Simon reached for his glass. “I tire of Beatrice,” he shared. “The more time we spend together, the more I know that we are ill-suited for one another.”
“I see.”
“My loneliness is entirely of my own doing,” Simon admitted. “I have spent the past few years doing whatever I pleased and lost track of who I truly am.”
“And who is that?”
Simon gulped down the rest of his drink and placed his glass down. “Frankly, I don’t know anymore.”
“You have time to make amends,” Corbyn encouraged.
“I’m afraid I don’t.”
Fearing he misheard his brother, he asked, “Pardon?”
His brother grew solemn. “The doctor informed me that my liver is failing.”
“Have you sought another opinion?”
Simon nodded. “I have spoken to more than ten doctors, and they all agree on one thing.”
“Which is?”
“I don’t have much time left,” he said quietly.
Corbyn felt like he had been punched in the gut. “Is that so?”
Simon rose and walked over to the fireplace. “It would appear that you will be the next Duke of Weatherby soon enough.”
“I have never aspired for that title.”
“And yet, it shall be yours.”
Corbyn sat back in his seat as he attempted to formulate his thoughts. “Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”
“I didn’t want to worry you unnecessarily.”
“You should have told me.”
“It wouldn’t have changed anything.”
Corbyn sighed. “You are right, of course.”
Simon placed his hands on the mantel and leaned in. “I find myself in the uncomfortable position of being envious of you.”
“In what way?”
A smile came to Simon’s lips. “You have a wife that adores you and three beautiful children.”
“You have three children, as well.”
His smile dimmed. “Besides being illegitimate, they barely tolerate me.”
“That can’t possibly be true.”
“Regardless, how is it possible that I, a duke, am jealous of my younger brother who lives in a townhouse small enough to fit inside one wing of my home?”
Corbyn placed his glass down. “Happiness does not come with our many possessions, but from within us.”