by Megan Bryce
Sebastian growled, “Go get my brother.”
“Go home and hug her. Don’t say a word. Just hold her and listen to her. She wants you to know who she is, but you need to be quiet and let her tell you.”
Sebastian didn’t say a word and she smiled. “Yes, just like that. It is so difficult for men to listen when a woman talks, to hear the meaning behind the words. I assure you, there is always a meaning.”
“Stay away from her. Stay away from George.”
“You underestimate your brother. I have given up all hope of trying to stay away from him,” she said and Sebastian jerked. Remembered Flora saying the same thing about George.
What did they see that he did not?
“Make yourself comfortable, my lord. George will be down…eventually.”
George sat on the other side of the coach, his arms folded tight. He didn’t look at Sebastian, didn’t say a word.
Sebastian closed his eyes and sighed at the silence.
It had been four hours and George hadn’t said one word. Not when he’d come into the widow’s drawing room and given Sebastian a long look. He’d only turned back around and gone out the front door.
Hadn’t said anything to Sebastian while he’d directed his valet on what to pack.
Not a word through the streets of London. Nothing even when the town began to turn to fields.
Sebastian broke first, all the while thinking George’s years in India had changed him somehow.
“You are my heir. It is not inconceivable that I need you to accompany me when there are problems on an estate.”
George grunted. Sebastian kept his eyes closed.
Another mile later. “You are acting like a child.”
“I am being treated like one.”
Sebastian opened his eyes but George was still looking out the window.
“You are being treated like a man whose brain has lodged permanently in his bollocks.”
“You don’t think I can tell the difference between lust and love?”
Sebastian’s reply got caught in his throat and he expelled it forcefully. “How can you possibly be in love with that woman–”
“Lady Haywood. Or Elinor.”
“I will not call that–” George turned his head, a slow controlled motion, and Sebastian stopped.
He lowered his voice to a conversational tone. “She is conniving. A gold-digger. Has reached far above her station.”
“The same could be said for a few of our forebears. I expect her children’s children will conveniently forget just as well as we have.”
Sebastian leaned forward. “She doesn’t love you in return. All a woman like her can see is what you can do for her.”
“Then why did she refuse me?”
Sebastian had nothing to say, nothing even to think past blank horror.
George said, “I’ve already asked her. She said no.”
“It must not have been a very forceful no since you are still welcome in her bed.”
“She’s trying to save me from myself. It’s very tiresome. And not at all the actions of a conniving gold-digger.”
Sebastian opened his mouth to refute and George interrupted him. “Although I’m sure you can think of some way this works to her benefit.”
Sebastian closed his mouth. He could think of something and George wouldn’t believe it, no matter what it was.
George looked out the window and grimaced at the bucolic view. “Sheep. I simply can not imagine why men get old and gray in this country.”
“Men get old and gray in every country.”
George let out a long, sad sigh. “Yes.”
“It’s inevitable.”
“Some things are.”
“You’re not going to listen to me, are you? Not going to listen to St. Clair. Not going to listen to reason and duty. Just going to do what you want no matter what. No matter who it hurts and disappoints.”
George continued to look out the window. “Some things are inevitable.”
Megan BryceTo Wed The Widow
Thirteen
Sheep.
George hated sheep. He left the sheep and land to Sebastian once they arrived at the troubled estate.
Tenants.
George had to admit he was good with tenants. Much better than his brother, who wanted the facts without the pesky emotions. Who cared little for squabbles between people who’d known each other their whole lives and whose history was more important than facts. People who had to live and work together in the future.
There were a surprising number of issues between tenants. Between men forced to work too closely together. Between men who interrupted the quiet boredom of the country with the distraction of another man’s wife.
George set up shop at the village inn and listened to complaints.
He kept the beer flowing freely.
He refereed a few good boxing matches, giving an opportunity for all whose pride had been stung to work it out.
He visited cottages and listened to women chat about their neighbors. He brought small sweet cakes for the children and noted buildings that needed improving.
And in the evenings, he and Sebastian sat down to dinner.
George listened about sheep and tried to stay awake. Sebastian listened about emotional turmoil and tried to stay interested.
There was no emergency for them to take care of, but then George had always known it was a ruse to get him away from Elinor. Distance, when all distance did was make him wish she was there with him. Hating the sheep, and the mud, together.
Wishing she was there to speak with the women and let them air grievances with their own version of beer and fisticuffs.
Ten days after they arrived, George sat down to dinner and told Sebastian his work was done. Peace had been restored.
Sebastian cut into a piece of mutton. “You’re very good with people.”
“And you with sheep. You may take that as a compliment.”
“I have quite a few estates that could be improved by your skills.”
“I do not doubt that every estate could use an invigorating visit from the earl and his brother.”
Sebastian smiled. “I would like that.”
“So would I. After a recuperative stay in town. I can only take so much beer.”
Sebastian stopped smiling.
George said, “And I know you would like to visit with Flora and the girls.”
Sebastian nodded. “And I am sure Miss Westin has been missing you.”
George put down his knife. He looked at his brother, almost wishing…
George smiled and stood. “I need to show you something.”
“Right now, in the middle of dinner?”
George laughed. “Yes. We have a date at the inn.”
When George stepped inside the tap room, he was met with hearty hales and cheerful greetings. When the earl followed him inside, the room quieted in an instant.
George headed for the bar. “Two beers. And a round for everyone.”
No cheers greeted this statement. The men continued to look at the earl, to watch as George held a tankard out to him. Everyone watched until Sebastian took it and sipped.
George took a healthy gulp of his own and said to the room, “We’ve come for fisticuffs. And beer. Lots and lots of beer.”
He chugged and the quiet room broke into laughter. When he’d exhaled and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, he said, “We’ve come to once and for all settle the question of whether an earl’s brother can be a man in his own right.”
Sebastian said, “George.”
George stripped his coat off, handing it to the innkeeper. “We’ve come, like all men, to fight about a woman.”
Sebastian set his drink down and turned toward the door.
George said loudly to his back, “Win, and I’ll marry Miss Westin.”
That stopped Sebastian, and he turned back incredulously. “I will not gamble our future on a bout of pugilism.”
; “It’s a gamble however the decision is made. It’s a gamble no matter what, or who, we choose.”
“And if you win?”
George unbuttoned his waistcoat. “If I win, I will enjoy blacking your eye.”
“That’s all you want?”
“I will enjoy it a lot.”
A few men chuckled, then put their faces back into their cups.
George handed off his waistcoat, replaced it with a beer, and said, “And then I will marry Lady Haywood.”
He picked up Sebastian’s beer and handed it out to him again. “But first, we will need to be drunk.”
“You are being incredibly silly.”
George drained his drink, keeping his eyes on Sebastian and his hand out.
Men murmured between themselves. A few coins changed hands quietly.
“I’m not going to fight you.”
“Then I leave for London in the morning.”
Sebastian sighed and reached for the tankard. “But I’ll stay and have a drink with you.”
George waited until Sebastian had taken a sizable gulp before he nodded. “I’ll still be leaving for London. I have a bride to win.”
“What makes you think she’s waiting for you? She’s mourned husbands for less time than you’ve been gone.”
George rolled his shoulders. “If you don’t want a fight, you are going about it the wrong way.”
“It only stings because it’s true, George. And I don’t want to fight, but perhaps we should talk this out. Like men.”
“What good will talking do? You’re not going to change my mind, I’m not going to change yours.”
“Then what good will fighting do?”
George showed his teeth. “Besides choosing my bride, you mean? It will make an insuperable situation bearable.”
Sebastian shook his head. “I won’t allow fate and chance and the roll of the dice to dictate my life.”
“No. Only your birth and station.”
“As should you.”
“Can’t you see? It’s no different! Except it was someone else’s roll. Someone else’s chance and choice.”
“I know I’m lucky, George. The title, Flora, the girls.”
George drained the bottom of his third. “It’s all Flora’s fault. Can’t give her husband one heir, only girls.”
Sebastian hauled back and popped George in the eye.
The growing crowd of men shouted as George fell to his arse, then cheered as he sprang back up.
The innkeeper shouted, “Outside! Outside!”
He stopped when he realized he’d been shouting at the earl, but Sebastian only nodded and pushed himself away from the bar to go out the door.
Everyone followed him, and George gingerly touched his eye as men clapped him on the back and made bets with each other.
Sebastian pointed to a fellow, then fished a coin from his pocket. “Help me with my coat, will you?”
Off came Sebastian’s hat, his coat, his waistcoat, his cravat, and then his shirt.
As he undressed, he muttered, “All her fault. About the woman who loves you like a brother, who wrote to you every two weeks for eight years.”
“And I love her. And wrote back. She still has given you only girls.”
“As if she wouldn’t give her soul, her life, for a son!”
George pulled his shirt over his head and handed it behind him without looking, his eyes glued to his brother’s.
Sebastian put his toe to the line someone had drawn in the dirt. “Far better for you to suffer an inconvenient marriage than for her to suffer again. Than for her to court death. I will not let him have her!”
“Sebastian?”
“Death can not have her! I win, and you marry Miss Westin.”
George put his toe to the line. “And if I win–”
Sebastian popped him in the other eye.
George’s head whipped back and the crowd cheered. Sebastian followed him and pop, pop, pop.
“Gone for eight years, gone to India!”
George dodged the next blow. “You were going to marry me off. Just like now!”
He got close enough to ball his fist into Sebastian’s middle and Sebastian’s breath rushed out in a loud grunt. He grabbed for George and leaned on him.
“What do you think (pant pant) men do? You marry a respectable girl (scuffle scuffle), you find a lovely widow (punch, groan), or not so lovely if that’s what tickles your fancy (twist, ow!), and let her take care of you while your wife is at home with the children.”
George pushed and spun away. “And how is that working out for you?”
“Well, just lovely, thank you for asking! My wife is furious at me, my brother is in love with the widow, and the respectable girl, well, who knows about her!”
Someone shouted, “More hitting, less talking!”
Sebastian took a step forward and popped George in the nose.
George’s head whipped back, and then he roared mightily and barreled toward Sebastian, shouldering him in the gut and lifting him into the air for a long moment…and then dropping him to land heavily on the ground.
Sebastian and the crowd groaned in unison and George shouted, “I can’t be what you want, Sebastian! I can’t be you!”
Sebastian stayed on the ground and tried to breathe.
George huffed and huffed, waiting until Sebastian finally rolled to his side and pushed himself back onto his feet slowly.
Sebastian cupped his back, wincing, and George said, “Are we done then? Lady Haywood is it?”
“No. Just…a minute.”
They backed off from each other, circling slowly, limping and cursing.
Sebastian said softly, “I don’t want you to be like me, George. I just want…everything.”
“I know. It is unfortunate that we both can’t have everything.”
Sebastian nodded. “So we’re really fighting to see who the loser is.”
George stepped forward and swung and missed. “Would it be so horrible? Having no heir?”
“It’s just…losing.”
“And earls don’t lose.”
Sebastian’s fist connected with George’s side. “Earls don’t lose.”
George grabbed for his brother and hung on, their struggles turning into mutual support.
Sebastian hung his head, huffing. “We should have done this twenty years ago. I’m sure it would have hurt less.”
George nodded, breathless. “A draw?”
Sebastian looked around at the men circled around them and said, “We need to give them a winner or else there will be a riot.”
“Get on with it then. But make it a good one, would you? If I’m going down, I want to still be a man when I get back up. A man when I marry Elinor Rusbridge.”
Sebastian pushed his brother off him. “All the men heard that you would marry Miss Westin if I won.”
“I lied. Didn’t lie about Flora, though. This is entirely her fault.”
“You scoundrel!”
Sebastian swung with all his might and George had time to think that perhaps being an earl wouldn’t be too bad. It might be nice to believe you couldn’t lose.
And then there was blackness.
They left the next morning for London.
The coach was not so unfriendly and silent on this trip and there was light ribbing and pained groans from both sides.
Sebastian fidgeted. “We should have waited until we were healed.”
“But think how our women will fuss over us.”
“I don’t want to know.”
“Resign yourself to it, dear brother.”
Sebastian eyed the bruises on George’s face. “She may take one look at you and faint.”
George laughed. “I doubt it. What of Flora?”
“I doubt she’ll even look. You were obliging enough to stay away from my face.”
George waited for more and when none was forthcoming, said, “Are you going to tell me why Flora is furious with you?”
“Do you think I know why?”
“My guess is she told you, at least. Whether you listened or not…”
Sebastian shifted again. “I accused her of something…horrible.”
“Bloody hell.”
“She’s been acting so strange, I just–”
“You forgot who she was for a moment.”
“I’m afraid I never knew.”
George laughed and shook his head. He pulled back the curtain to look out at gray skies and green pastures and white dots of sheep.
“What fools we mortals be.”
“Must you misquote?”
George smiled. “Fine, then. Lord, what fools these mortals be!”
“You don’t think she…”
“Never.”
Sebastian sighed. “I know. But how does one say I am completely and utterly cork-brained?”
“That’s a good start.”
“For some reason, I don’t think it will be enough for her.”
“I think, and I’m sure you are dying for my opinion, but I think you have always known who Flora is. And I think that all you need to do is ask for her forgiveness.”
“Just ask?”
“Beg?”
Sebastian’s lips pursed and his nostrils flared.
George said, “She knows you just as well and I would bet she knows asking is all you can do.”
Sebastian sighed and moved himself into a more comfortable position yet again.
“George. I won’t ask you for forgiveness, nor beg, not about Elinor Rusbridge.”
“I hope there is more coming because that was not a good start.”
“But…”
George waited, still looking out the window.
Then he smiled.
He turned back to his brother, saw how Sebastian was trying, trying, to say something else.
George shook his head and laughed. “But…is a good enough start for me, Sebastian.”
Sebastian had even went so far as to ask where George would like to be dropped off, his lodgings or the Lady Haywood’s.
George had privately thought that they should have pummeled each other ages ago but had only said his quarters.
He didn’t think Elinor would faint at the sight of him. The smell though…
George had to wash the country off as soon as possible and even Elinor would have to wait.