was just using him to get back at me. He’d never been with a girl before, either. You’ve seen what a wreck he is right now. Can you imagine how bad it would be if he knew?”
He was sick at his stomach just thinking of it.
Regan picked up the sugar bowl, sweetened her cup. “If I were you, I’d tell him. Then I’d punch him in the face for fucking my girlfriend the day I’d broken up with her. Would do him a world of good.”
“I would never—”
Regan leaned forward. “Do you want to know why he behaves like he does? I’ll tell you whether you do or not.”
She sipped her tea, set her cup down. Despite himself, he leaned forward in his chair.
Regan continued, “Until you’ve fought, you can’t make up, can you? What do you think he’s been doing when he goes drinking and whoring and brawling outside pubs at four in the morning? He’s trying to pick a fight with you. One good row would clear the air. Instead of treating him like a poor wounded lamb, a victim, treat him like a man, like an equal. Call him out. Have a duel. Bloody his nose at the very least, and you’ll have your brother back.”
“Physically assault my own brother? You don’t know anything about it, anything about us. You don’t know anything about my family.”
She sat back in her chair, arms crossed over her chest, legs crossed, everything crossed as if to X him out. “I don’t know anything about your family?”
“Your turn in the dock. What did the Godwicks ever do to you, Regan? Steal your parking space? Outbid you on some priceless painting? Or are you pissed that Mum married a man with a title and money like you did, except she’s happy and you’re a miserable b—”
“Bitch?”
“Widow. I was going to say a miserable bitter widow.”
She narrowed her eyes at him.
“Enjoy Lord Malcolm,” Arthur said. “I hope he’s as fun to have in your bedroom as I was.”
He tossed the linen napkin on the table and stood up, started to leave.
“You want to know what your family did to me?” she said, freezing him in place. She met his eyes. “Do you know the name Hannah Howell-Griffiths?”
He furrowed his brow. “Hannah? Your mother?”
“Right. My mother. And you selfish, entitled bastards killed her.”
Arthur’s blood went cold. He couldn’t feel his feet. Everything in him wanted to deny what she said, what she was about to say…but he could see that, whether it was true or not, Regan wasn’t lying. She believed it.
“There’s a letter,” she said, “in the top of my desk. You’ll know it when you see it. It’s been read a billion times. It’s got my name on the envelope. Bring it out here.”
He stared at her a moment longer, but then did as she said.
In her office he went straight to the desk, opened the drawer and there it was—a plain white envelope with Regan written on it in a woman’s shaky hand.
The urge to tear open the envelope and read the letter was almost overwhelming but he carried it back to her.
She pointed at the chair. He sat down again.
He thought he’d die in those five seconds it took for Regan to slip the letter out and unfold it.
“My Darling Regan,” she read, her voice steady but cold.
You’re too young to understand what’s happening right now. I need to tell you a few things before I’m gone. My own mother died when I was about your age, and every unanswered question in my heart is an open wound.
It’s no one’s fault that I have cancer. I was dealt a bad hand of cards just like my own mother. That’s life, I’m afraid, and a lesson you need to learn. But I also want you to know that I did literally everything I could to save myself so I could watch you grow up. I’m afraid “literally everything” won’t be enough.
Regan cleared her throat.
There is a clinical trial in America for people with my sort of cancer. I was accepted into the trial, but as it’s in New York, I needed money for the airfare and a few months of funds to cover a long recovery. We didn’t have it, not even close enough to get me halfway there. Desperate, I went to see Lord Arthur Godwick—
“I never—”
“I know she means your grandfather, not you.”
“Sorry. Go on,” he said.
…I went to see Lord Arthur Godwick who my father told me on