“I imagine ye resent me. If our father had never claimed me, ye would now be the duke.”
Pierce laughed at that. “I never wanted the title.” His tone was matter-of-fact. “Look how bloody miserable it made our father.”
That was true enough.
“Now the fortune, I’d be a liar to say I would not like as much of that as possible.”
“At least ye’re honest,” Asher said, glad he had chosen to be blunt, and that Pierce was doing the same.
Pierce shrugged and then offered a smirk. “I do not possess many envious qualities anymore, but I have managed to hold on to my honesty.”
Was Pierce referring to the drinking and gambling? “Pierce—”
“I suppose you will want me out of the house immediately,” Pierce cut in, draining the remaining contents of his glass and then slamming it down on the desk.
“This is yer home, too, Pierce.”
“You should call me Talbot,” Pierce said, peering past Asher as if there were more to see than the wall. “Father always did, as if he did not know my Christian name. I asked him about it once, and he told me I was lucky to have his surname Talbot. He said—” Pierce paused, but did not look at Asher “—he said, given how disappointing I was, that if I had not been born a Talbot, I would be of no consequence whatsoever.”
Damn their father. “Pierce,” Asher started, but Pierce kept talking.
“You’ll find it hard enough to fill Father’s shoes, I’m certain. Perhaps if you act like him, thetonwill be more forgiving of you.”
Asher pressed his lips together, thinking on how to comment. Pierce had just revealed something very personal, but Asher didn’t get the feeling his brother wanted him to comment. So, instead, he said, “Ye think people will hold it against me that I’m half-Scot?”
Pierce snorted. “Of course, they will. It’s the bloodyton. They’ll smile to your face but stick a knife in your back when you turn it.”
“I suppose I should never turn it, then,” Asher replied. He was struck, as he had been when he’d first visited five years ago, by how difficult it must have been to grow up here. His own childhood had been difficult, thinking himself a bastard and carrying that stigma for years, but at least the friends he’d had were true ones. And his mother had loved him. Pierce’s mother had died when he was young, and clearly their father had not been warm.
Pierce frowned before raking his fingers through his hair. “It will be difficult, but Father managed it winningly. Of course, he was superior to us all, as he told me often.”
Asher felt a pang of sorrow for his brother. He was obviously struggling, though to say so would undoubtedly make things worse than they already were. Pierce’s eyes met Asher’s. “Do you think he left me much? Perhaps a bit of unentailed property?”
Pierce was worried, as Asher had suspected he might be. He had grown up knowing nothing but luxury. It wouldn’t kill him to know hunger, to have to strive for what he had. It hadn’t killed Asher. Hell, he was proud that everything he had thus far he had earned, built, and sustained by wit and determination. And that pride was what had made it so hard to come here and accept money and land he’d done nothing for. But he’d done so for the sake of his employees and his company. Just because he was prideful didn’t mean he was a fool.
A knock came at the half-open study door before Asher could assure Pierce he’d not let him starve. Asher looked over to see the footman, Beers, standing at the entrance. “Your Grace, Mr. Benedict is here.”
“Show him to the study, please.”
With a nod, Beers departed, and the moment his footfalls no longer echoed in the hall outside Asher’s office door, Pierce said, “A duke does not say ‘please’ to a footman.”
“This duke does,” Asher replied.
“They’ll laugh behind your back if you act like a commoner.”
Asher shrugged. He knew by “they” Pierce was referring to theton, Pierce’s set.Guinevere’s set. False people. Asher did not consider himself one of them, though he knew technically he was. “Ye assume I care, but I don’t.”
“How nice to have such a luxury,” Pierce replied. The envy in his voice was unmistakable.
“Ye’ve the luxury, too, Pierce. It’s a choice not to care.”
“A choice for one who knows he’s about to be incredibly wealthy,” Pierce replied, his tone tight.
“Your Grace,” came Beers’s voice once more before Asher could reply to Pierce.
The footman appeared in the doorway again, but now there was a short man with dark cropped hair, glasses, and an observant expression on his face. The man looked from Pierce to Asher as Beers announced him. Once the introduction was over, Asher waved his father’s—and, he supposed, nowhis—solicitor into the room and to a chair.
“Your Grace, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I’ve heard a great deal about you over the years.”
