Chapter Three

“Henry and Eleanor aren’t coming,” Katherine announced.

Alex flinched, caught in the act of pouring himself yet another generous brandy. He slopped some of the liquid over his hand and wrist and licked at the sticky droplets guiltily.

Katherine was like William – she could always make him feel guilty, even when all he was doing was having a drink , for heaven’s sake.

He glanced over to where she stood in the doorway, arms folded, eyes narrowed.

“I thought Henry wouldn’t come,” Alex huffed. “He’s so busy with that silly business of his. Do you know, he told me I should have a job there? The cheek of it.”

“I think it was kind,” Katherine shrugged, coming further into the room. “Henry doesn’t like to see you idle. I suppose he thought you might enjoy the work.”

“Then he doesn’t know me at all. I’m not a child, to be kept busy . I’m supposed to be a gentleman.”

Henry would have pounced on that at once, of course. He was the sharpest of them all, and much addicted to travelling. Alex supposed that it was only a matter of time before he and his new wife left the country.

Back when the old duke was alive, Henry had travelled a great deal. Alex knew the truth, they all did – he couldn’t bear to be at home. William was not permitted to leave, being the oldest and the heir. Katherine was not permitted to leave, since she was a woman. Alex could probably have gone – heaven knew his father didn’t care much about him – but how could he leave his mother?

Katherine came all the way into the room and sat down beside him. She could smell the cigar smoke hanging in the library like a pall, and the brandy decanter was almost empty. She didn’t say anything, however.

“You miss him, don’t you?” she said quietly. “Henry and you were always as intimate as kindred spirits.”

Alex sighed. “It’s not that I don’t love Will and you. It’s just that Henry… well, I suppose he was my best friend. Sad, isn’t it?”

“Not sad. And don’t worry – Will and I love you too, no matter how much we nag you. Henry worries about you, you know.”

“He’s got a strange way of showing it,” Alex remarked bitterly. “Since his marriage, I’ve only seen him a handful of times.”

She sighed. “Be kind, Alex. Henry is in love. He’s newly married. I know that when I married Timothy – which was not so very long ago – I could think of nothing else but him. Give Henry time.”

“I don’t resent his happiness. I just… Oh, I don’t know. Pay no attention to me.”

“But I am paying attention to you, Alex. You’re not happy. You drink too much, you smoke too much, you gamble – and until you come into your money, you can ill afford that, and…”

“Yes, well, I’m not going to come into my money, am I?” Alex pointed out bitterly. “Our darling Papa made sure of that. Who’d marry me?”

“Plenty of people. Don’t be defeatist, Alex. Just attend a few balls this Season - good ones, not your raucous gentlemen’s pursuits – and meet a few ladies. Somebody might catch your eye.”

“And what if nobody does?” he muttered. “What then? Do I just choose one and hope for the best? When Father added that stipulation to his will, it wasn’t to ensure that we’d all enjoy wedded bliss. It was because he wanted to have the final say over what we did with our lives. He wanted us to be miserable, proper , and obliged to obey him even when he was gone. He still holds that money over our heads like a great weight. Some days, I feel like saying dash it all and just staying a penniless bachelor for the rest of my life.”

Katherine didn’t say anything to this, letting the echoes of Alex’s raised voice bounce around the room.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he added, after a moment had passed.

“Do you?”

“Yes. You suppose me to be selfish, foolish and engaging in an act of self-sabotage, as though I were to disfigure myself in a fit of pique, and not thinking about William, who really has to marry, because he is the Duke of Dunleigh and he needs the money. Yes, I know, I won’t starve on the streets, not with the rest of you rich, and yes , I know that Father really is gone at the end of the day, but…” he trailed off, obliged to swallow hard and work some moisture into his mouth before he continued. “I’m not happy , Katherine,” he managed at last, his voice breaking.

Katherine shuffled closer, draping an arm around his shoulder. He leaned into her, and for a few moments, the siblings sat like that, neither one saying a word.

“I know it isn’t fair,” Katherine said quietly. “We all know it. But complaining won’t change the facts. Whether you marry or not, Alex, you must think about your life and how you’d like to use it. This,” she reached out, plucking the sticky brandy glass from his hand and placing it out of reach on the table, “this will not make you happy. It’ll make you ill, discontented, and probably ugly.”

Alex wilted a little. “I know, I know. I just…” he paused, disentangling himself from her grip, and reached out to snatch up the decanter altogether. He pulled out the glass stopper and took a swig straight from the bottle. Grinning at Katherine’s annoyed face, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I can’t get through this summer sober , Kat.”

She let out a long, slow breath. “I am going to break that decanter over your head.”

There was no time to find out whether it was an empty threat or not, because a thin, reedy voice came wafting in from the halls outside.

“Alex? Alex, my darling, where are you?”

“It’s Mother,” he murmured. “I’d better go find her.”

“Yes, do,” Katherine rose to her feet, shaking out her skirts. “And then come into dinner, both of you.”

They parted ways in the hallway outside. Katherine hurried towards the half-open dining room, light streaming out into the corridor, and Alex plunged into the gloomy part of the house, in search of his mother.

He found Mary in one of the morning rooms. It was seldom used, and bitterly cold, despite the time of year. She was standing at a window, holding up something to the young moonlight.

“Mother, what are you doing?” Alex asked gently. “Didn’t you hear the bell for dinner?”

Mary blinked at him. She had once been a beautiful woman, but time and poor treatment had stripped her beauty from her. Her force of will, never particularly strong, was quickly crushed altogether in the early years of her marriage to the duke. Alex could not remember his mother ever speaking up for her children, not even when the duke was at his most cruel. She’d formed a sort of slavish adoration to the husband who treated her like an inconvenience and was the only one who had truly mourned him.

Alex had secretly hoped that, with his father gone, his mother might grow into her old self, and thrive.

He was destined to be disappointed. Mary said less and less, retreating into herself and looking out at the world in a baffled, terrified way. She was starting to forget things, too.

“Oh, yes, supper,” Mary managed at last. “I don’t much like it in there. It’s far too bright. It hurts my eyes.”

Alex bit his lip. In a fit of frugality, the old duke had cut the candle allowance for the house down to a quarter of what it had been. The hallways were plunged into darkness, the poor servants did their sewing by moonlight, and they were obliged to hunch over their dinners in near darkness, squinting at their food to try and make out what it was.

Now that William was the duke, things were different. The house was actually well lit, the fires banked, even when it wasn’t the depths of winter.

“I don’t take pleasure in watching people squinting in the dark, or shivering by an empty grate,” he’d said once, when Mary queried it.

The woman came fluttering across the room towards Alex, reaching up to smooth out the shoulders of his jacket.

“So handsome,” she murmured. “The most handsome of them all, my Alex. You must tell William to stop lighting so many candles. The Duke would not like it.”

A lump rose to his throat.

“Mother, William is the duke now. We can’t keep doing things the way Father did, can we?”

Mary pouted. “Well, your Papa was generally right. We saved all that money on tallow and wax, didn’t we? But I have a secret to tell you.”

“What is it, Mother? Why don’t we go out into the hall? It’s freezing cold in here. You’re only wearing a light shawl, and…”

“The Duke insisted that I hand over your brothers and sister to a nursemaid right away,” Mary interrupted. “First William, and then Henry, and then Katherine. He said that children ought not to be coddled. It was dreadfully upsetting, but he was my husband, so of course I obeyed. It was always strange to see them again, to see how much they had grown. They wouldn’t recognise me when they saw me again, and that always stung a little. But you… you, my little Alex, you were different. When you were born, your father was away, so I did not have to give you to a nursemaid. I looked after you all by myself. You were walking by the time your father came home. You were mine . I always felt guilty, though. I suppose the least I can do is to make sure that everything is the way your father wanted it, to make up for keeping you. It was a good bargain, I think.”

The lump was making Alex’s eyes water.

“Yes, Mother, but Father isn’t here, now. You can do as you like. You can be happy.”

Mary pulled back, eyes blank. “I am happy, darling. I’m a good wife.”

“I see.” Alex drew in a shuddering breath, wiping suddenly clammy hands on his jacket. “Well, you must be hungry, and so…”

“Oh, I almost forgot! Silly me. I have a present for you, darling.”

Mary opened her hand, revealing a silver cravat pin, tipped with a round ruby like a drop of blood.

“It was your father’s,” she confided. “I daresay William should have it, but I’d like it to be yours.”

Alex took the cravat pin. It was cool against his fingers.

“Thank you, Mother. Now, we really must go into dinner.”

Mary pouted. “I’m never hungry these days.”

“But you must eat,” he insisted. “Please, Mother. For me. For your little Alex.”

She softened a little. “Well, if you say so.”

He extended his arm, and Mary took it, her hand white and frail as a bird. They walked through the hallways in silence.

After the gloom of the hallway outside, the well-lit dining room did seem a little bright, and Alex blinked against the glare.

The others were already there – William at the head of the table, Katherine in her usual spot, and Timothy beside her. They all glanced up when Alex and Mary entered, and for a moment, Alex found himself struck dumb.

He’s just like Father.

Sitting in their father’s seat, face thrown into sharp relief by the candles, and resolutely not smiling, William resembled the old duke more than anything Alex had ever seen before.

Oh, they all resembled the duke, in that they had his skin, his eyes, his hair, his handsome features, but there was something about William tonight that made the resemblance even more obvious.

Swallowing hard, Alex helped his mother to her seat – at the other end of the table, where she insisted on sitting, as the old duke had insisted on her sitting before, even though her children all sat close together – and took his own seat.

“You’re late,” William said crisply, as soon as he was seated.

“I came as soon as I could,” Alex answered in a low voice. “Mother was disoriented again.”

“She is not disoriented.”

“She is . She’s not herself.”

“I don’t notice a difference,” William gestured for the first footman to start serving up the soup course. “I’m not a tyrant, Alex, but I do like to start meals on time, if possible. Do you know how irritating it is, to sit here and watch our food going cold, while you waft about the house? You’ve been at home for hours. There’s no excuse for being late.”

Alex clenched his jaw. “Mother needed me.”

“She is fine .”

“How would you know? You ignore her all day.”

“Boys,” Katherine interrupted sharply, eyes glinting out a warning. “Let’s have a nice family meal together, shall we?”

“Little prospect of that,” Alex muttered, taking pleasure in observing William stiffen like an affronted feline.

He said nothing, however, and for a few moments there was only the gentle sounds of soup-slurping, and the low conversation between Timothy and Katherine.

William was paler and grimmer than ever, and picked at his food, for all his talk of being hungry and not wanting to wait. For his part, Alex’s stomach was still roiling from his hangover that morning. The pea soup did not look appealing. Instead, he reached for the decanter of wine, and poured himself a generous measure. He could almost feel William’s disapproving stare on him, but somehow, that only made the wine taste better.

Go on, have a proper scowl, you simpleton. Ascend upon your high horse as the esteemed Duke of Dunleigh, whilst I remain the drunken prodigal son who cannot even afford the courtesy of departing from home. Take a long, long gaze.”

He took a large mouthful of wine, eyes closed, and felt the familiar buzz of the alcohol warm his blood and ease away his worries.

Oh, yes. I certainly can’t make it through this summer sober, no matter what Katherine says , he thought grimly. He drained the glass, ignoring Timothy’s horrified expression, and reached to pour himself another.