Page 26 of Love Denied

He sat down and pulled the chair closer to the desk. Where to start? Reaching for the brandy, he poured two fingers and tossed back the contents, the slow burn pooling comfortably in his stomach. He refilled his glass and stared at the stack of books, moving the lantern to better read the titles. It was a varied and extensive collection of law books and treatises.Commentaries on the Laws of England. Considerations on Criminal Law.A General Introduction to the Common, Civil, and Canon Law in Three Parts.He tapped each title as he read it. Had Daniel been trying to discern a legal issue? Had he been in some sort of trouble? Nicholas dismissed the thought immediately. Daniel was no rebel or criminal. Perhaps an estate issue?

Nicholas sipped the second drink, the fine cognac warming his blood, while he sifted through the mounds of paper. Separating renter needs from bill collection requests, he wondered how all these receipts were now so long overdue. He recognized some of the renter names from his day’s ride around the estate. It was clear they had not exaggerated the neglect.

Finally, satisfied that the notes were at least haphazardly organized, he leaned back, running his hands through his hair. When had first light begun? He gazed around the room. It would take more than one foray to fully sort the mess. He pushed back the chair. Perhaps he should go see if Catherine remembered the night? If she felt as uncontrollably drawn to him as he was to her?

When he turned, his leg hit a handle on the right side of the desk. Running a soothing hand over his knee, he opened the offending drawer. Stacks of envelopes, tied neatly in red ribbons, lay in an orderly fashion. They looked far too personal for him to deal with right now. He only wanted to return upstairs and pick up where he’d left off. He was about to shut the drawer when he registered the address sticking out to the left of the ribbon.To Nicholas.Bloody hell! He slammed the drawer shut, his stomach lurching.

He’d spent the last few days despising Daniel, yet here was evidence that Daniel had thought of him. That he’d reached out to him. Written to him. Why had he not sent them? Nicholas rested his head in his hands, massaging his temples. Was he meant to read them? Did he even want to know Daniel’s thoughts, what he wanted to say to Nicholas? His breathing filled the room, whispering back at him, as he struggled to gain control of his emotions.

Could he ever fully embrace Catherine without understanding what the hell had happened while he’d been on the continent? Despite the fact that he would hate every revelation, he needed to know. Maybe there was no depth to the missives. Perhaps they were as light and playful as Daniel had always been. Would that not also provide comfort?

He pulled open the drawer and took out the first stack of letters. He picked at the frayed edge, and his heart sank as the ribbon unwound and fell to the desk.To Nicholas Sinclair.March 7, 1808.He traced Daniel’s handwriting before sifting through the pile. He noted that the top date was the earliest. The remainder of the letters were dated later and in sequence. He pushed the drawer closed, gently this time, and stared at the envelope. He ran his hands through his hair, tugging the ends, the pain keeping him focused on this moment, this decision. He could easily take them upstairs to the fire. He was under no obligation to read them.

He grabbed the knife, broke the seal, and carefully unfolded the paper.

My Dearest Brother,

It has been a month since we last talked, yet it feels an eternity. How is it I did not appreciate you when you were here? Truly, it encapsulates my selfishness. Father is badgering me to be the man you are. I fear I cannot be that man. Will never be that man. In truth, I’m not sure I want to be. It seems to me there is far too much weight upon the shoulders of a man who takes command.

The remainder spoke of the demands of the estate and the continuing impatience of his father. Nothing surprising in any of it. Nicholas tore open the next letter.

I am humbled by all you do. By all you are. I sit here, a prince in the making, knowing I am unworthy of royal velvets. I am cloaked in deceit. No one will want me near. I am a fraud. And you, my dearest brother, will hate me most of all. You are good and strong and true. I am none of those things. Please forgive me.

Nicholas let the letter fall to his lap. He had not known his brother to be insecure. What had happened in Nicholas’s absence that had made Daniel judge himself so harshly? He was the more carefree of the two of them. Had Father pressed him so hard? Had he belittled him to the point of depression? His sire had always been a demanding ass.

Picking up the letter, Nicholas quickly finished it and grabbed several more. Reluctantly, he opened the last one from the first bundle and stared at his name on the envelope, pausing on the date script.April 4, 1811. A year before Daniel’s death. Nicholas’s brother had written these. To him. He raised the envelope to his nose. It smelled of paper. What had he expected? That he could smell Daniel? Irritated with the whimsical notion, Nicholas ripped open the packet.

My Dearest Brother,

While I know you fight the enemy and live a life of strife and woe, I cannot help but want to tell you my news. I am in love. Oh, I find I must repeat that. I—am—in—love. It is true. Your brother, Daniel Sinclair, Viscount Walford, someday Earl of Woodfield, is head over heels in love!

I will not bore you with the details, but suffice it to say I am excited, enthralled, and absolutely 100 percent enamored. It is the oddest thing. It has been right beneath my nose the entire time. Someone familiar has turned into the most exquisite, enticing person I have ever met. It is difficult for me to remember my manners and keep my hands to myself! Newfound love in old places. Who would have thought it?

Nicholas crumpled the letter. He could read no more. Daniel had fallen for Catherine. And Catherine had agreed to be Daniel’s wife. It would seem their love had been reciprocal. Nicholas was a fool. He snuffed the candle and stomped from the room, running up the stairs that were now clearly visible. He entered his chamber and dressed quickly. Blast his romantic intentions! Confound the bloody war! Curse his love for Catherine! She had given her heart to another. They had both been damned by life’s interfering circumstance.

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