A bitter laugh escaped him. “A new set of legs or a spine that’s not busted?”
“I wish I could.” She patted his shoulder while throwing Drew a speaking glance. “At least you and Andrew can spend time together now.” Her eyes widened with unspoken command. “As well as Brand when he arrives from Ipswich.”
“Whenever that is.” So we can be one big happy—unbroken—family. A fair amount of annoyance crept over him. “Brand’s not exactly known for following a schedule.” But he needed to, for Drew wouldn’t allow him to suckle at the estate’s teat. A man should make something of himself.
Finn shook his head. “Cut him some slack, Drew. The man’s missing a damned eye now. That should gain him a few months leeway.”
Hot guilt and shame welled up to clash with the churning anger inside Drew. His gut knotted with anxiety, which stirred nausea, and he swallowed a few times to stave off the urge to cast up his accounts. “Yes, well, you’re here and I trust you’ll use the time to figure out the next course of your life.” How the hell could he see his brother day after day as he was now and not break apart?
“Time will tell.” Finn smiled, but it was a grim affair. “It is nice to be home after spending six months in a Bath hospital trying to convalesce.” He snorted. “I think the sisters thought that I’d miraculously be healed while taking in the waters. They were a little put out when that didn’t happen.”
Oh, God. The terrible pressure wouldn’t relent in Drew’s chest, and the anxiety inside threatened to suck him down into the swirling black depths. He gasped for breath as inconspicuously as he could. It was all too much. “I’d rather you not speak of the war or its aftermath, if you don’t mind.” Perhaps if he ignored that too it would stem the flood of feelings, for he’d been left behind in London, safe from the French scourge, even though he’d been fighting a war of his own while watching his father die.
“So that’s how it is.” Annoyance jumped into Finn’s expression. The last time Drew had seen his brother—nearly four years before—he’d been an untroubled young man with ideals and dreams. Now, he merely looked tired and hopeless. “War and its aftermath have been my life—Brand’s life—for the last handful of years.” His Adam’s apple bobbed with a hard swallow and shadows flitted through his stormy eyes. “It will take some time for me to adjust to a civilian life, and I’ll need to talk about what I’ve gone through. Especially when Brand comes home.”
There would be no escape.
Drew curled his fingers into fists. A blanket of rage descended, fast and furious. It swelled his chest, and one of the buttons on his jacket popped from the garment to ping against a table leg where it landed. The ever-present guilt and anxiety met and a thunderstorm of raw feeling crashed within his being. “It’s not been my life, so I would appreciate you not speaking of it in my presence.” Even he heard the warning in his voice, but he wasn’t sorry for it. They had no idea; none of them knew what he fought with.
“Whose fault is that?” Finn shifted in his chair. Pain etched across his face.
“Boys, please,” his mother implored as she stood behind Finn’s chair.
Drew took a few steps toward his brother’s location. “I had to be here. You know why.”
“At least you had a choice to avoid the fighting. I’d never wish that hell upon anyone.”
Perhaps it was best to vent some of his spleen and have it done with. “I had no choice. Father was dying. He wanted me here because I was his damned heir, and you certainly never came to say your goodbyes.” It had been him at those last terrible days, waiting, listening to every labored breath his father had drawn. He’d endured his mother’s stifled sobs. He’d swallowed his own feelings and reactions to appear strong for his parents while he’d hoped for last-minute advice on how to handle the shift in his own life.
Advice that never came.
Dark anger mottled Finn’s face. One hand gripped the armrest of his chair so hard the knuckles turned while. “Ah, so I should have asked my commanding officer to pause the battle to return to London so you could have a better go of it? Good men died out there, but you don’t give two figs about that, do you?” He glared, his voice rising. “Life doesn’t pander to your whim and order merely because you’re the earl now.”
The storm inside him swept through and took away Drew’s filter. He tugged at his cravat, his fingers brushing the ruby stickpin nestled in its folds. Don’t forget. “You don’t know how hurt Father was!”
“I rather doubt that’s true. He was the one who encouraged Brand and me to join the war effort!” Finn made a rude gesture that had a blush jumping into their mother’s cheeks. “I only thank God he expired before he discovered how injured I was, for that might have made him care. He bloody well didn’t take notice of me like he had with you.” Hurt and envy were stamped on his gaunt face. “The spare didn’t matter as much as the heir, right?”
“Oh, no?” Drew gripped the wooden back of a sofa in a bid to remain upright instead of letting anxiety have at him. “Father fairly glowed with pride when he talked of his sons who were off fighting for their damned King and country.” Paternal pride was something Drew would never have a chance to feel or bask in.
Their mother glanced between them. “Boys, please, practice decorum. The servants will hear.”
Finn looked away first. “Perhaps, Drew, you should walk it off or drink yourself into oblivion. Wouldn’t want you to damage that inflated ego.”
“Damn you.” Rage shook in his voice while his chest tightened with the force of the storm battering him inside. A button popped on his waistcoat. It bounced off one of the wheels of Finn’s chair. “I’m not one of your subordinates—Major. You have no idea what I’ve had to endure in your absence.”
He flicked his gaze to Drew’s waistcoat. A hint of puzzlement crossed his face before annoyance covered it. “I’m not cowed by your damned title, so stop thinking you know what’s best for my life. I scarcely know myself right now.”
The truth of that statement lingered in the air a long time, for Drew felt exactly like that. Not for worlds would he admit to it though. Instead, he glared. His hold on the internal storm was slipping rapidly. “I’m the head of this bloody family now. You’d best mind that or I’ll cut off your allowance.”
That brought his brother’s head up. Red splotches of anger mottled his cheeks. “Go to hell, Drew. Life has changed for all of us. Until you accept that, we will always be at each other’s throats.”
A red haze fell over Drew’s eyes. The specter of anxiety squeezed his chest until he was gasping for breath. “I’ll throw your arse into the street. See if I don’t. I won’t be disrespected in my own home.”
“Our home.” Finn chopped at the air with a hand. “If you do, it’ll ruin your precious image. Then what will the ton think? God, you’re like Father’s shadow.” He snorted. “Except you’ll never be the earl Father was. You lack compassion and empathy.”
Don’t you think I already know that? Black spots appeared at the corners of his vision and he held onto the sofa back like a lifeline. “Bugger off.” He had to leave, run, get away before he embarrassed himself with weakness.
“You first, bastard.”
Their mother wept. Each tear she shed added fury to the storm battering his body. She threw out a hand to Drew and laid the other on Finn’s shoulder. “I never wanted you at odds. I thought after everything you’d mend fences.” The disappointment in her face nearly sent him to his knees. “For your father’s memory.”
I’m failing at everything, and I don’t know how to fix it.
“I don’t know if we can,” Drew whispered. It was the only truth he could utter at the moment. “Too much has happened, too much time has passed.”
His mother wiped at her cheeks. “If you’d find a woman to stand at your side and help you with the title like I did your father, you’d see things differently. You were never meant to bear the burden alone.”
“Ha!” He shook his head, but that
didn’t alleviate the sense of being broken apart. “But I have been alone these past two years, haven’t I?” His mother had dealt with her own grief and had been often out of pocket, while his brothers had the war to worry about. There’d been no one to counsel him; no one to turn to for comfort.
“Well, Mother, it’s no wonder he hasn’t married at his advanced age,” Finn said, further needling him. He narrowed his eyes and stared at Drew. “You’re too much of a prick for a woman to stomach.”
Drew let himself free-fall into the flames licking at his soul, for he was beyond rational thought. “At least I can please a woman with my prick.”
Their mother gasped as Finn went pale and withdrew into himself, shrinking against the chair’s back. “For God’s sake, Andrew.”
That wasn’t well done of him at all. “I apologize.”
Finn’s lips were white as he held Drew’s gaze. “You wouldn’t have said it if it wasn’t true. Thank you for reminding me of what I’ve become and what my new place is.”
The fiber of their family was rapidly deteriorating—because of him. The darkness at the edges of his vision intensified. Anxiety came at him like a beast with gaping, tooth-filled jaws. He needed the privacy of his rooms before he broke down. “Perhaps it would be best if I retire to the Derbyshire estate.” If he weren’t here, he couldn’t do more damage.
And neither could they.
“If that’s what you wish.” Finn waved a hand. “Regardless, I will have made other arrangements by your return. Now, if you’ll excuse me?” He wheeled himself out the door. His calls for a footman echoed back into the drawing room.
“How dare you, Andrew.” His mother rounded on him. “If you leave, be certain you come back to London a better man.” Lines framed her mouth and tears glistened in her eyes. “Not for us, but for you. I won’t let another of my sons become broken.”
I broke the day Father died.
When he didn’t answer, she said softly, “I shall write to William.”
“Obviously, if you don’t have faith me, then by all means, do what you must.” It took the remainder of his willpower to fight off the urge to give into tears. “And so will I.” Then he quit the room without a backward glance.
Chapter Two
June 14, 1817
Derbyshire, England
Miss Sarah Copeland bit the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming out her frustration while her charges continued to do whatever they bloody well pleased. The ten-year-old boy and the eight-year-old girl hadn’t been interested in reading from their primers, categorically refused to take on mathematics, and pooh-poohed the idea of entering a debate about current affairs. It seemed the only thing the two wished to spend time doing was creating havoc throughout the schoolroom and littering the floor with bits of paper. What was the purpose of being installed as a governess if the children she oversaw didn’t respect her authority or that of learning?
These children are the devil’s own spawn, I just know it.
Not that she was an expert on children; she had none of her own, and at this point, it wasn’t likely that she’d have a chance. The only reason she had the position she did was in exchange for room and board. And it wasn’t that she was opposed to children. Quite the opposite. They had the capacity to bring joy to everyone they were around as well as infuse one’s day with amusement or gratitude. However… these two were a handful, and due to the situation surrounding them all, they held unspoken power over her and her tenuous position in the household. Yet, she’d been here for five years. During that time, she’d instructed the oldest child, and it had been so much easier when he’d had a desire to learn.
If I’d had the choice, I certainly wouldn’t have come to Derbyshire and this vocation.
With a long-suffering sigh and a slight push of her silver-rimmed spectacles up the bridge of her nose, she looked toward the floor-to-ceiling schoolroom windows. No, this hadn’t been the life she would have chosen for herself. Once upon a time, she’d expected to tour London and perhaps Europe as part of a musical ensemble, for her talents lay in playing the flute. For the longest time, it had been her only passion as well as an escape, and she’d practiced every opportunity she’d had, for the dream of the stage had glimmered brightly. She’d wanted that life—lusted after it really—for she could have been onstage, clad in sumptuous gowns and glittering jewels while listening to the applause and acclaim of people in the audience.
For years, her parents had scrimped and saved so that she could go to London and audition, but they’d died unexpectedly. That’s when Sarah had discovered their pockets had been to let for years, and the coin they’d supposedly set aside had been as mythical as the dragons in storybooks, lost with the ship that had sunk and taken their lives. Her musical aspirations had been dashed.
Along with the rest of her future.
Without funds, she’d been forced to throw herself onto her great uncle’s mercy and his literal doorstep, which was how she’d landed her current position. Yet, such a life of drudgery hadn’t halted her secret hopes. Despite her advanced age and unwed status and the life of pseudo-servitude, Sarah hadn’t given up the dream of having a family of her own. Being a spinster, as well as a poor relation, didn’t lend itself well to opportunities, for her great-uncle rarely entertained. He was a skinflint and hated to part with the coin. Another reason she only drew the scantest of incomes, but she always carried a tiny kernel of hope deep down that her fortunes would somehow magically change.
That was the wonderful thing about hope: one could never have too much of it, and she refused to give up her dreams until life had shown her that they were absolutely rubbish and unattainable.
A childish grunt brought her out of her thoughts. She glanced at her charges. The girl currently stood on a chair in an attempt to retrieve her brother’s tin solider collection that he’d hidden on a top shelf days before. Constantly, the two bickered about their possessions until she wanted to tear out her hair.
One of the brightly shining hopes dulled around the edges. No, with the limited coin in her possession, there wouldn’t be a trip to London any time soon where she might have found word of a better position with an appropriately grateful family or even tried to audition with a musical troupe.
“Mary, come down off the chair. You are not a monkey.”
“But it’s not fair George hides his things from me. We’re supposed to share.” A whine had set up in the girl’s voice that set Sarah’s teeth on edge. “I want to play with them.” She strained up onto her tiptoes, but she still couldn’t reach her objective.
“You have plenty of your own toys,” Sarah reminded her. As her spectacles slid slowly down, she looked at the child from over their tops. “But now is not the time for play. We’re studying geography, remember.”
The ten-year-old boy crossed the room. He tugged on the hem of Mary’s dress until she came off the chair. “You only want to knock my toys about and break them seeing as how most of yours are beat up. I’m saving those soldiers for a great battle when Papa gives me a tin horse. My birthday is coming, and I’ve told him I want one.”
Ah yes, another opportunity for the indulgent parents to spoil the children. It wouldn’t harm the little dears to not possess everything they immediately wanted. “Please sit down, the both of you,” Sarah asked. “We are not discussing battle tactics or the greatest generals in history. In fact, I intend to return to world geography.” So help her, she would drum this information into their heads if it was the last thing she did. They needed to learn about the world around them—the world far away from the dull life found in Derbyshire. As the children took seats at the table, Sarah pointed to a place on the small globe that rested in front of her. “Now then, who can tell me how large the Holy Roman Empire is?”
“Oh, Miss Copeland.” A groan followed George’s outburst. “No one cares about that.” The tow-headed boy shrugged. “It’s not exciting, you see.”
“Exciting or not, you need to learn this,
so you won’t be a bacon-brained idiot when you’re grown and sent out into the world.” Sarah prayed for patience while a sliver of jealousy wormed through her chest. Once George was grown and out of university, he’d no doubt partake on a trip to either America or the Continent. Lucky devil. While she whittled away at her remaining years, trying to put something intelligent between the ears of his sister. “I want you to become a scholarly adult who can think for himself.”
“I’ll wager Papa doesn’t know this sort of thing,” he said with a wave of a hand. “And he’s well-to-do and important. No one asks him about stodgy old things found on a globe.”
Yes, her great-uncle happened to be a baronet, but that didn’t mean anything if he hadn’t the capacity to conduct himself as a kind and compassionate person, which he was grudgingly. Annoyance twisted up her spine. She narrowed her eyes on the boy. “Don’t follow blindly in his footsteps. Why not make something of yourself?”
“He’s a success so I will be.”
At least he had confidence. “There’s more to life than that.” She blew out a breath in frustration and put her spectacles back into place. “What do you wish to converse upon then?” She asked because it was easier to give into curiosity than argue. There was only so much of that she could endure before becoming mentally exhausted.
The grin curving the boy’s thick lips was both awkward and horrid. “You.”
“Me?” She gaped at him, the spitting image of her great uncle, with his dirty blond hair, chinless visage, and rather stout build. He looked at her as if she were a bug pinned to a board. “Whyever for?”
“Papa said you’re here because you have no place else to go.” Apparently, that was his opening salvo, and he lifted an eyebrow as if he dared her to deny it.
“This is true enough.” She’d never made a secret of her life history, but the fact that these children knew it rankled. For that matter, how had she become the subject of familial discussion? She touched a finger to the silver locket she wore about her neck on a silver chain. It contained tiny miniature portraits of her parents shortly after they’d been married, and beside her flute was the most valuable possession she owned. “When my parents perished several years ago, I was left without recourse, so I sought out my great uncle, who is my father’s only sibling—your father.” If he hadn’t consented to take her in—since her mother had been an orphan—Sarah would have been in dire straits indeed.
The Soul of a Storme Page 2