Page 82

The house stood silent. Adelaide had retired hours earlier, Mr. Danvers had doused the hallway lamps, and the only sound remaining was the steady drumming of rain against the high window and the occasional creak of settling timber.

He reached into his coat pocket and retrieved the parchment.

He had felt its presence against his chest throughout dinner, through the quiet hour in the drawing room, and during every polite exchange that required him to offer pleasant smiles while his brother's memory gripped his throat.

Julian broke the seal.

The parchment crackled as he unfolded it, and the words filled his vision:

My dearest Helena,

I write to you from a small inn in the Dutch provinces, where the canals are frozen solid, and the local cheese is even more abundant than at home. I have spent a fortnight cataloging coastal flora, making several discoveries that would bore you to tears were I to describe them in detail, so I shall spare you the taxonomy and share the true purpose of this letter.

I have made a decision, Helena—one I have considered for the better part of a year, and I am no longer content to keep it to myself.

I have found the woman I intend to marry.

I can hear your laughter already—can hear you saying, "Thomas, you fall in love with a different lady every Season," and you would be right to tease me. Yet this is no passing fancy or fleeting infatuation. I have never been more certain of anything in my life.

You know her well. You have known her since we were children running through the orchards at Ashwood Manor. It is our dear Adelaide, Helena.

Adelaide Ashbourne.

Who better could grace my life? Who better could share my future? She is the most brilliant person I have ever known—the kindest, and the most steadfast—and I am entirely, hopelessly devoted to her. I shall propose the moment I return to England. I have pictured her expression when I tell her that every bloom I gathered on this expedition was gathered for her, and that I intend to gather one from every country I visit for as long as I live.

Tell me I am not mad, Helena. Tell me you share my joy. I cannot wait to return home.

Your devoted brother,

Thomas

Julian's vision blurred.

His hands remained steady, though he felt they ought to be trembling. The unnatural stillness felt like a betrayal, as though his body had accepted what his mind struggled to comprehend.

Who better could grace my life? Who better could share my future?

Thomas's words, his certainty, and his absolute joy were all confirmation of Julian's trespassing.

The letter had never been sent. It had remained concealed inside the journal binding, carried to the Scottish Highlands where Thomas died with his future unfulfilled.

And Julian had married her instead.

Just then, his heart began to pound against his ribs, and his vision darkened.

I am falling in love with her.

It was no mere suspicion or possibility, but an absolute fact he could no longer deny. He had fallen in love with Adelaide in the library while debating juniper taxonomy; he had fallen in love with her in the conservatory as she examined a Nordic bloom; he had fallen in love with her by the stream when her hand touched his cheek and he had wished only to remain beside her forever.

Yet, she was the woman his brother had adored.

Julian was not a true husband; he was a thief. A traitor living out his dead brother's stolen future.

CHAPTER 25

"Shall we accept Lady Calliwell's invitation to her annual fall ball, Julian?"

Adelaide held the gilded card between two fingers, tilting it so the morning light caught the embossed crest. The invitation had arrived with the morning post, nestled between a tradesman's bill and a note from the head gardener at Ravensmere, and she had carried it to the morning room; her tea sat untouched beside her.