open the one beneath it. Inside, a large book rested on top of loose papers.
Graham lifted out the leather-bound volume. The expert embossing adorning the cover reminded him of his father’s ledger book. Memories of his father sitting at this very desk flooded his mind. He placed the book on the desk and lifted the cover. But William’s writing, not his father’s, covered the pages. Numbers. Figures. Names.
He flipped the parchment pages and skimmed the information. Never would he have guessed that such large sums of money flowed in and out of the estate. As he browsed the columns of more recent pages, it appeared that much more was streaming out than came in. He read down the list of names. James Creighton. Ernest Timmer. Who were they?
The nameless horse let out a loud whinny as raucous laughter wafted in from the front drive. Graham jerked his head up and slammed the book closed. William. He stuffed the book in the drawer and within seconds was out of the library and walking into the brisk afternoon air.
“There you are. I thought—”
Graham stopped short. William’s bloodshot eyes glowed against his pale skin. A lopsided smile slid across his unshaven face. The smell of spirits drifted on the wind.
William piped a lazy laugh. He slipped from his horse’s back, stumbling as his boots hit the ground. He patted at the horse. The animal sidestepped as William leaned his weight against the saddle.
Two mounted men accompanied William. They snickered, as if amused at their comrade’s difficulty in the simple task of dismounting. From their slack posture and the disheveled state of their attire, Graham assumed they were involved in whatever his brother had been up to.
Graham grabbed the horse’s bridle to steady the animal and waited for an explanation.
William giggled like a child as he found his footing and then straightened in an obvious attempt to hide the extent of his altered state.
“Gentlemen, meet my esteemed brother, Captain Graham Canton Sterling.” William flung a wobbly arm in Graham’s general direction. “He is the man defending the Crown while you and I keep commerce afloat on this hallowed isle.” Then, in a sudden burst of amusement, he thrust his fist into the air in mock triumph. “Hail, the conquering hero!”
The men dissolved in laughter. William crumpled to the ground, still chortling hysterically.
Graham’s nostrils flared at the blatant disrespect. On more than one occasion he’d come close to losing his life, and dozens of times he’d watched while men perished—all in pursuit of “defending the Crown.”
Graham pitched William’s horse’s reins to the stable boy who had come round. He stepped into No-Name’s stirrup and swung his leg over the saddle. He would not stay and watch this ridiculous display of intemperance. He didn’t tolerate it in his crew, and he certainly wouldn’t stand by and watch it in his own brother.
By the time William noticed his brother wasn’t laughing, Graham had already circled No-Name around and was headed in the opposite direction. “Where you going?” William bellowed.
Graham ignored the jeers but did not attempt to hide his anger. How exactly was William keeping “commerce afloat”? He would reprimand his brother if he thought it would do any good. He’d pull him down from the horse and force him to listen, but to what end?
Graham clenched his jaw. He’d spent too many years in similar fashion. The price had been significant. By God’s grace he had been able to conquer the vice of drink, but it appeared that William followed their father’s footsteps in more ways than one.
He urged the horse into a canter and followed the tree line of Eastmore Wood. What he would give to be at sea again. The seafaring life held danger, true, especially in times of war, but at least on a ship he knew his place. His role. He knew who he was and where he belonged.
Being in Darbury reminded him of his childhood, which he wanted to forget, and Katherine, who would never be his again. Why would he ever want to stay here?
But as quickly as the thought entered his head, another thought, equally as persuasive, accompanied it.
Now the shore held Lucy. His Lucy. And Miss Amelia Barrett.
Amelia awoke with a start to the sound of shouting.
She threw off the thick quilt and paused, allowing her eyes a moment to adjust to the dying fire’s faint light. She held her breath and listened.
Deep voices sounded from somewhere inside Winterwood’s stone walls. She stood up and grabbed her dressing