“Nice to see you again, Drew.” His brother lifted his chin a notch. His black hair was a tad longer than fashion demanded, and he wore it disheveled as if he cared not for outward appearances. Unlike Drew, whose hair of the same color had been cut and styled as if he’d meet the Regent tomorrow. Finn’s clothes reflected the same attitude as his hair. But then, recovering in hospital didn’t require the same attention as a peer about Town. “Being home isn’t exactly how I used to imagine it.”
“I’m glad you’re here.” His mother swept across the room. She dropped a kiss on Finn’s lean—almost hollow—cheek. “Tell me what you need to make your life easier. How can I help?”
A bitter laugh escaped him. “A new set of legs or a spine that’s not busted?”
“I wish I could.” She patted his shoulder while throwing Drew a speaking glance. “At least you and Andrew can spend time together now.” Her eyes widened with unspoken command. “As well as Brand when he arrives from Ipswich.”
“Whenever that is.” So we can be one big happy—unbroken—family. A fair amount of annoyance crept over him. “Brand’s not exactly known for following a schedule.” But he needed to, for Drew wouldn’t allow him to suckle at the estate’s teat. A man should make something of himself.
Finn shook his head. “Cut him some slack, Drew. The man’s missing a damned eye now. That should gain him a few months leeway.”
Hot guilt and shame welled up to clash with the churning anger inside Drew. His gut knotted with anxiety, which stirred nausea, and he swallowed a few times to stave off the urge to cast up his accounts. “Yes, well, you’re here and I trust you’ll use the time to figure out the next course of your life.” How the hell could he see his brother day after day as he was now and not break apart?
“Time will tell.” Finn smiled, but it was a grim affair. “It is nice to be home after spending six months in a Bath hospital trying to convalesce.” He snorted. “I think the sisters thought that I’d miraculously be healed while taking in the waters. They were a little put out when that didn’t happen.”
Oh, God.The terrible pressure wouldn’t relent in Drew’s chest, and the anxiety inside threatened to suck him down into the swirling black depths. He gasped for breath as inconspicuously as he could. It was all too much. “I’d rather you not speak of the war or its aftermath, if you don’t mind.” Perhaps if he ignored that too it would stem the flood of feelings, for he’d been left behind in London, safe from the French scourge, even though he’d been fighting a war of his own while watching his father die.
“So that’s how it is.” Annoyance jumped into Finn’s expression. The last time Drew had seen his brother—nearly four years before—he’d been an untroubled young man with ideals and dreams. Now, he merely looked tired and hopeless. “War and its aftermath have been my life—Brand’s life—for the last handful of years.” His Adam’s apple bobbed with a hard swallow and shadows flitted through his stormy eyes. “It will take some time for me to adjust to a civilian life, and I’ll need to talk about what I’ve gone through. Especially when Brand comes home.”
There would be no escape.
Drew curled his fingers into fists. A blanket of rage descended, fast and furious. It swelled his chest, and one of the buttons on his jacket popped from the garment to ping against a table leg where it landed. The ever-present guilt and anxiety met and a thunderstorm of raw feeling crashed within his being. “It’s not been my life, so I would appreciate you not speaking of it in my presence.” Even he heard the warning in his voice, but he wasn’t sorry for it. They had no idea; none of them knew what he fought with.
“Whose fault is that?” Finn shifted in his chair. Pain etched across his face.
“Boys, please,” his mother implored as she stood behind Finn’s chair.
Drew took a few steps toward his brother’s location. “I had to be here. You know why.”
“At least you had a choice to avoid the fighting. I’d never wish that hell upon anyone.”
Perhaps it was best to vent some of his spleen and have it done with. “I had no choice. Father was dying. He wanted me here because I was his damned heir, and you certainly never came to say your goodbyes.” It had been him at those last terrible days, waiting, listening to every labored breath his father had drawn. He’d endured his mother’s stifled sobs. He’d swallowed his own feelings and reactions to appear strong for his parents while he’d hoped for last-minute advice on how to handle the shift in his own life.
Advice that never came.
Dark anger mottled Finn’s face. One hand gripped the armrest of his chair so hard the knuckles turned while. “Ah, so I should have asked my commanding officer to pause the battle to return to London so you could have a better go of it? Good men died out there, but you don’t give two figs about that, do you?” He glared, his voice rising. “Life doesn’t pander to your whim and order merely because you’re the earl now.”
The storm inside him swept through and took away Drew’s filter. He tugged at his cravat, his fingers brushing the ruby stickpin nestled in its folds. Don’t forget. “You don’t know how hurt Father was!”
“I rather doubt that’s true. He was the one who encouraged Brand and me to join the war effort!” Finn made a rude gesture that had a blush jumping into their mother’s cheeks. “I only thank God he expired before he discovered how injured I was, for that might have made him care. He bloody well didn’t take notice of me like he had with you.” Hurt and envy were stamped on his gaunt face. “The spare didn’t matter as much as the heir, right?”
“Oh, no?” Drew gripped the wooden back of a sofa in a bid to remain upright instead of letting anxiety have at him. “Father fairly glowed with pride when he talked of his sons who were off fighting for their damned King and country.” Paternal pride was something Drew would never have a chance to feel or bask in.
Their mother glanced between them. “Boys, please, practice decorum. The servants will hear.”
Finn looked away first. “Perhaps, Drew, you should walk it off or drink yourself into oblivion. Wouldn’t want you to damage that inflated ego.”
“Damn you.” Rage shook in his voice while his chest tightened with the force of the storm battering him inside. A button popped on his waistcoat. It bounced off one of the wheels of Finn’s chair. “I’m not one of your subordinates—Major. You have no idea what I’ve had to endure in your absence.”
He flicked his gaze to Drew’s waistcoat. A hint of puzzlement crossed his face before annoyance covered it. “I’m not cowed by your damned title, so stop thinking you know what’s best for my life. I scarcely know myself right now.”
The truth of that statement lingered in the air a long time, for Drew felt exactly like that. Not for worlds would he admit to it though. Instead, he glared. His hold on the internal storm was slipping rapidly. “I’m the head of this bloody family now. You’d best mind that or I’ll cut off your allowance.”
That brought his brother’s head up. Red splotches of anger mottled his cheeks. “Go to hell, Drew. Life has changed for all of us. Until you accept that, we will always be at each other’s throats.”
A red haze fell over Drew’s eyes. The specter of anxiety squeezed his chest until he was gasping for breath. “I’ll throw your arse into the street. See if I don’t. I won’t be disrespected in my own home.”
“Our home.” Finn chopped at the air with a hand. “If you do, it’ll ruin your precious image. Then what will the ton think? God, you’re like Father’s shadow.” He snorted. “Except you’ll never be the earl Father was. You lack compassion and empathy.”