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“Richard?” Samuel pressed.
“During a party. A large one. You and Mother were there. Our family name was on the list of invited guests.”
“Dear God,” Samuel breathed, immediately certain to which party his brother referred. “You robbed Abernethy? You stole from the Earl of Safonhouss? A member of the peerage?”
Still wearing that same sad look, Richard said softly, “Either one of us could have taken the journal. You were there.”
“But I didn’t take it. You did.”
“You know they’ll go easier on you. With your youth and your spectacles. I’ve heard a man can make his fortune in Australia.”
Samuel shook his head.
“I won’t do it.”
“Would you make a widow of my new bride, then? Will her tears give you comfort when they swing me from the gallows?”
“You aren’t even wed.”
Richard’s expression pulled into a frown.
“And little thanks to you. I know you warned off that Ellsworth chit. Girl won’t have a thing to do with me, but it’s of no matter. I’ve found another young miss with noble connections. I’d tell you who, but I don’t trust you, Sammy.”
“You don’t trust me?”
That was rich.
“I’m about to give our mother everything of which she’s dreamed since the moment she bore me. To give this family an heir. You would take all that away because you can’t sit around reading in Australia as easily as you do here?” Samuel shook his head again. Richard was mad. “I’ll mail you books.”
Samuel let out a bark of laughter. “How very kind.”
Richard stepped closer, scowling. “I’ve tried to be nice about this, Sammy. To appeal to your honour and sense of duty to this family, but if you have none, let me remind you of this; without Yvette, it’s your word against mine as to who took that journal and whose mistress she was.”
“And given that sterling reputation of mine to which you keep referring, who do you think they’ll believe, Brother?”
Richard drew back his fist. Samuel caught his wrist in an iron grip.
“Tell Mother I’m stretching my legs.”
He shoved Richard’s fist away, then walked past his brother and through the curtain.
“Sammy,” Richard hissed.
Samuel ignored the summons. Long strides carried him around the arc of the theatre. Reaching the end, he went down a flight of stairs and started back around, his anger yet undimmed. He’d always known Richard was selfish, reckless, prone to giving in to his most base impulses. He’d never imagined his brother would stoop to robbing a member of the peerage. And this business about Samuel taking the blame, the unashamed attempt to use their mother’s happiness to manipulate him, brought Richard’s misbehaviour to a new level of despicableness.
“Mr. Carmichael?”
The sound of that light voice spun Samuel about before he formed the intention, his troubles instantly mitigated by a pair of lovely grey eyes.
“Your Grace.”
She hurried down the hall.
“I’d so hoped to find you here tonight, but I didn’t see you anywhere in the theatre.”
“I’m stretching my legs,” he said dully, reordering his thoughts away from Richard and to the moment at hand.
“I took you for a great fan of Shakespeare’s work,” the Duchess said as she halted before Samuel.
