Having been the recipient of that sharp look more times than he cared to remember, Sebastian attempted to deflect it by turning away.
Rushton grasped his arm. “What is the matter with you?”
“Something must be the matter because I don’t care to marry an insipid debutante?”
“You used to chase insipid debutantes,” Rushton snapped. “And since returning from Weimar, you’ve been sullen as a whipped dog. I refuse to have people talk about what a bad-mannered malingerer you’ve become.”
“You refuse to have people talk about anything,” Sebastian said, yanking his arm from his father’s grip. “You’ve become worse than Alexander, though at least he managed to avoid scandal.”
He braced himself for his father’s anger, but Rushton only shook his head.
“Alexander escaped scandal because of Lydia.”
“He wouldn’t have courted scandal if he hadn’t met Lydia,” Sebastian retorted, then swallowed hard against the shame filling his throat.
He’d been the one to encourage Alexander’s interest in the brilliant, beautiful mathematician—the rest of the world be damned. He’d known his brother needed someone like Lydia, and the fact that Alexander and Lydia had emerged from potential scandal unscathed—not to mention ridiculously happy—was more than a testament to the strength of their relationship. It was a goddamn miracle.
A strange tightness wound through Sebastian’s chest. He wanted to walk away from his father, but a cluster of people blocked the doorway of the ballroom. The musicians began a cotillion that sounded unpleasant and reedy. He flexed his hand, rubbing his thumb against his crooked finger and the scar that curled over his palm.
“Alexander found the right woman for him,” Rushton said. “A woman who made him better than he was, who made him a better man. I suggest you do the same.”
“As you did?” A red, caustic note colored Sebastian’s voice. He wished his father would flare with anger, give him an adversary against which to battle. Instead a dark emotion suffused Rushton’s eyes as he stared at the twirling couples on the dance floor.
“No,” he replied, his neck cording with tension. “Not as I did. Your mother didn’t care what people thought, and she didn’t care how her decisions affected others.”
He gave a bitter laugh and took a swallow of his drink. “Hell, in the end, she didn’t even care about her family, did she?”
Sebastian couldn’t disagree. No one had heard from the former Countess of Rushton, who had disgraced their family by having an affair with a Russian soldier. After Rushton divorced her, she had fled England and her children to live in sin with her lover. No one knew where she was now.
The woman was dead as far as Alexander was concerned. The earl hadn’t spoken of her in the years following the divorce, not until now. All traces of her were long gone from every property in Rushton’s domain. Talia no longer mentioned her. Nicholas…well, no one ever knew where his loyalties lay, except perhaps Darius, but the distance of oceans had long separated the twins.
Sebastian wondered if his brothers and sister thought of their mother anymore. Almost three years later, he was still twisting the thing around and around in his mind, like unraveling a knotted ball of twine. He would never have expected such betrayal from his mother, who had seemed both faultless and distant.
The countess—indeed, the earl as well—had left the rearing of their five children to nurses and governesses before sending the boys off to school. Nothing about the utter correctness of their upbringing and their parents’ marriage had prepared the Hall children for the consequences of their mother’s affair and the subsequent divorce.
Catherine, Countess of Rushton, had been possessed of a lovely perfection that one could gaze upon but never touch. She’d been like a window decorated with spangles and curls of ice, cold against one’s fingertips, impenetrable.
Except for when she played the piano.
“Find a woman who is the opposite of your mother,” Rushton said, “and you’ll begin your marriage on a far stronger foundation than I did.”
When Sebastian didn’t respond, Rushton stepped closer, his mouth compressing. “In fact, Bastian, I suggest you seriously consider my words. Do not think I’m averse to withholding your allowance, or indeed, even your inheritance, should you continue following this ignominious path on which you have embarked.”
Rushton turned and strode toward the card room. Sebastian smothered a flare of anger, hating that his father’s threat could affect him now. Five months ago, he’d have laughed and gone off to flirt with any woman, respectable or not, who happened to catch his eye. Nothing