Page 86 of Rules for Heiresses
“No, I envied you.” Stinson did not look up. “Because clearly, you’re the better choice…the better duke. The better brother, son, everything.”
Courtland sighed. “I am neither better nor lesser, Stinson. I’m just a man, trying to exist on his own terms. Trying to survive. I’ve done ruthless things and I have some regrets, but even the worst missteps take us to where we need to be.”
“Do you truly believe that?” Stinson murmured.
“I do.” He frowned, staring at his brother as something occurred to him. “I have one question. Why didn’t you and the marchioness go to the courts after seven years? You could have declared me dead and that would have been the end of it.”
“Grandfather forbade it,” he said.
Surprise flooded Courtland as Stinson continued. “He didn’t care what I called myself, or the charades my mother insisted on, but she didn’t dare defy him. He was still powerful in the Lords. She’d hoped to do it somehow after he died.” He exhaled. “But then you came back.”
“He wouldn’t have if he hadn’t married me,” Ravenna said. “But everything happens for a reason. The dukedom was never yours, Stinson.”
“I know,” he whispered.
Courtland pinched his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “I’d have much preferred to have my brother”—he glanced at Bronwyn—“and my sisters than any empty title.”
Bronwyn’s eyes glittered with tears, and Courtland could feel his own eyes smarting. How was it that something like this could tear families apart? It was just like money, he supposed.
“Do you think you could ever forgive me?” Stinson’s strangled plea was barely audible.
Courtland clenched his jaw so tightly his teeth hurt.Couldhe forgive Stinson? Could he let go of the hopelessness and anger that had driven him all these years? It had become such an ingrained part of him—the burning flame that had kept him soldiering on to build his fortune, to insulate himself from anyone who sought to tear him down. But things had changed. Courtland glanced up at his wife.Hehad changed.
“You destroyed my life once, and those actions are on you.” He let out a heavy exhale. “You have to come to terms with what you did. Those demons are yours, they were never mine, and you have to do the work to be a better man. That said, I wouldn’t be who I’ve become, the duke my wife believes me to be, if I didn’t try to lead by example. I’m your elder brother, after all.” He reached up to grasp Ravenna’s fingers. “Are you willing to swear your account to the police and incriminate Sommers for his part in the deception?”
“Yes, I will.”
Courtland’s relief was tangible.
“And there’s proof,” Stinson added. “Sommers told me where his warehouse is. You’ll find more of those crates with undeclared goods, enough to implicate him at least.”
“That’s good.” Courtland breathed out. “As far as my forgiveness, that will take time. I can’t promise anything, but I’m willing to try.”
“Thank you.” Stinson’s suspiciously bright gaze panned to his sister. “You were right. I am sorry.”
“I knew a better man was inside you somewhere.” Bronwyn nodded, a small smile gracing her lips. “You can go now. I’ll finish up here, but when I return, we need to talk to Florence. Mama is probably a lost cause, but I refuse to stand by and let our younger sister become twisted by lies.”
Courtland watched in disbelief as his slip of a sister shot the brother that was several years her senior an uncompromising look, and hid his own proud smile. A dragon lurked beneath that demure exterior.
After Stinson took his leave, Bronwyn smiled at Ravenna. “Thank you for trusting me.” She held out the papers, closing the distance to the table. “This is for you.”
“What is it?”
“Consider it a belated wedding gift.” She gave a tiny shrug, her eyes meeting Ravenna’s and spiking Courtland’s curiosity. Why did it seem like they were conspiring? “Sorry it took so long. They were hidden away in Kettering, so I had to come up with a plausible story for my urgent return to Ashvale Park. As it turns out, one’s favorite pair of gloves is enough to convince my mother, apparently.” She wrinkled her nose with a disgusted look. “Anyway, this is a record of your birth, and your father’s marriage, given in trust to me by our grandfather before he died. He told me to keep them safe.”
In astonishment, Courtland glanced down at the documents, signed by the late duke and witnessed by several other names of peers he recognized as powerful men in the House of Lords. He sifted through them, spreading the pages out on the table’s surface. Beneath those was a portrait of…his mother. Ravenna’s fingers contracted on his shoulder, a soft gasp escaping her lips as she peered down.
Courtland’s heart expanded behind his ribs as his eyes took in the thick black hair he’d imagined—exactly like his only longer—the huge, dark eyes that shone with intensity and intelligence, and the full curve of the mouth he’d inherited. He’d always wondered what she looked like, and now, he knew. She was beautiful. Underneath the portrait was inscribed: Lady Annelise Chase, Marchioness of Borne. There were a few other letters and documents that seemed to be written in his father’s hand.
“I’m the damn duke,” Courtland murmured.
Bronwyn grinned. “You’re the damn duke.”
He opened his mouth to chide his little sister on her dreadful language but was drowned out by the sound of his wife’s earsplitting shriek. “Hell yes, he’s thedamnduke!”
“Wonderful,” he said drily. “Now there are two of you.”
But he couldn’t hold back his laughter or the storm of emotions that filled him to the brim. He was bracketed by two absolute and unapologetic hellions, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. He dragged a grinning Ravenna into his arms.
