But it would be best to be prepared.
Just in case Erasmus was lurking about.
* * *
Ambrose putdown the bottle of wine as the shuffle of footsteps met his ears. For a moment, he thought it might be Jacinda. She liked to berate him about Theodosia around this time every evening. It had become something of a nightly ritual. But there’d been no thump of a cane. Nor was the tread heavy. So not Rolfe. Nor Mr. Henderson, though he did shuffle somewhat. The stale smell of brandy and unwashed clothing met his nose.
“Hello, Uncle.” Ambrose didn’t turn around. “Looking for coin? I was growing concerned that I’d have to fish your body out of the pond.”
A small, impotent whine came from behind him, and Ambrose turned, lifting his brow at the sight his uncle presented. Trembling. Half-drunk. Pistol quivering in one hand. Rather interesting. Eramus looked more likely to shoot his own foot off than Ambrose.
“Is that thing even loaded?” He took another swig from the bottle, nodding in the direction of the pistol.
Honestly, Haven hadn’t given his uncle much thought as of late, considering he had more important things on his mind, like how the fuck he was going to retrieve his wife. But when he did consider Erasmus, it was to remember the words his uncle had hurled at him when Haven had found him stealing for what seemed the hundredth time.
‘I know what you did.’
He hadn’t mistaken the words nor the hatred in them. It had given Ambrose something else to consider besides Theodosia.
“The pistol is loaded, you worthless whelp.” Erasmus raised his arm. “And I’m so close it’s unlikely I’ll miss.”
“Now, why would you want me dead, Uncle?” A ridiculous question. Ambrose was fairly sure he knew the answer.
“This is my home.” The pistol shook. “My estate. It shouldneverhave been yours to begin with. Now that you’ve married a fat Barrington dowry, I want it back.”
“That isn’t exactly how all this works, Uncle.” Ambrose took another lazy sip of his wine. “You reek of brandy, by the way.”
“I never cared for you in theleast, Ambrose. Or your tragically lame sister. I should have pushed the ladder harder. Now I’ll be stuck with Jacinda. Your wife will insist she be cared for. And I, her adoring uncle, will have to ensure she is comfortable.”
His fingers tightened on the bottle. The thought had crossed his mind that it had been Erasmus and not his father who had knocked Jacinda from the ladder, especially in light of recent considerations. Jacinda had said they’d both been in the library with her that day. But his father hadadmittedto accidentally pushing the ladder. And Erasmus had been stricken, according to Mrs. Henderson. All an act, that much was becoming clear. “My father—”
“Believed whatever I told him.” A smile crossed his uncle’s thin lips. “Poor Edmund was prone to blackouts when he had too much scotch. Made him forget all about how he gambled away the family fortune at Elysium. Couldn’t even recall that he went to London so often. Or that I did.”
Ambrose sucked in a breath. Impossible. How had Erasmus managed it?
I wasn’t here.
“You have no idea how wonderful it was to be addressedproperlyas the Marquess of Haven instead of as the brother no one remembered Edmund even had. When we were younger, your father and I used to change places all the time, and no one was the wiser. I learned to imitate him, you see. After a time, he didn’t care for it.” His brow furrowed. “Matilda knew after—well, after thatonetime. I don’t think she ever told Edmund.”
Christ.“You pretended to be my father withher. My mother.”
“I loved Matilda. I just wanted tobewith her. Once. He got to marry her. Sent me away because I loved her too. Incredibly unfair.”
Ambrose felt sick to the very bottom of his stomach. How had he never guessed? Never looked in his uncle’s direction? “You hated my father.”
“Soverymuch.” His uncle’s lips twitched to form a sneer. “Edmund took the title. Took Matilda. I was left withnothing. All because ofoneminute.” Spittle collected at his lips. “When she died trying to give that greedy prick another child, I knew it was finally time to act. Edmund was stricken with grief and guilt. I popped in every so often to commiserate with him. Help him through his sadness. Scotch helped. Gambling. Whores. The only thing we disagreed on was cards. I preferred dice.”
His uncle was insane. Not harmless. Or sweet. But completely mad. “It was you at Elysium. But why? Why would you beggar him? He gave you money. Supported you—”
“I finally decided that if I couldn’t have it, he shouldn’t either. And it was such delightful fun, Nephew. Spending your inheritance on whores and dice. The things they’ll allow at Elysium.” He smacked his lips. “I adored demanding Leo Murphy extend my...” A giggle. “Credit.” The pistol waved wildly. “I demand you extend my credit, Murphy,” Erasmus said in a voice sounding remarkably like Ambrose’s father. “You never guessed. You weren’t here. How did the streets treat you in Venice, Nephew?”
Ambrose glared at him. Erasmus had tried to have him killed. Hoped he was dead. And then Jacinda had had her accident. Perhaps he meant to kill them both. No one ever suspected Erasmus of doing anything other than being a sot. Not even his father. A forgotten piece of Collingwood history Ambrose had inherited along with Greenbriar, the title, and his father’s debts.How longhad Erasmus been slipping in and out of the estate pretending to be Edmund? How many of the servants had even known his father had a twin?
“You aren’t terrified of the ocean, are you? Nor seasick.”
“Not a bit. We went sailing as children once. I ate too many sweets and became ill. I let everyone believe it was the terror of the sea,” he thundered in an imperious voice, once more sounding like Ambrose’s father, “because I didn’t want to get in trouble. I never bothered to correct anyone. It was easier for everyone to assume I was weak.”
A terrible thought occurred to Ambrose. “Was it you I argued with that day, or my father?” It was that argument that had driven Ambrose from his home. Estranged him from his father. A relationship that had never been repaired. The pain and regret never left him.
