Page 38 of On a Midsummer Night
As soon as the drawing room door shut, Aaron Ramsgate stalked to the fireplace, where he gripped the mantle with a hand.
“My God, you’re so much like him.”
Henry slowly shook his head. “And I was thinking the same of you both.”
“I haven’t seen him in almost thirty years, and I knew you were his son as soon as I saw you.” Andrew sank into an armchair, propping his elbow on the armrest to massage his temple. “What a bastard.”
Henry flinched, and Beth reached out to grab his arm as Andrew looked up. He frowned, and he held up a hand. “Not you, Henry.Him.”
“The only bastard in this conversation is our father.” Aaron propped his arm on the mantle and stared into the empty grate. “Is it true it was a deathbed confession?”
“It was.” Henry stripped off his dress coat and hung it over a chair back. “I was called to return to London from Bristol”—his eyes briefly held hers—“and learned the awful truth moments before he . . . before he . . . passed away.”
Aaron and Andrew were quiet, the air thick with all the words they didn’t say. The clock on the desk had ticked a handful of seconds when Aaron cleared his throat.
“Did he tell you why he did it?”
“He said he was in love with my mother.” Henry fixed his gaze on his feet. “But then he disclosed how she was not his only wife.”
Aaron cursed under his breath, but it was Andrew’s hoarse voice that said, “What did he say then?”
“He said that Ariana and I weren’t his only children.” Henry dragged a hand down his face. “That he had two other sons, Aaron and Andrew, whom he left behind in Lancashire—”
“He didn’t leave us behind,” Aaron snarled. “Heabandonedus.”
“Yes, he did,” Henry said simply.
His eldest brother pushed off from the mantle and moved closer. “Did he instruct you to find us?”
“No,” Henry whispered with a shake of his head.
Andrew leaned forward in his seat, his brows pulled low. “Did he tell you to leave useverything?”
“No.”
Beth’s vision blurred as she studied her soon-to-be husband. Despite his ramrod-straight spine and stoic mien, she knew this conversation was like a million tiny cuts flaying him alive. Yet he did not shy from it, for his brothers needed the closure as much as he did. And while his father had evaded the idea of such a conversation, Henry was no such coward.
“Why did you do it, then?” Aaron’s hands were curled into fists. “Why did you surrender his entire fortune?”
“Because it was never mine in the first place.” Henry’s shoulders sank. “Because in the years he should have been your father, he was mine instead.”
The pair hesitated.
“It was . . . hard. I was so angry that I didn’t even search for him when I could.” Andrew braced his elbows on his knees and gripped his head in his hands. “The worst was seeing how he broke our mother’s heart.”
Henry’s throat bobbed as he sank into a chair. “As he broke my mother’s.”
The three men stared at each other, so alike and yet so different. Aaron and Andrew’s bond was apparent in the gazes they traded, their unspoken communication obvious but indecipherable. In comparison, Henry was the outsider, intent on atoning for a sin that was not his own. Unwilling to watch his silent sacrifice, Beth placed a hand on his shoulder. It suddenly felt important that Henry knew she was there. That he was not weathering this emotional storm by himself. She would stand by his side for this squall and every one to come, for she knew he would do the same for her.
The quick kiss he bussed to the back of her hand spoke of his gratitude.
“Henry,” Andrew began, rubbing his hands down his thighs, “the reason we’ve wanted to meet with you is twofold. One is Ariana—”
“What about her?” Henry snapped, his expression thunderous.
Beth spied a shade of amusement around Aaron’s mouth.
Andrew relaxed into his chair, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “We’ve heard she’s studying at a music conservatory in Austria. Is that true?”
