You’re a cad, Weston.
”
He shrugged off the insult. “I’m much worse than that, sweetling.”
“Oh, I am aware. But as a lady, it’s the only word I can use.”
Shifting his weight, he skimmed his nails, filed to blunt edges, along his jaw.
“Why is this of such importance to you, Brynne? You didn’t even know we had another
sibling until a few weeks ago. We’ve gotten along fine until this point. Why
complicate matters unnecessarily?”
“I’d hardly call being raised by an army of governesses and sent away to Cheltenham
Ladies’ College for a year of my life as fine,” Brynne retorted, referring to
England’s most acclaimed boarding school for young women of distinguished families.
Weston’s experience had been similar, except he’d attended Eton for four years
instead of one. From fourteen to seventeen he’d only seen his father and sister
over Christmas, and even then, the marquess had rarely made an appearance,
abandoning his two children to celebrate the holiday in the company of servants.
He and Brynne couldn’t complain, and they never had. Not when they’d been blessed
with a roof over their heads and food in their bellies and more money than either
of them could spend in a lifetime. Money that Weston had increased tenfold with a
variety of entrepreneurial investments that expanded far beyond the passive income
brought in by tenant farmers.
But while he and Brynne had never wanted for anything of a materialistic nature,
there were other ways to starve a child, and they’d both longed for love. For
affection. For even the simplest gesture that would indicate their father
considered them as more than just another obligation to be met.
As Weston grew older, his paternal expectations had grown lower until they’d all
but disappeared. But Brynne, he suspected, had held out hope that their sire might
suddenly turn into the father-figure they’d yearned for all those years spent alone
in a vast, empty house.
His hope had been that things would change when he went off to boarding school.
While Brynne had dragged her heels, afraid to leave him, Weston had secretly
counted down the days until he could start a new life far from the loneliness of
his old one.
Instead, he’d learned two valuable lessons he’d carried with him into adulthood.
That he could be surrounded by people and still feel terribly alone.
And the only person he could depend on was himself.
“Given our upbringing, I understand why you might have an…attachment towards the
Thorncrofts,” he allowed begrudgingly. “But they are not our family, Brynne.
They’re nothing like us.”
Her lips twisted in a humorless smile. “At this point, I surely think that is to
their credit. Why would anyone in their right mind want to be like us, West? Yes,
we’ve titles and wealth and prestige. But what have we really accomplished with our
lives? I spend all my days painting because I haven’t a single friend I’d genuinely
like to spend time with. Father would prefer to sit in a hunting lodge than have
tea with his children. And you’re about to propose to a woman you don’t even like.”
“I like Lady Martha.”
“What is her favorite color?”
“Why is that of any importance?”
Brynne rolled her eyes. “That is exactly as I assumed. You’ve only selected her
because she will make a s
