘sulk’, then?”
“I prefer neither,” Roswell said, taking a sip of his drink.
Charles leaned back in his chair and watched him for a moment. “I daresay that you have been miserable since—”
He was cut off. “I do not wish to talk about it.”
“You never do.” Charles glanced over his shoulder before lowering his voice. “The magistrate ruled in your favor. You did nothing wrong.”
Roswell clenched his jaw tightly. “Is that supposed to make it right?”
“I just feel—”
“I did not ask for your opinion,” Roswell interrupted.
“Fine,” Charles said. “At times, I wonder if you just want to be despondent.”
“Are you finished?”
Charles sighed. “Did you listen to anything I said?”
“I heard what you said, but it changes nothing for me.”
“You are not alone in this, brother.”
Roswell gulped down the rest of his drink and placed the empty glass on the table. “Thank you for that, but it isn’t necessary.”
“No?”
“It is better that you distance yourself from me, so I don’t drag you down into my abysmal pit of despair.”
