Simon’s eyes narrowed. “You have always been jealous of me,” he spat out.
“I assure you that you are wrong about that.”
“I am the heir and soon all this will belong to me.” He tossed his hands up in the air, causing his drink to spill on the floor.
Corbyn frowned. “I am well aware of that, Brother.”
“You live in a dilapidated townhouse—”
“It is hardly dilapidated,” Corbyn argued, “and it is on the edge of the fashionable part of Town.”
Simon leaned towards him, his breath reeking of alcohol. “I have a beautiful wife, a fortune that I couldn’t spend in two lifetimes, and multiple estates.”
“I’m happy for you,” Corbyn replied. “Truly, I am.”
Reaching out, Simon placed his hand on Evan’s shoulder. “Everyone is envious of me,” he said firmly. “I will one day be the Duke of Weatherby.”
“Do you want people to be envious of you?”
“Yes!” Simon shouted. “I believe I deserve that.”
Corbyn shook his head. “I am not envious of you.”
“Why not?” Simon whined, dropping his hand to his side. “Why is everyone envious of me but you?”
“Because I know you.”
“What does that mean?” Simon asked with a bewildered look.
Corbyn put his hands up. “It doesn’t matter, because this is not the life that I want.”
“But everyone wants this life,” Simon declared.
“Not me.”
Simon scoffed. “Now you are just being ridiculous.”
“Your entire life is mapped out for you,” Corbyn said. “Whereas I have the freedom to do as I please, live as I please.”
“I do as I please,” Simon argued, lifting his chin up stubbornly.
“Not truly,” Corbyn replied. “You have a legacy that you must protect, and your days are filled with managing the duchy.”
“Don’t you care about a legacy?”
“I don’t.”
“You should.”
“Why is that?”
Simon took a long sip of his drink, then said, “Regardless, I’m afraid it matters not. It would appear that you might have this life after all, considering my wife hates me.”
“Catherine doesn’t hate you,” Corbyn attempted.
“Oh, she definitely hates me,” Simon scoffed, “and she intends to live apart from me.”
“Then go after her.”