So there was love in the world, Charles thought, feeling that familiar ache inside him. It simply wasn’t for him.

Wordlessly, Geoffrey walked into the library, ignoring the footman who opened the door for them. He glanced inquiringly at the decanters of drinks, which were on a table that had straight, carved legs. Charles shook his head, and they settled into club chairs of well-padded, glove-soft leather. He had forgotten how beautiful this room was, with its glass-fronted bookcases and the large mahogany library table. Sunlight streamed across the Turkey carpet, making its colors glow. It was a comfortable room, a welcoming room, and Charles wished to the devil he were somewhere else. He no longer belonged here.

He leaned back, his legs crossed. If Geoffrey wanted to talk, then let him begin. This had not been his idea. Yet the silence stretched on, yawning between them.

“You look like hell,” Geoffrey said abruptly.

Charles inclined his head. “Thank you. I appreciate the compliment.”

“What happened to you?”

“War happened to me.”

“No.” Geoffrey’s eyes searched his face. “There’s something more.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Geoffrey,” he said, shifting in his chair to find a comfortable position. There were days when his arm hurt like the devil, though he hoped no one noticed. “Ariel was right You are being particularly heavy-handed.”

“I care about you.”

Charles gave a bitter laugh. “When did that occur?”

“A very long time ago.”

“Ha. As I recall, the person whose affections you wanted was Father.”

Geoffrey stiffened. “What passed between him and me has nothing to say to this matter.”

“Doesn’t it? It rather left me out.”

“It did, didn’t it?” Geoffrey said after a moment. “I owe you an apology for that”

Charles waved him off. “It’s of little moment now.”

“Not to me.” Geoffrey leaned forward. “Charles, what happened to you? I don’t mean just your wound.” Charles looked bleakly at him, as bleak as he felt. “War,” he said again. “Shall I describe it for you?”

“I read the newspapers.”

“Ha.” His laugh was mirthless. “The newspapers.”

“I am your brother, Charles. Whether you wish to acknowledge that or not, it’s true.”

Charles shook his head. “I do, but I fail to see how that can help me this late.”

Geoffrey leaned back, his legs crossed, too, his eyes shrewd. “I’m giving you the management of Oakhurst,” he said.

“The devil! One of your properties?”

“A smaller one, in Sussex. It needs a good manager.”

“I know nothing about farming, Geoffrey.”

“You’ll learn in time. It’s well enough now,” he went on, forestalling Charles’s next protest.