“No. It was bad, but I’ve seen worse.”
Ethan nodded and took the half-empty bottle of gin. “We lost Nelson.” He poured the remains of the gin in a glass.
“I was on the Victory when it happened,” Alex said, keeping his eyes closed. He saw it clearly in his mind. “I helped carry him to the cockpit and was with him at the last.” He opened his eyes and saw Ethan staring at him. “Do you know, his last words were not about the battle. His last words were about his mistress. He whispered her name before he closed his eyes.”
Ethan glanced sharply at Alex, eyes narrowing. Alex looked away. Through the immense French windows of the library, he saw the sun was shining and that spring had arrived in the form of small flowers dotting the rolling hills of Hampshire. But he registered none of it. His thoughts were on Trafalgar—Nelson lying in the cockpit, blood pooling around him, his anguished voice whispering the name of his love.
“I hear that De´charne´ was found a few weeks ago with his throat slit. Would you know anything about that?” Ethan sipped his drink.
“Bastard deserved to die after what he did to Henri. I had to go back to France anyway.”
Ethan nodded, and Alex knew he understood, would have done the same.
“It was dangerous to go back to France.”
Alex shrugged. “Marie was still there.”
Ethan’s jaw tightened visibly. “That little French maid I saw in your foyer? She’s a bit young for you, Alex.”
“She’s not for me. She’s for Lucia.” Alex scowled at the hitch in his voice on her name. Why could he not move past this?
“For Lucia?” Ethan sounded as though he was being careful to keep his voice neutral. “I hardly think that’s the sort of girl she’d employ.”
“She asked for her when we were in Calais. I went back to Madame Loinger’s and bought her.”
“Good God, Alex!” Ethan almost spilled his gin.
“What are you going to do with her now? You cannot send her to Lucia.”
“I realize that now, brother,” Alex spat. “But I wasn’t thinking clearly at the time. I’m sure Dandridge won’t approve of Marie, but by the time I thought of that it was too late.”
“Dandridge? Don’t you ever read your mail?” Ethan gestured to Alex’s large mahogany desk, now covered with letters and papers.
“No.” Alex lifted another bottle and drank its scant contents.
“Lucia is not married.”
Alex sat up too quickly, and his head spun. “I don’t believe that. I told her to marry him.” His heart began pounding, and he dropped the bottle of gin.
Ethan smiled. “And has she ever listened to you in the past? She didn’t marry Dandridge. She cried off, and it was the scandal of the Season, which you would have known had you had opened your mail.” Alex tried to organize his thoughts, tried to take in his brother’s words. Lucia wasn’t married. She was free.
He had to go to her. He could get her back. He could . . .
He sat back and picked up his bottle again. No. Ethan was staring at him, had, no doubt, seen everything all too clearly. “You’re in love with her, aren’t you?”
Alex drank, very deliberately, from the bottle. “I don’t fall in love.”
Ethan scowled. “Clearly you have.”
“It’ll pass.”
Ethan gave a bitter laugh. “Take it from me, brother. It won’t pass. Give in, and make the best of it.”
“No. I’ll not play the fool.”
Ethan stared at him. “The fool? What are you . . .”
Then he paused, looking at Alex long and hard. “This is about your father, isn’t it?”
