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“Ha.” Aidan’s smile was drawn. “Neither do I, but there it is.”
“She survived the shipwreck?”
Aidan finally found the courage to meet Edward’s gaze. Not the courage, actually, but the ever-present anger. “There was no shipwreck. She was packed off to India to marry a rich farmer, and she arrived quite safely. The shipwreck was a ruse.”
Edward looked as stricken as Aidan felt. “But why?”
“I’ve no idea. She claims she knew nothing of the tale. Perhaps it was only that I kept returning to her home, demanding to see her, and had to be swatted away like a pesky fly. Perhaps it was meant to hide the shame of her family selling her to a farmer with no name and hoards of money.”
His brother leaned forward, eyes growing wider. “Wait a minute. You’ve seen her?”
“In the flesh. She’s running a coffee shop in Kingston-upon-Hull.”
“Katie Tremont? Running a coffee shop? That makes no sense.”
“No,” Aidan said. “No, it doesn’t. And she’s not Katie Tremont anymore. She’s Mrs. Kate Hamilton.”
“Oh. Yes. Of course.”
Of course. As if any of it made any sense. “I must ask you to keep this in your confidence. Her family has no idea she’s returned to England.”
“Aidan . . .” Edward’s voice had gone ragged at the edges, as if his throat was too tight. “If it weren’t you telling me this, I wouldn’t believe a word. Why has she not told her family?”
Aidan shrugged. “Her father died last year.” He felt no emotion as he spoke the words. He’d hated the man for a long time, but now he didn’t even feel triumphant.
“Yes, but her mother! And her brother is the earl now.”
“I have no idea why, Edward. She asked me not to resurrect her, and I agreed.”
“Jesus Christ,” Edward breathed. “Katie Tremont. Will you . . . ? What will you . . . ?”
“She’s married. Her husband is still in India, but she’s married.”
“I see.”
But of course, Edward could not see any more than Aidan could see. It was a ridiculous farce. Or a tragedy. A poorly written play, whichever it was.
Edward retrieved his fallen glass and took Aidan’s as well. He refilled them both before collapsing back into his chair. “Thank you for telling me.”
“I had to tell someone. And you . . .” He tipped back the whisky and swallowed it all in two long gulps. His throat burned, but so did his eyes. “I wanted to tell you.”
“I’m glad.”
Aidan cleared his throat, dislodging any trace of emotion that might linger there. “Are my old trunks still in the attic?”
“I believe so.”
“Good. I need to go through them.” He pushed up from the chair, aware that his brain wobbled a bit with the movement.
“You’re retrieving something for Katie?”
“I am.”
“Aidan.”
Aidan set the glass down carefully on the table, not happy with the warning in his brother’s voice. “Yes?”
“She’s married. You said so yourself.”
