The vice around his chest tightened. Father’s last words to him had been, Look after your mother and keep your brothers safe.
Nothing about what he should do in his own life, but he’d failed that simple command. Shame crept in to collide with the anger. What sort of man did that leave him?
“Such gammon.” Annoyance snapped in his mother’s eyes. “I was grateful one of my sons remained behind to care for your father in his last days.”
“As if I had the choice,” he muttered. He was the heir, and his first duty was not to his country but to the damned title. A finger drifted to touch the ruby stickpin he wore in his cravat. To him it signified a drop of blood, the terrible wounds his brothers had suffered, so he’d never forget the responsibility placed on his shoulders.
“Please don’t be disagreeable. Not today.” She clenched her hands in her lap. “I want you boys to put away the animosity and return to how it used to be between you.”
“Ha!” Drew snorted. His mother’s wishes and the contents of the letter he struggled to write were much the same. “I doubt that’s possible.” Why was he held to an exacting standard when the others weren’t? “Too much has changed.” He stood so quickly his chair toppled and crashed against the bookshelf behind him. “If you are quite finished, Mother?”
“I am not.” She glanced at his chair until he’d righted the piece of furniture. “You’ve avoided every overture I’ve made to talk, but two years has been long enough. Things must be settled, least of which is your relationship with your brothers.”
The panicked urgency to run away, to find a safe place to hide coursed through him and sent hot, bitter bile into the back of his throat. “Or what?” It sounded as if she’d come to deliver an ultimatum.
“If you cannot work out the details of your life and attend to the title, I shall have no choice but to write to William, request you sign a power of attorney that gives him the authority to oversee the earldom until such time that your mental… faculties are once more clear.” There was a hard note to his mother’s voice he’d never heard before. And what was more, she was aware of how he struggled.
Another wave of hot shame invaded his person. “You’d give control of everything I have to my cousin?” William was a year younger than Drew. Viscount Heymont had been the previous Earl of Hadleigh’s younger and only sibling. He and William had grown up together and had been as close as brothers until a rift of some sort between their fathers had put an abrupt halt to the relationships. Now, with both their fathers dead, the origin of said rift had been lost to memories—and his mother certainly wouldn’t expound on the topic—but the damage was done. Drew had too much pride to ask after the origin of the feud, and if damned William didn’t care, well, neither did he. There were also two female cousins, but he’d not been as close to them as he had with William. They’d much preferred his brothers’ company.
Rotten to the core, every last one of them. Good riddance.
“I will if you refuse to do what you must.” His mother’s expression was unwavering. “Your father would be disappointed in you.”
“Too damned bad he’s not here to ring a peal over my head about it.” Disappointing everyone in his life had been a theme for too many years to count. He quickly swallowed and glanced at the doorway. I need to leave… it was imperative that his mother not witness one of his attacks lest he appear too weak, but when the butler showed up in the open space, he bit back a curse.
Damn it all to hell. Will I ever know peace?“What is it, Peters?” he asked from around clenched teeth as he worked to regulate his breathing.
The aged butler flicked a faded blue gaze his way. “Major Storme is here, my lord. I’ve had him settled into the drawing room.”
Settled instead of shown, for his brother was unable to walk. Once more, hot embarrassment and anger bubbled up, gathering strength. Soon it would overtake him, as would the crushing bands of anxiety, and he’d lash out in destruction—proving the surname was appropriate.
“Phineas is home,” his mother breathed as she rose to her feet. “Oh, I’m so glad.” The relief lining her expression grated against his already overwrought nerves.
Drew ignored her to focus on the butler. “The dowager countess and I will be there directly.” He glanced at his parent, and a shard of jealousy stabbed through him. She never seemed that glad to speak with him.
“Very good, my lord.” The butler withdrew.
“Andrew, please, don’t call me the dowager,” his mother said with a playful tone. “It makes me seem so old.” She patted a tendril of brown hair into place. Though it was streaked with silver, she’d never looked better in his opinion.
“You are as beautiful as always,” he conceded in a soft voice. “But until I marry, that’s your title and you know it.”
Interest lit her face. “Will that be soon? You were always so charming with the ladies before. Is there a special woman—”
“Before Father died and I was free?” He clenched one hand into a fist and then slowly relaxed the fingers. “I haven’t found a woman worthy of being a countess.” It was merely another responsibility heaped upon the pile. The weight of it pressed into his chest. He staggered from it, obliged to grip the edge of his desk to remain upright.
“Are you well?” She looked him up and down with concern.
“Quite,” he managed to gasp out. If he didn’t compose himself, the anger and anxiety would win. Would his family diagnose him as insane then? Hand off his responsibilities to William as if he didn’t matter? As best he could, he ignored the internal hell he battled with. “Shall we?” When she nodded, they quit the study.
It took all of a minute to reach the sun-drenched drawing room at the opposite end of the corridor. As soon as his gaze landed on his brother sitting in the Bath chair, the anger rushed up anew, threatening to choke him.
Drew fought off the urge to claw at his too-tight cravat as well as retreat from the room like the coward that he was. It was his fault Finn would never walk again and seeing him like that brought back how inadequate he truly was for this position.
For life.
“Phineas. Welcome home,” he managed to gasp out. Emotion he could never show raged and grew inside his chest, graveled his voice. Hadn’t his father ingrained into him the importance of never allowing such things to show, lest he appear weak before the ton or his family? A man—an earl—must be strong at all costs, for it was his responsibility to care for the rest.
Yet, who was there to teach him how to live with the overwhelming feelings that were tearing him apart? Who would be there to make certain the anxiety that told him every damned day that he wasn’t good enough would be beaten back? Who would help him manage all he struggled with to live a somewhat normal life?