“His heart has been broken?” William echoed, his throat strangling the words.
“Yes, Your Grace. He’s quite undone about it. Would you like me to take you to him?”
But then Will heard a long, loud bellow of a sonnet.
He closed his eyes. This was going to be hell. “No, Geoffrey, I do not think you need to take me to him. I think I can follow the sound.”
Geoffrey bowed and left him to it.
And Will did indeed follow the sound.
He turned in the direction of the rather loud and poorly recited sonnet.
It did not take him long to march down the hall, turn, and then come to an open door. His brother was sprawled on the burgundy-and-gold Aubusson rug, propped on one linen-clad elbow, a brandy bottle in his hand.
His coat, cravat, and waistcoat were in a pile on the chair beside him.
Kit spotted William and proclaimed with a dramatic opening of his arms, “Come in, brother, come in. I am so glad it is you.” He scowled. “I’m drinking alone, which is never a good thing. Come, come share a cup with me.”
William groaned inwardly.
It was going to be a long evening. And he felt a deep wave of concern.
What the bloody hell was happening?
He strode in, lowered himself down beside his brother, as one can only do with a man in his cups, and took the offered brandy bottle…which was nearly empty.
Kit angled himself to his brother and grabbed his arm abruptly. His face folded into deep lines of distress. “Will, love is terrible.”
“I know,” Will replied honestly. “I’ve always said so.”
Kit scowled. “You needn’t be so awful in my moment of woe with sentiments of I told you so,” he said.
“Yes, you’re right,” he agreed. “I’m a bloody tosser. Do tell me how this rotten coil has come about.”
“Margaret,” Kit intoned.
Will swallowed, thinking of Margaret bursting into his house today. “What about Margaret?”
“Cruel woman, bloody…cruel,” he drawled before reclaiming the bottle and taking a swig of brandy. Kit leaned back and cried to the stucco ceiling, “She has ripped out my heart and crushed it to pulp.”
He cleared his throat. “That’s very vivid, but I don’t follow. How has she done this?”
Kit snorted. “She won’t marry me.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“She sent me a note this afternoon. She said she refuses to wed.”
Will grabbed the brandy bottle and took a drink. Surely this was all a mistake. “But you’re getting married in two days’ time.”
“No, we’re not,” Kit said as he swiped the brandy bottle and drank again. He let out a dry laugh. Then he stared at the bottle. “I thought whoever laughs last, wins. But that doesn’t seem to be my case. I’m laughing now. And I have lost.”
William shook his head. “Why in God’s name would she break it off?”
Kit wiped a hand over his face, then searched his pockets. He pulled out a crumpled note and handed it over. “Something about tricking me—something about her father. Something about the truth.”
“Oh God,” William groaned, realization hitting him like a hard blow. “That’s what this is about?”