"It was nothing," Sean muttered.
"It was everything," Lincolnshire disagreed. "My heart sings to know all my holdings will be going to such a worthy man. My nephew—my blood." Tears sprang to the older man's eyes: not tears of pain, but tears of regret for devotion discovered much too late. "I'm so sorry I never came to know you before this. That your undeserved reputation and my unresolved feelings about my brother kept me from seeking you out earlier—"
"There's nothing to be sorry for," Sean interrupted, having had enough of this guilt-inducing affection. "My life has also been enriched by our time together. But your brother…this is the first you've mentioned these 'unresolved feelings' concerning him."
Lincolnshire shrugged. "I loved him, of course. He was my twin—"
"Your twin?" This was the first Sean had heard that.
"Surely you've noticed your father and I look identical?"
"I hadn't…thought about it." Now he was the one pausing between words. "My, uh…father…died years ago. He never mentioned you were twins. What happened between you? What made you banish your brother to the wilds of Ireland?"
"Banish him?" Lincolnshire snorted. "He should have been down on his knees kissing my feet. I saved the ungrateful bastard." He cocked his head, measuring Sean for a long, silent moment. "He never told you what happened?"
"Never." And if Sean could judge by Hamilton's attitude, Lincolnshire's brother hadn't given his real son the facts, either. "What happened?"
"You honestly don't know?"
Sean shook his head.
"When we were young men," Lincolnshire said, settling back against his pillows, "our father died, leaving me the earl. Your father was less than happy I inherited everything and he nothing. He was furious, as a matter of fact. A mere five minutes' difference in our births made me the heir and him the second son."
"It's understandable he might feel that way," Deirdre said, no doubt remembering her father-in-law's underlying anger.
"I agree. But that's the way our world works. I assured him I'd take care of him, support him and his new child and his young wife—a wife he'd been forced to wed after getting her in the family way, I might add."
"Like father, like son," Sean whispered beneath his breath.
"Why do you say that?" the earl asked, proving his hearing wasn't affected by the dropsy. "My father's marriage was a love match. No one forced him to wed our mother."
"No, of course not," Sean assured him, thinking back. Hamilton's parents' marriage hadn't been a happy one. He'd always figured that was a result of their displeasure at being stuck in Ireland, but maybe it had been more than that. "Just a slip of the tongue, a commonplace expression. Pray, go on."
"Well, promising to support my brother and his family wasn't enough. He wanted more than just a generous allowance. Shortly after I inherited, I went off to Ireland, to Kilburton, to see my steward, meet my villagers and tenants. I returned to a scandal of unimaginable proportions."
"What?" Deirdre breathed.
"In my absence, William had decided to take some of what he considered his due. He'd pretended to be me, and we looked so much alike that people had believed him. He'd lived in this house, worn my clothes, gone to my club. He'd attended dinners and card parties and breakfasts and balls and soirees. He'd even paid my respects to King George at court, and while doing all of this, he'd run up debts that amounted to thousands. The biggest gaming debt in all of London, in my name. He couldn't pay it, of course. And a man's vowels, a debt of honor, is expected to be paid before any other."
"They must have been livid," Deirdre said. "All those men to whom he owed money."
"Oh, they were livid, all right. All the gentlemen and the ladies, too. But not because of the debt. I paid that immediately upon my return."
"Why then?" Sean asked. "Why should they remain livid after having been paid?"
"Because he'd tricked them," the earl said. "Made fools of them, one and all. He'd made them believe he was me, and for that they would never forgive him. Society has a long memory, and they hold a grudge even longer." Lincolnshire's sigh was one of heartache, of sorrow and deepest regret. "Only the gravest misdeeds will warrant the cut direct, but my brother had crossed that line."
"He had to leave," Deirdre concluded. "He couldn't live any longer in London."
"Indeed, he couldn't. Many wanted him banished to the countryside, to live in poverty and anonymity, or even better, they'd have preferred to have seen him shipped off to America. He hadn't the option of entering the clergy, and I couldn't buy him a commission in the military—the peerage is too well connected to both for him to have held posts in either. So I did what I could. I sent him to Ireland, where no one knew him. Where he could hold up his head and play the lord in Kilburton. Live in the drafty old castle—"
"He built an enormous new manor house."
"I know that, my dear." Lincolnshire smiled sadly at Deirdre. "He wanted a fancy new house, and I wanted him to be happy. Or at least as happy as possible. He was my brother, you see, my twin. If I never fully forgave him, it wasn't because of what he did, but because I lost him as a result."
"He never forgave you, either," Deirdre said.
"I know that, too. But I also know I did my best." He looked to Sean, who hadn't said anything for quite a while. "I hope you don't blame me for your father's disgrace. Under the circumstances—"
"No," Sean said in a dead tone. It was the only tone he could manage, because he felt dead inside. "I don't blame you."
"You understand, then?" Lincolnshire pressed.
Sean nodded. He understood perfectly.
He understood that the aristocracy wouldn't countenance being duped. He understood they held grudges forever. He understood that, having
