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“I would never deliberately—”
“You already have,” his father cut in, looking up.
Alessandro flinched beneath his piercing gaze, feeling just as he had when, as a boy, he’d been caught fondling one of the housemaids.
“When I was forced to send you away, it cut her to the heart,” the old man muttered through his teeth. “Pietro as well, for he loved you also and did not wish to be parted from you. You abandoned them when you abandoned your honor. I tell you now, if I could have prevented you from ever having been born, I would have done so and saved them that pain.”
Concealing his hurt, Alessandro kept a neutral face. He deserved this. He’d never been the son or brother he should have been. Always it’d been Pietro who had shouldered the burden for them both. And now he is gone.
“I now find myself in the untenable position of having you as my heir,” his father continued, the chill creeping back into his voice as he closed the tome with a thump. “Whether it be Fate or God that has commanded it, this is our lot, though neither of us desires it.”
Standing, the Duke of Gravina crossed to the window and looked out at the gentle, vine-covered hills that had belonged to his family for generations. Alessandro marked how stooped his once-strong shoulders were, how frail he now looked. It struck him that with Pietro’s death, his father’s pride and vitality had been stripped. He was a toothless old lion still trying to roar as if he were dangerous.
The fear Alessandro had once felt in his father’s presence drained away, replaced by pity. Unfortunately, it did nothing to dispel the old pain, the thought of what might have been had the old bastard spared a little tenderness for his second son.
“From this point forward, I expect you to at least act as though you are worthy of your family’s great name—and of the love your mother holds for you,” his father went on, “though God knows you are undeserving of it in every way. It is her grace that has saved you from my wrath these many years, and it is her grace that has brought you here now. She would drown in her grief, were it not for the prospect of seeing you. Leave me now. Go to her, and be of some use to me by bringing her joy.”
It was as though a door had shut between them.
Heart stinging from fresh wounds dealt atop old scars he’d wrongly thought healed, Alessandro left. A shiver ran down his neck as he paused before Pietro’s portrait hanging on the wall above the entrance to the great hall. He stared into his brother’s eyes, emotions swelling in his chest until he felt it would burst. The artist had captured him in an appropriately pensive moment, his expression most solemn indeed, as befitted the heir to the dukedom.
The loss of Pietro was a pain as keen as any blade that had ever parted his flesh. All the talks they’d never had because he’d been sent away in disgrace. Now they would never have them. All the joys they’d never shared, all the grief. The past was lost, and now the future would never be.
Why did you have to die? Why did you have to leave him with only me, the son he never wanted?
He would never receive an answer.
“Alessandro.”
Turning, he beheld his mother, the Lady Sophia Orsini, Duchess of Gravina. Though she was still beautiful and looked far younger than her nearly sixty years, sadness had put its stamp upon her. A sadness he now shared. He moved into her outstretched arms.
“Mama. I’m so sorry it took me so long to come back. If only I’d been here, perhaps I could have—”
“No, Alessandro,” she interrupted. “You would have been with him, but you could not have prevented his death. It was God’s will that he should join Him in heaven.” She smoothed back a wayward lock of his hair. “I take it you’ve already been to see your father,” she said with a faint smile, linking her arm with his and steering him away from Pietro’s portrait.
“Yes.”
Her sharp eyes assessed him. “Worry not, my son. You will make a fine duke, when the time comes.”
“Father does not share your opinion. He would rather have someone else, anyone else, follow him.”
“Give him time, Alessandro. You have changed, and he does not know you anymore.”
“He did not know me before, and he never wanted to,” Alessandro muttered. “What makes you think he will wish to do so now? He will never see me as anything but a failure, no matter how much time passes.”
“I do not believe that to be true. He will soon see that you have grown and matured into a worthy man,” his mother insisted. Her eyes were filled with hope. “He will soften, once his own pain has eased.”
Alessandro doubted it. If the pain he was experiencing now was any indication, he wouldn’t expect such a miracle anytime soon. If ever. Pietro...
“Come. Let me show you the new roses in my garden,” she told him, changing the subject. “Much has changed since you were last here.”
Indeed.
“Another ghastly proposal,” Mélisande grumbled, crumpling the parchment and tossing it aside. Men had flocked to her when she debuted. The combination of her fortune and beauty had assured instant success, and before her first Season was half over, she’d received proposals from more than a dozen ardent admirers.
She’d accepted none.
“Surely there must be at least one man in the world who pleases you, cherie,” her mother commented, eyeing with disappointment the wadded missive on the floor.
