and will reside here for the rest of my life. I have no obligations which could take me away from England, perhaps permanently. Can you make the same claim?”
Quentin’s gut twisted, his brother’s intimation striking home.
“ ‘Tis no secret that Brandice adores you, Quentin.” Seizing the opportunity, Desmond pressed his advantage. “She always has. In all ways but blood, you’re a revered older brother. But I cannot permit you to use that affection in a manner which could cause her pain.”
“And how would I accomplish that?”
“By lulling her into a false sense of security. By encouraging her to depend upon you, leading her to believe you’re home to stay, then deserting her the moment the military summons you: journeying to God knows where, putting your life in jeopardy, and perchance snatching away one of Brandice’s final remaining constants.”
“You make it sound as if I intend to willingly embrace death, arms open wide. I assure you, I don’t.”
“Embrace it, no. But the very nature of your career commands that you live, day by day, at the heart of battle. Can you honestly claim you aren’t perpetually at risk? Can you guarantee your safe return?”
A muscle worked in Quentin’s throat. “You know I can’t. But, Desmond, after seeing the way our parents’ lives were snuffed out, can you really claim that the life of a duke holds guarantees? Can you truly promise Brandi forever?”
“Perhaps not. But the odds of survival are far better as a landowner than as an army captain. And, even excluding the possibility of death, your career is abroad, Quentin, not in England. Your presence in the Cotswolds will always be temporary. How much security will that offer Brandice?”
Something inside Quentin snapped. “Is all this concern for Brandi stemming from the fact that you’re her newly appointed guardian?”
“No, all this concern for Brandice is because I intend to become her husband.”
Quentin had thought himself prepared for precisely this response.
He wasn’t.
“Brandi’s husband,” he reiterated, the words burning like bile in his throat. “Interesting that she never mentioned your betrothal to me. Tell me, how does she feel about becoming your wife?”
“I can only surmise.” Desmond’s expression was the epitome of candor. “I hadn’t the chance to offer for her before Ardsley’s cruel and unexpected death. But if you’re asking if Brandice cares for me, I believe the answer is yes. I also believe that had tragedy—and your homecoming—not intervened, Brandice’s and my betrothal would be an imminent reality.”
Quentin gripped the arms of his chair. “I can understand how the accident would deter your plans. But my homecoming? How does that interfere?”
“That’s a particularly stupid question, Quentin.” Desmond’s tone was bitter. “As we just discussed, Brandice’s affection for you is undeniable. Equally undeniable is your, shall we say, less than enthusiastic opinion of me. It stands to reason that Brandice would be negatively swayed by your sentiments.”
“Not if her feelings for you are as strong as you’ve implied,” Quentin refuted.
“You underestimate your influence over her. Nevertheless, that is not the point. The point is that I will not stand by, as Brandice’s guardian, and allow you to build up her hopes, then dash them.”
“How noble. So what do you suggest? That I have nothing to do with Brandi while I’m in England? That I wipe out a lifetime of friendship in order to deter any feelings of dependence?”
“Of course not. I’m merely asking that you emphasize the temporary nature of your stay. And the brotherly nature of your feelings.”
A caustic smile. “And the pure, untainted nature of yours?”
Desmond inhaled sharply. “I don’t need you to plead my case, Quentin. What exists between Brandice and me will flourish on its own—so long as no one interferes.”
An icy chill blanketed Quentin’s heart. “Do
Quentin’s gut twisted, his brother’s intimation striking home.
“ ‘Tis no secret that Brandice adores you, Quentin.” Seizing the opportunity, Desmond pressed his advantage. “She always has. In all ways but blood, you’re a revered older brother. But I cannot permit you to use that affection in a manner which could cause her pain.”
“And how would I accomplish that?”
“By lulling her into a false sense of security. By encouraging her to depend upon you, leading her to believe you’re home to stay, then deserting her the moment the military summons you: journeying to God knows where, putting your life in jeopardy, and perchance snatching away one of Brandice’s final remaining constants.”
“You make it sound as if I intend to willingly embrace death, arms open wide. I assure you, I don’t.”
“Embrace it, no. But the very nature of your career commands that you live, day by day, at the heart of battle. Can you honestly claim you aren’t perpetually at risk? Can you guarantee your safe return?”
A muscle worked in Quentin’s throat. “You know I can’t. But, Desmond, after seeing the way our parents’ lives were snuffed out, can you really claim that the life of a duke holds guarantees? Can you truly promise Brandi forever?”
“Perhaps not. But the odds of survival are far better as a landowner than as an army captain. And, even excluding the possibility of death, your career is abroad, Quentin, not in England. Your presence in the Cotswolds will always be temporary. How much security will that offer Brandice?”
Something inside Quentin snapped. “Is all this concern for Brandi stemming from the fact that you’re her newly appointed guardian?”
“No, all this concern for Brandice is because I intend to become her husband.”
Quentin had thought himself prepared for precisely this response.
He wasn’t.
“Brandi’s husband,” he reiterated, the words burning like bile in his throat. “Interesting that she never mentioned your betrothal to me. Tell me, how does she feel about becoming your wife?”
“I can only surmise.” Desmond’s expression was the epitome of candor. “I hadn’t the chance to offer for her before Ardsley’s cruel and unexpected death. But if you’re asking if Brandice cares for me, I believe the answer is yes. I also believe that had tragedy—and your homecoming—not intervened, Brandice’s and my betrothal would be an imminent reality.”
Quentin gripped the arms of his chair. “I can understand how the accident would deter your plans. But my homecoming? How does that interfere?”
“That’s a particularly stupid question, Quentin.” Desmond’s tone was bitter. “As we just discussed, Brandice’s affection for you is undeniable. Equally undeniable is your, shall we say, less than enthusiastic opinion of me. It stands to reason that Brandice would be negatively swayed by your sentiments.”
“Not if her feelings for you are as strong as you’ve implied,” Quentin refuted.
“You underestimate your influence over her. Nevertheless, that is not the point. The point is that I will not stand by, as Brandice’s guardian, and allow you to build up her hopes, then dash them.”
“How noble. So what do you suggest? That I have nothing to do with Brandi while I’m in England? That I wipe out a lifetime of friendship in order to deter any feelings of dependence?”
“Of course not. I’m merely asking that you emphasize the temporary nature of your stay. And the brotherly nature of your feelings.”
A caustic smile. “And the pure, untainted nature of yours?”
Desmond inhaled sharply. “I don’t need you to plead my case, Quentin. What exists between Brandice and me will flourish on its own—so long as no one interferes.”
An icy chill blanketed Quentin’s heart. “Do
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