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Andrew couldn’t recall much since returning from the ball except being infuriated by Miranda’s dramatic—and contrived—outburst. He had tried so hard to squelch any rumors that might still linger over his brother’s death, and now it had all been for naught.
Once he had returned home, Andrew had rushed straight into the library, heading for the brandy. He remembered finishing the decanter and calling for another bottle and upending a table, a feeble attempt to cool his temper. The rest was a blurry haze.
How much had he drunk? When had Tabitha come? What day was it? Questions swam through his head, doing nothing to ease his thundering headache.
“How long have you been here?” Andrew asked, his voice raw. His mouth felt like a desert, parched from a lack of water.
Tabitha finished her bite before answering. “George sent me a message this afternoon out of concern for your welfare. You had been shut up in that room going on two days. When I entered the library, I found you slumped over in a drunken stupor, reeking of alcohol. Prior to that, at some point, it seemed you had decided to go into some type of fit and made a mess, which is now being cleaned up by your staff.”
Andrew winced at her description of his behavior, which, he had to admit, sounded accurate. He would have to apologize to George for causing him such stress and thank him for summoning Tabitha.
“I suppose I deserve that.”
“Mmm,” was all Tabitha said in response.
“Well, I shall feel better shortly, so you need not play nursemaid. I have come off more boozing nights than I care to admit.”
Tabitha threw her napkin on her plate and walked over to sit on the side of the bed.
Andrew opened his eyes when the bed shifted. Tabitha was right there, doing that adorable thing where she bit the side of her lip when she was worried or nervous. Why did she care so much? He was more trouble than he was worth right now. Andrew looked away, trying to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat, while cursing himself for dragging Tabitha into his problems.
She put her hand on his arm. “How are you feeling?”
Andrew turned to face her. “Just give me a little while longer and something to put in my belly and I’ll be right as rain.” He tried to sound nonchalant.
“I mean about the other night. You were obviously upset. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have come home and gone on your drinking spree.”
“I would think it’s quite clear. Even after all the hard work I’ve done trying to quiet the rumors surrounding my brother’s death, it will all start up again after Miranda’s outburst.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I stayed away from the gaming halls and whorehouses, turned myself into a proper boring gentleman, and it’s all for nothing.”
Tabitha sat quietly, as if knowing he needed to say his piece. Maybe it was time to tell her what had happened during his stay with William around the time of his death. Sometimes the burden was so heavy that Andrew felt like he was drowning in self-doubt.
“My father always spoke poorly of me to others because of my behavior. Of course, I gave him plenty to complain about. Evidently, I did too good of a job making sure my reputation preceded me, since now society has branded me the jealous younger son who wanted the title and killed his brother for it. Things were looking up. The gossip had died down, and I had you.” He raised Tabitha’s hand to his lips. Lord, he loved the smell of her. “Now everything will start up again. All I wanted was to put this behind me so I—we—could move forward with our lives.”
“It may not be all that bad. I’m sure it will be forgotten within a fortnight.” Tabitha tried to sound encouraging.
“As long as Miranda keeps quiet. Unfortunately, she is quite good at stirring up people. The woman seems to thrive on the attention. I never told you all that occurred when I returned home, did I?”
Tabitha shook her head. Andrew reached for the glass of water by the bed and took a long sip.
“I was with William in the days leading up to his passing. We talked about our childhood. He even asked forgiveness for all the times he had been rotten to me. Then, out of the blue, William told me he’d had his will changed.”
“Why?”
“Because he had discovered that Miranda had been unfaithful and was pregnant. A detail she had not told William.”
“Why would she keep something like that a secret? Surely your brother would have wanted to know.”
“Because the child was not his. William told me he and Miranda had not shared a bed for several months. He only found out because a servant had told my grandmother, who then told him. Obviously, the child wasn’t his, so he changed his will.”
When William had told him, it was the first time Andrew had pitied his brother. To be cuckolded by one’s wife couldn’t be an easy thing to deal with, and to be sickly on top of it. But in the end, Miranda had gotten her just rewards.
“What happened after William died?”
“In typical Miranda fashion, she waited until William was sure not to pull through to announce she was pregnant, claiming it was his child. Very dramatic. The funeral was a week later, and then the will was read. Miranda was livid when she heard the stipulations in the will.”
“What were they?”
Andrew shifted on the bed. Talking so much was making his head pound again, but he wanted to continue the story.
