chance. Sir Humphrey was—” Will’s grip tightened around his pint “—ashamed of him. For being sick or maybe just because his father was a terrible person. But he never got to go to school and meet people of his own—” Will had nearly said of his own station but caught himself at the last moment. “He only had us. His aunt was hundreds of miles away. He has no connections and no money and it’s not fair to him that I’m the best he has. He doesn’t belong here in a drafty cottage with—with me, you know? He’s—he’s a baronet.”
Hartley’s eyes went as round as guinea pieces. “Which is . . . a good thing?”
“No, obviously.” Will’s face heated. “I mean, it’s terrible.” For God’s sake, he had written a dozen screeds on the uselessness of the aristocracy and the evils of inherited wealth. But none of that had to do with Martin. “We were raised to think of him as the heir to Lindley Priory and I can’t see him like this without thinking that he’s been done out of his birthright.”
“Birthright,” Hartley repeated softly. “Listen to yourself. And anyway, he has been. Done out of his birthright, that is. There’s nothing we can do about it.”
“It’s just—it’s a fucking tragedy, Hart, that it’s come to this. I spent the winter thinking he was going to die in a poky cottage on his own estate with nobody to look after him but me.”
“But,” Hartley said, with obvious effort, “if I heard someone say ‘I fell ill and my friend took me to the country and looked after me’ I’d think that person was lucky to have such a loyal friend. Why would I be wrong to think Martin is lucky to have you? Leaving class and his arsehole father out of it, thank you.”
“Nobody should have to depend on me,” Will said into his pint. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Hartley open his mouth and snap it shut again.
“How long has it been?” Hartley asked at length.
Will didn’t need to ask what Hartley meant. “I bought my last bottle of laudanum in August. Haven’t been to any opium dens or anyplace similar since even before that.”
“That’s good,” Hartley said, not bothering to conceal his relief.
“It’s hard, though,” Will said, and drained the rest of his pint. “I don’t want him to be around if I stop being able to resist temptation.”
Hartley passed a hand over his mouth. “Jesus. I wish I had something useful to say.”
“So do I,” Will said, sliding his hand along the bar and squeezing his brother’s arm. “At least being in the country means that much less temptation. Anyway, that’s why I need him to get better and send him on his way, all right?”
Hartley looked like he very much wanted to protest, but knew better than to try.
Chapter Five
“Come for a walk with me,” Martin said, casting aside the worn copy of Bungay Castle he had been reading. He could see the sun shining from the window nearest to his bed. It was March now, and they had been at the cottage for over two months.
Will put down his pen. “It’s still cold.”
“If I start hacking we’ll come back. Come on. I want to stretch my legs. I haven’t been further than the wood pile yet.” He also wanted to confirm a suspicion that had been lurking at the back of his mind for some weeks. Martin got to his feet and grabbed a coat off the peg by the door. Outside, the landscape was mostly drab browns and grays with shoots of green signaling that winter might eventually end. Further from the cottage, the landscape opened up to a vista of rolling hills, a stand of spindly trees, a yew hedge in the distance. He walked on, past a few patches of bare dirt that might have once been a vegetable garden, past the well, past a rickety fence and straight to the top of the nearest hill. There, in the distance, he could see the barely remembered roofline of Friars’ Gate.
The entire property was entailed, so Martin hadn’t been able to sell it after his father’s death. He had, however, ordered the manor stripped down nearly to the beams and most of the furnishings sold off. That had kept the creditors at bay for a little while, but it had been a drop in the ocean. It wasn’t a large house, just a shooting box located halfway