He, too, recalled how quickly he had transformed the morning he’d discovered his mother had abandoned them.
Gone was the carefree boy of that time, replaced by a young man who knew he had to look after his younger brothers. He’d quickly understood that the world was unsure, unsafe, and dangerous. That one could have safety one moment and complete lack of security the next.
He’d failed Kit.
He supposed he could not blame Margaret.
No, he was to blame. For not hardening Kit’s heart to love.
Now? Now he had to find a way to make it right for his brother. To protect him as he’d promised his mother he would.
What did Margaret need to make her feel she could trust Kit or the male sex in general?
He did not know, but he had to find it, because he had to find a way to make Kit safe again.
He sighed. It was such a coil. But a few days ago, he never would have expected that they would all be hurtling toward disaster. Yet, he should have. He had the experience to predict it.
And he did not even know what to think of Beatrice.
For that letter…the words in it…
Had she been an instrument in Kit’s misery? He couldn’t bear the possibility.
He placed his hands against the long wood table in the kitchen. He only thanked God he had not made the mistake of falling in love with his own wife, or letting her fall in love with him.
No, thank God. They had not done that. Such toils and troubles would never face him and Beatrice. It was a relief beyond measure.
As he shoved himself away from the table and turned back toward the door, he winced.
Winced at how brutally cruel emotion could be.
At how it could destroy lives on a whim, because that was what had happened.
Margaret’s unreliable emotions had destroyed it all.
In one decision, she had chosen not to marry his brother, and now his brother was a broken young man.
No, he could not stand by and do nothing—he had to fix it.
Somehow, he would. After all, he was a duke, wasn’t he? Dukes could fix anything.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Beatrice blinked awake, startled.
Something was different.
No, not different. Something was amiss. And not just two-foxed-fellows-asleep-in-the-salon amiss.
She stretched, her neck positively throbbing, and noticed the dark green blanket draped carefully over her. Trepidation raced through her as she looked to where the two men were sleeping.
Will was gone.
Kit still slept on the Aubusson rug, snoring loudly, sprawled out without apology. Standing, she let out a groan as her muscles protested the long night in the chair.
Beatrice crossed over to him and checked on her brother-in-law. He seemed to be in a deep sleep, but otherwise he was not unwell. No doubt, he would wake feeling positively dreadful, and she would ensure that beef tea was awaiting him.
Yes, a good, strong bowl of that would see him right.