Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 107756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 539(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 539(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
“Alphabetical order? Do you prefer Aphrodite and the duke?”
He chuckled and then hugged me. “I see, just as your father seeks to tease your mother, you seek to tease me.”
I could not wait for a quieter future with him. Closing my eyes, I felt I could rest for days. He kissed the top of my head gently.
“My love, we are here,” he said.
When I opened my eyes, we were already home. “That was quick.”
“It was not so far. Shall they see you holding me like this?” he teased. I glared and released him to adjust myself, but he leaned in and kissed the side of my cheek, whispering in my ear, “I am also glad we did not listen to your father and wait to be married, for having you beside me has been the greatest solace.”
I smiled but said nothing as the doors opened for us. He helped me out first, and when I looked upon Everely, I was reminded that though our days were to be less dramatic, I still had so much to do here. This was just the closing of a chapter.
“Welcome back, Your Graces,” Mr. Wallace said as we entered.
“Thank you. Where is Emeline? I should go to her.”
“With her nanny, Your Grace.”
I turned to Evander, and he merely nodded.
Evander
Little brother, why? Fitzwilliam had asked me. Those were his last words to me, and now, days later, I looked up at the answer to his question.
My father’s portrait, painted to be fierce and wise, surrounded by books and draped in finery. He was puffed and proud, severe in his brutality, but wise, he was not. What would all of our lives have been like had he been a man of greater honor? I wondered if Fitzwilliam and I could have been as true brothers had we not been pitted against each other, had he been the firstborn of my mother and not his. Had I ever even called him brother? Whenever he had called me his little brother, I thought he attempted to mock me, to remind me that he was the one who should have inherited this damned title. But at that moment, when he stared up at me, he had not appeared to be mocking. He had looked as sorrowful as I was, as though he were wondering all these same things as well.
Why?
I had wished him gone, punished, but never did I wish him dead. I’d never believed this would be the end, and it felt…gutting, not relieving. The pain had not been removed, and I could not bear to look upon this portrait any longer.
“Take it down,” I muttered as I lifted my brandy to my lips.
“Your Grace?” Wallace looked confused.
“My father’s portrait, take it down. Then have it burned,” I ordered.
“Your Grace—”
“Do it!”
“Yes, Your Grace. I will see to it,” he said before excusing himself.
I would have all of his paintings burned. His whole legacy, I would see it forgotten, for he did not deserve to be remembered. This misery he wrought should never be passed to another generation. Let the curse end here, with Fitzwilliam’s death and my sorrow.
“Evander?”
Verity stood in the doorway, exhaustion on her face. I was sure the events of the past few days would cause more nightmares.
“You have not gone to bed?” I asked. She shook her head.
“I am going to now, but I wish to tell you…I am sorry I could not go to the funeral with you.” Verity hung her head. “Part of me wanted to. A great part of me did not.”
“I felt the same. Had Aphrodite not spoken to me this morning I very well would not have either,” I confessed.
“Are we…cruel, brother?” she asked with a deep frown upon her face. “Despite his actions he was kin to us. And his life, the earlier half at least, was inequitable. He did not choose the circumstances of his birth. He did not choose to be born illegitimate.”
I did not know how to answer her, as I had just been reflecting on the same injustice.
“Society must have order and even if we dislike it or find it cumbersome we must adhere to it and do our best to be honorable nevertheless. That is where Fitzwilliam failed, not in his birth.”
After all, the world was filled with bastards but they did not all cause chaos and misery in their wake.
“I understand,” she said but did not look satisfied with my response.
But what else could I say? We were not cruel, society was?
“Will you be all right, or will you remain here, drinking?” she questioned.
“If my wife is not complaining, I do not see why you should,” I said. “You need not worry about me so, Verity. I am well. Truly. You may focus on your own happiness now. Do you still think ill of marriage?”