Prologue
Quinton’s face ached from the perpetual grin he wore. There was something utterly vindicating and equally entertaining about watching one’s older brother mercilessly badgered by his companions. As the first of his friends to trip the parson’s mousetrap His Grace Avery, the Duke of Wesley, or Wes as he was familiarly called, was the recipient of more than his share of jokes and harassment, all in good humor. With the wedding only a week away, Quinton had helped the men assemble a last hurrah of sorts. After all, it was the end of an era.
It wasn’t every day a duke married, and as thetonhad so easily speculated, once His Grace tied the knot, soon the others would follow.
Good Lord, the mamas of thetonwere probably salivating at the prospect. This particular group was the next generation of power within the House of Lords. All heirs to important titles, there wasn’t one who wouldn’t have to fight off the debutantes…rather, the eager mamas trying to entangle them with their daughters.
Wesley had resisted the temptation of marriage for nearly a decade, ever since he inherited the dukedom from their late father. But this past season, the usual debutantes had faded into the background upon the presentation of Lady Catherine Greatheart, the season’s incomparable and a tempting armful. Theirs had been a whirlwind courtship and was still the on-dit gossip of theton.
Sudden hilarity brought Quin’s attention back to the present. Willowby—rather, the Earl of Willowby—made a show of pretending to clench Wesley’s bollocks. The group burst into a new round of laughter at Wes’s reaction.
“What about you, Quin? Just enjoying my torment?” Wesley asked, turning to his younger brother.
“Yes, every moment. It’s kind of pleasant to have someone else do my dirty work,” Quinton replied with a devious tone.
“You always were the wily one of the two of us. You were just quiet so no one suspected it.” Wesley rolled his eyes. “Well, we’d best be off if we’re to make the hunting lodge before dark. Though I still think this is a daft idea, I’m happy to put my bachelor days behind me.”
This statement brought about another round of remarks from his friends.
Wesley turned to Quinton once more. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?”
“Someone has to be responsible. Plus I have a full day of teaching tomorrow. You’ll have more fun without worrying if I’ll tell Mother about your bad choices,” Quinton replied, folding his arms as he leaned against the library door.
Wesley sent his brother an amused expression. “Because there’s so much trouble to be had at a remote hunting lodge.”
“First of all, that small castle is not just a hunting lodge.” Quinton returned the eye roll. “Second, never underestimate your ability to find trouble. It’s a lesson I’ve learned the hard way.”
“Is that so? Why doesn’t it surprise me that you’re calling it a lesson? Do you ever stop teaching, Professor Errington?”
“No. I had way too much practice being your conscience as a child.”
“With that, we’ll take our leave.” The Duke of Westmore grasped Wesley’s arm and tugged him to the door. “Enough,” he quipped.
Quinton watched as the men all filed out of the room, giving him firm handshakes and promises to keep an eye on his brother.
As the carriages rolled away, Quinton watched and considered how so much could change yet stay the same.
Growing up, he’d always known there was a difference between him and Wesley. One day, Wesley would be the duke. Oldest sons had a different destiny than those born after; it was an undeniable truth that had forged two sets of friends.
Those who would inherit…
And the younger brothers who would not, and in their turn would have to find their own way.
The world of thetonwas small, and if a person wasn’t known directly, he had at least been heard of. So when Quinton attended Cambridge to study, many faces had aligned with the names he had heard around the dinner table.
Wesley’s friends all had younger brothers, similar in age to Quinton. That was all the common ground the group needed, and they quickly fell into easy friendship.
It was those older brothers who now accompanied Wesley to his celebration of the last of his bachelor days.
Quinton walked back into the foyer, directing his steps toward the library. An edge of guilt tormented his mind as he considered that perhaps he should have gone with his brother, but he disregarded the nagging thought. He had a full day of lectures and classes to teach tomorrow.
He’d see his brother when he returned, maybe do something together then, just the two of them.
Yes.
Guilt appeased, he collected his lecture notes and began to study.
Never once considering that tomorrow would be too late.