Page 149 of Courting the Wrong Duke

Gabriel ignored him and reached for the next volume, but William had finally had enough. He rubbed both hands over his face and leaned back in his chair.

Exhaustion had begun to settle into his bones, though he suspected lack of sleep accounted for only a small part of it. In less than two days, nearly everything he believed about his family had shifted beneath his feet.

He had learned the truth about his father, discovered how much Algernon had endured without William ever knowing, and begun to suspect that Augusta was hiding far more than anyone realized.

And somewhere in the middle of it all, he had lost Rosalind.

William pushed himself away from the table. “I need five minutes in which I do not read about anyone’s broken heart.”

“An understandable request.”

William crossed to Algernon’s desk and sank into the chair behind it.

He had sat there hundreds of times over the years, usually while attending some estate matter William had no interest in understanding. He had opened the drawers without permission, stolen pens, rearranged papers simply to irritate Algernon.

Now he rested his hand against one of the lower drawers and pulled absently.

It stopped.

William frowned and tugged again.

Something caught inside.

“What?” Gabriel asked without looking up.

“Nothing.”

William shifted the drawer and tried again. It opened another inch before catching against something near the back. Reaching inside, he found a folded sheet of paper that had slipped behind the contents and worked it free.

He nearly set it aside without looking, but something about the handwriting made him pause.

“Gabriel.”

His friend glanced over as William unfolded the page. There was no signature, only Algernon’s name written at the top.

Algernon,

William paused at the salutation. Most correspondents would have addressed his brother as Your Grace. Whoever had written this knew Algernon well enough to dispense with formality, and apparently well enough to rebuke him for his temper.

I have chosen to write because conversation with you has become increasingly difficult of late. Your temper prevents us from discussing the matter rationally, and I will not continue attempting to reason with you while every disagreement is treated as an attack.

William frowned and sat a little straighter.

“What is it?” Gabriel asked.

“I am not certain.”

But whatever this was, it was no ordinary correspondence.

The two days I spent in the country afforded me more time to think than I expected, and I confess I returned more troubled than when I left.

We have allowed this situation to continue too long. You must understand that everything can be lost if this is mishandled. Everything we have protected, everything we have sacrificed, will amount to nothing.

By then, Gabriel had abandoned the books and come around the desk. William scarcely noticed. His attention had fixed upon the next paragraph.

You must make a decision regarding the prisoner at Bryn Hir. He cannot remain there indefinitely. The estate is remote, but remoteness is not the same as safety, and every additional day increases the possibility that someone will discover what has been done.

William stopped reading.