Page 106 of Courting the Wrong Duke

“He told me that I did not know our father. At first, I thought he meant there were things Father had done before I was born. Some financial matter, perhaps. Something concerning the estate.” William swallowed. “I was wrong.”

His grip tightened unconsciously around the gloves in his free hand.

“Algernon said they had never intended for me to know. By the time I was old enough to remember Father properly, everything had changed. My childhood was happy. I loved him, and he loved me. Algernon saw no reason to destroy that simply because his own memories were different.”

Rosalind's voice softened. “Different how?”

William stared ahead for another moment before forcing himself to answer. “Algernon stuttered badly as a child.”

“Your mother told me a bit about it.”

“He struggled to speak at all when he became frightened or upset. Sometimes he could barely force a sentence out.” William drew a slow breath. “Father despised it.”

Rosalind's fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around his arm.

“He treated Algernon as though the difficulty were some defect of character rather than something he could not control. He mocked him for it. Punished him when he could not speak properly. Told him repeatedly that a boy who could not command his own tongue had no business believing he could one day command an estate.”

Rosalind's face had gone pale.

William understood why.

He had listened to the same words only hours ago and still could not make them belong to the father he remembered.

“He told his own son that he would never be fit to become the duke.”

“Oh, William.”

“Eventually, he sent Algernon away to school.”

William's voice roughened despite his efforts to keep it steady.

“I always knew Algernon had been educated away from home. I simply never knew why. By the time I was old enough to remember much of anything, he was already gone for long stretches. It was simply how our family was.”

Except it had not been.

That realization had followed him from the library and refused to loosen its grip.

Every comfortable childhood memory now seemed to have something hidden behind it. Every recollection of his father's patience, his laughter, the hand that had rested affectionately upon William's shoulder seemed to belong to a man his brother had never been permitted to know.

Rosalind studied him quietly. “Your father was different with you.”

William nodded. “Entirely.”

The word hurt more than he expected.

“I remember a kind man. He taught me to ride. He read to me when I was ill. He once spent an entire afternoon helping me build a ridiculous little boat because I was convinced it would sail across the pond.” William looked down, a faint ache tightening his chest. “While Algernon remembers being terrified of him.”

Rosalind's expression softened.

“And they let me keep my version.”

There was no accusation in his voice, though he could still feel the sting of having been deceived.

“They thought they were protecting you.”

“I know.”

Knowing did not make it easier.