Page 95 of Courting the Wrong Duke

Only exhaustion.

Silence settled over the room before Algernon answered, so quietly that William caught only the end of the sentence.

“...I know.”

“You always say that,” Augusta replied, the weariness in her voice somehow more unsettling than anger would have been. “Knowing it does not change anything.”

The scrape of a chair echoed faintly through the door, followed by slow, deliberate footsteps crossing the library floor.

William pictured his brother pacing before the fire, just as he had done countless times while wrestling with estate accounts or difficult decisions. Yet this did not sound like an estate matter. There was a heaviness to the conversation that made the corridor itself seem colder.

“It was your decision,” Augusta continued quietly. “You insisted upon carrying this alone, and you cannot go on pretending that is still possible.”

Without realizing it, William tightened his grip upon the brass handle.

He ought to leave.

Whatever this conversation concerned, it belonged to his brother and his wife. Remaining where he was felt uncomfortably close to eavesdropping, and everything in his upbringing told him to walk away.

He even shifted his weight with every intention of doing precisely that.

Then Algernon answered. “I will find a solution.”

“You have been saying that for three years.”

William's breath caught.

Three years.

The words settled heavily inside him, refusing to move on as the conversation continued beyond the door. Three years ago their father had died. Three years ago Algernon had inherited the dukedom. Three years ago something, apparently, had begun.

A faint uneasiness crept slowly through William's chest.

Perhaps it was coincidence.

It had to be.

Yet the certainty he had carried all evening began to slip quietly through his fingers.

Augusta spoke again, her voice softer now, almost pleading. “It is not only your burden anymore. You have to ask for help.”

“I cannot.”

“You must.”

“I said no.”

William became suddenly aware of the steady thud of his own heartbeat.

It was not fear that rooted him to the spot.

It was the growing certainty that he had stumbled upon something far larger than a private disagreement between husband and wife.

William's heartbeat had begun to quicken.

Every instinct urged him to step away. Every other instinct demanded he open the door immediately.

The second prevailed.