“—can’t offer you any entertainment,” her brother said.
Kate rose to her knees in the near-darkness. The diary slid off her lap with a quiet, rustling thump that made her catch her breath.
“I don’t expect to be entertained!” James sounded affronted. “Honestly, Harry, what do you take me for? You didn’t invite me. I invited myself!”
Kate leaned forward until her eyes were level with the peephole. She saw her brother, Harry, the Viscount Honeycourt.
“Don’t cut up stiff,” Harry said, grinning. “You’re always welcome. You know that.” He walked across the room to where the decanters stood. “Sherry? Scotch? Brandy?”
“Brandy,” James said. He came into Kate’s line of sight and her pulse gave a jerky little skip. His back was towards her, but his tallness and the strong lines of his body were unmistakable. He ran a hand through his black hair and turned. Kate’s pulse jerked again at the sight of his face, with its wide, well-shaped mouth and slanting black eyebrows. His features were strong and balanced, handsome, but some quirk of their arrangement gave him an appearance of sternness. The planes of his cheek and angle of his jaw were austere. When lost in thought or frowning, his expression became quite intimidating. She’d seen footmen back away rather than disturb him. The sternness was misleading; anyone who knew James well knew that his face was made for laughter.
Had been, Kate corrected herself. James hadn’t laughed during the past months and today his face was unsmiling. He looked tired, and as always when not smiling, stern.
Kate clasped her hands together and wished she knew how to make him laugh again. She watched as he walked over to one of the deep, leather armchairs beside the fire and sat. He stretched his long legs out and leaned his head back and closed his eyes, his weariness almost tangible.
“Your timing is excellent,” Harry said, a brandy glass in each hand. Late afternoon sunlight fell into the room. The crystal gleamed and the brandy was a deep, glowing amber. “My cousin Augusta has gone to Bath for two months.”
James opened his eyes. “I count myself very fortunate,” he said, as he accepted a glass.
“So do we!” Harry sat so that Kate could only see the back of his head, his hair as bright red as her own. “Well? Your letter didn’t explain a thing. What’s this matter of urgency?”
Kate drew back slightly from the peephole. Should she cover her ears? Whatever Harry and James were about to discuss was none of her business. She raised her hands. To eavesdrop would be—
“Marriage,” James said.
Kate flinched. Her heart seemed to shrink in her chest. She’d known this moment must come one day, but that didn’t stop it hurting. James is getting married. She lowered her hands and leaned closer for a better view of the library.
“Ah.” Harry settled back in his chair. “You’ve found a suitable wife?”
James’s laugh was short and without humor. “No,” he said, and swallowed some of his brandy.
“You want me to help you? Is that it?”
James frowned at his glass. “My birthday’s soon,” he said. “You know I must marry before then.”
Kate wrinkled her brow. What?
“You could let Elvy Park and the fortune go,” Harry said in an offhand tone. “I’m sure your cousin would appreciate them.”
James transferred his frown from the brandy to Harry. “Would you?”
Her brother, possessor of an extensive estate and a comfortable fortune, shook his head. “No.”
“Of course not. And neither will I. I’ll marry before my thirtieth birthday, but . . .” James rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. “I wanted— Oh, God, I know it sounds stupid, Harry, but I wanted what my brother had.”
He didn’t need to explain what that was. Harry knew as well as she did: a love match.
Her brother didn’t scoff. “It doesn’t sound stupid,” he said quietly. “It’s what I want.”
It was what Kate wanted, too, but she’d given up hope of it years ago.
James acknowledged Harry’s reply with a brief, bitter movement of his lips. He said nothing, but drank deeply from his glass.
“Are you certain the will is legal?” Harry asked.
“It’s legal.” James’s smile was humorless. “Edward tried to find a way around it, but the lawyers said there wasn’t one. And then he met Cordelia and it didn’t matter.” His face twisted. “Oh, God! If only he—”
For a moment Kate thought that James might cry. The notion shocked her. Even after the tragedy last year, when a carriage accident had taken the lives of his father and brother and sister-in-law, she’d not seen James lose control of his emotions. His face and manner had been composed, but his eyes . . . She’d wept in the privacy of her bedchamber for the silent grief in his eyes.
James shook his head, his expression bleak, and swallowed the last of the brandy. “I never expected to inherit Elvy Park and—and everything else. Never wanted to! But damn it, Harry, I’m not going to give it all away now that I’ve got it.”
“No.” Harry sighed and got to his feet. He walked over to the brandy decanter. “More?”
James nodded.
Kate’s knees began to ache from kneeling on the hard floor. She shifted slightly and wished she’d brought a cushion in with her.
“You’ve got two months to find a bride,” her brother said, as he refilled James’s glass.
“Yes.”
“So what the devil are you doing in Yorkshire?” Leather creaked as Harry sat down again. “The Season has started. You should be in London.”
“Débutantes.” An expression of distaste crossed James’s face.
“What’s wrong with débutantes?”
James swallowed a mouthful of brandy. “You don’t get mobbed by them—and their mamas.”
Harry laughed. “Of course not! I’m not half so well-favored as you.”
Much as Kate loved her brother, she had to admit he was correct. Poor Harry had the Honeycourt red hair and freckles. James had no such flaws, unless the stern cast of his features could be called one. He’d always been
