Page 18 of Courting the Wrong Duke

By the time the carriage drew to a halt before Aldermere House, a servant was already descending the steps with an umbrella.

The familiar warmth of the entrance hall met him almost immediately, another footman relieving him of his hat and damp coat before he had fully crossed the threshold.

“My lord,” the butler said with a bow. “His Grace is in the drawing room.”

William thanked the butler and continued through the familiar corridors of Aldermere House. The scent of beeswax and polished oak lingered in the air, softened by the warmth drifting from the fireplaces that had been lit against the damp afternoon.

The drawing room overlooked Berkeley Square, where rain streaked the tall windows and turned the streets beyond into a blur of gray and gold.

Algernon stood alone before the hearth, one hand resting upon the mantelpiece, a crystal glass of brandy balanced loosely between his fingers. Firelight caught the amber liquid as he turned the glass once, watching it with quiet concentration.

He did everything with deliberate precision.

Even drinking.

William had once mistaken that restraint for strength. As boys, he had followed his elder brother with the unquestioning admiration reserved for older siblings who seemed capable of everything.

Somewhere over the years, admiration had given way to obligation. Respect had become considerably harder to muster.

Without turning, Algernon said, “I trust White's proved profitable.”

William shrugged out of his gloves and laid them on a nearby table. “I did not lose.”

“You seldom do.”

It was not praise. Merely an observation. Their conversations rarely amounted to much more.

William stepped nearer the fire, though the warmth did little to chase away the lingering damp in his coat.

“There is news of Lord Eastmere.”

That finally drew Algernon's attention.

His gaze lifted, cool and expectant.

“He has been missing ten days.”

Algernon regarded him for a moment before taking another measured sip of brandy. “So I hear.”

William frowned. “The magistrate has found nothing.”

“He will turn up.”

The quiet certainty in his brother's voice gave William pause. “You think so?”

Algernon took an unhurried sip before answering. “If a man wishes not to be found, there is remarkably little anyone can do about it.”

William studied him over the rim of his own untouched glass.

There had been no flicker of surprise. No curiosity. No concern for a man they had both known for years.

Merely a calm observation, delivered with the same detached certainty he might have used to predict tomorrow's weather.

For reasons William could not quite explain, the response left him faintly unsettled.

Before he could press the matter further, footsteps sounded in the corridor beyond.

A moment later, the drawing room door opened once more.