Page 109 of Courting the Wrong Duke

Edmund had been someone Algernon trusted when trust had been extraordinarily difficult for him to give.

For the first time, William found himself wondering how many of those endless conversations had truly been about Byron at all.

Beside him, Rosalind slowed to a stop.

William stopped with her and turned, expecting a question. Instead, she slipped her hand from his arm and reached for both of his.

The gesture caught him entirely unprepared.

Her gloved fingers closed gently around his, warm despite the coolness of the morning, and something in William’s chest tightened. After a night spent discovering how much had existed beneath the surface of the family he thought he understood, there was something unexpectedly comforting in the simple certainty of her touch.

“I am so sorry,” she said quietly. “For your brother, certainly, but for you as well. That is an extraordinary amount to learn in a single night.”

William swallowed. “I was not the one who suffered.”

“No.” Her hands tightened around his. “But that does not mean learning the truth cannot hurt you.”

There it was again.

That effortless understanding he had not known he needed until she offered it.

William looked at her and felt something inside him soften despite the exhaustion, despite the confusion that had followed him from the library.

“I do not know what to do with it yet,” he admitted. “I pity Algernon more than I can say. So many things about him make sense now that never did before. His dislike of society. The way he disappears whenever a room becomes too crowded. His need to control every detail of the estate.”

He gave a small shake of his head.

“I used to think he was simply cold. Difficult, perhaps. I thought becoming the duke had made him that way.”

“And now?”

“Now I wonder how much of it is simply how he learned to survive.”

Rosalind's expression softened.

William glanced down at their hands once more. “And then there is Father.”

That hurt differently.

He could still summon his father's face without effort. Still remember his laughter and the warmth of his hand upon William's shoulder. Nothing Algernon had told him could erase those memories.

Yet William could no longer look at them without seeing what had existed before.

“I loved him,” he said quietly. “I still do. I suppose that is the part I cannot reconcile. The man Algernon described bears almost no resemblance to the father I knew.”

“You do not have to reconcile it today.”

William looked at her.

Rosalind gave him a small, sad smile. “Perhaps both versions of him were real.”

The thought settled uneasily inside him.

He suspected she was right.

“My brother suffered because of him, and my family lied to me because they wanted me to remember only the man he became. I understand why they did it.” William exhaled slowly. “I simply wish understanding made me feel less betrayed.”

“I think you are allowed to understand someone and still be hurt by what they did.”