The moment Wayland entered, the servant immediately rushed off, closing the door quickly, leaving Wayland alone . . . with Annalee’s brother.
Oh, God. He knows. The other man had finally deduced all these years later that Wayland had been the one to take Annalee’s innocence. That he’d cared about her. That it was why he’d involved himself with Welles.
And yet, even with Tanning having called out Wayland’s presence, the other man remained unmoving.
A hip rested on the side of the table, but that was where any hint of casualness ended. His shoulders stooped and his head lowered into the palm of his right hand, Jeremy had the look of a man with demons.
But then, didn’t they all?
Wayland cleared his throat. And when there was still no movement from the other man, he made another clearing sound.
Jeremy jerked his head up, blinking slowly.
He looked haggard, his cheeks rough with a day’s worth of growth; his bloodshot eyes locked on Wayland, but his stare was sightless, going through his friend.
Wayland had been wrong. He didn’t want this meeting. He wasn’t ready for it.
His hands forming reflexive fists at his sides, he made a slow walk over to his oldest, longest friend. And aside from Annalee . . . Wayland’s only friend. Were he and Annalee friends anymore? They had been. But it was all confused now. She’d been clear in her disdain of him. For him.
Wayland reached his side. “Jeremy,” he said quietly.
The other man instantly straightened. “You came.”
“Of course I did,” he murmured.
This was what the meeting had been called for—Annalee.
“I’ll not waste time with it,” Jeremy said tiredly, dragging a hand down his stubbled cheek. He let his arm drop. “I’ve called you here to speak about what transpired at Fitzhugh’s.”
And there it was. Having known it was coming, and having mentally braced for it, his mind still ceased to function.
“Yet another scandal.” Jeremy’s face spasmed. “I asked you to help, and because of it, this time she’s involved you. I am so sorry that you found yourself dragged into”—he slashed a hand about—“this.”
She’d involved him?
“I thought you might reach her”—a pained laugh burst from Jeremy’s lips—“never thinking in asking you to help that she would ruin you. I should have expected there was only one outcome where Annalee was concerned.”
Ruin him?
Was the other man out of his goddamned mind?
And that increasingly familiar rage that had besieged Wayland since that night reared its head once more, slipping and twisting around inside him, this time for the man before him. “You’re apologizing to me?” he demanded. “My God, man, for Welles’s affront on your sister,” he hissed, “he deserved to be called out and felled with a bullet at dawn.”
Jeremy blanched, the color leaching from haggard cheeks. “I . . .”
On the heels of Wayland’s charged words, the accusation he’d inadvertently leveled registered too late.
He briefly closed his eyes. “Forgive me. It was not my intention to call you out—”
“But you’re right.” All the life seemed to drain from Jeremy as he sank once more onto the edge of the table. “I have been a shite brother to her,” he whispered, his voice threadbare. “You defended her two evenings ago when I did not. You tarnished your carefully protected reputation with scandal.”
And he’d gladly do so all over again—
“You are the best of friends.”
This was too much.
The long blade of guilt twisted and wrenched once more.
Unable to look his friend in the eye, Wayland looked past his shoulder to the mustard-colored, velvet curtains that hung from the ceiling to the floor. “I am . . . not the friend you think I am,” he finally managed to say, uttering those long-overdue words at last.
He felt Jeremy’s stare. “I don’t . . .” Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the slight movement as his friend shook his head in confusion.
Inhaling air into his lungs, he spoke on a rush. “I . . . loved your sister, Jeremy.”
There it was.
He’d said it.
Jeremy stared at him for a long while, then gave him a peculiar look. “Of course you did. We were three peas in a pod, we were.” My God, had the other man been this oblivious? Or had he been willingly blind? “She was like a second sister to you, tagging about. I care for your sister in that same—”
“No,” Wayland said curtly, determined to disabuse his friend of that erroneous assumption. “Not like that. Like . . .” His tongue grew thick and heavy in his mouth. “Like . . . in a romantic sense.”
Silence reigned supreme over their exchange.
Jeremy’s lips slackened; his jaw fell. “I . . . oh.”
Wayland’s heart pounded hard. At last, he’d set that revelation free. “I . . . before Peterloo. We’d spoken of marriage. We were in love. She’d come that day to meet me.”
And then it had all fallen apart. His life. Hers. The future they’d imagined for one another.
“I . . .” Annalee’s brother scrubbed a hand down the side of his face once more and released a sad sigh. “She was always reckless,” he said sadly. “And either way, she is not the girl she was, and . . .” His friend sucked in a shaky breath and shook his head. “Your defense of her brought you scandal.”
Disbelief kept Wayland momentarily motionless. That was what he’d say. “I beat him because he deserved it. Because he disrespected your sister.” Just as Jeremy should have pulverized every single bastard who’d ever done so. Just as Wayland should have. Just as Wayland wanted to beat Jeremy to a blasted pulp now for his absolute . . . indifference to what Wayland had revealed.
“Either way, Darlington, my parents have reached their limit where Annalee is concerned. They’ve run out of their last shred of patience.” Sadness filled Jeremy’s eyes, his gaze distant. “It was inevitable,” he murmured, that last part more to himself.
Yes, the earl and countess, with their commitment to social standing, weren’t ones who’d tolerated Annalee. Those words she’d shared two nights earlier whispered around his memory.
Even as a grown woman, I’ve had my dowry withheld, and any monies that were to be mine remain locked away. I’m at the mercy of Lady Sylvia’s generosity, and any funds I do have are because of any wagers I’ve won . . .
All these years, he’d appreciated the Spencer family because they’d accepted him. When most other noble families would have turned up their noses at Wayland for his humble origins, they’d allowed his friendship with Jeremy and then thrown their support behind him when he’d been titled.
Because of the generosity they’d shown him, a blacksmith’s son, he’d let himself remain blind to . . . just how much they’d wronged Annalee.
But there were so many who had wronged her.
Wayland, Jeremy, her parents . . . They were all guilty.
“I asked you here because the responsibility of speaking to Harlow has been ceded to me,” Jeremy said, slashing through his musings.
Harlow. Annalee’s like-spirited sister, who wasn’t quite a small child, but certainly was many years from being a woman. An age by which family struggles and pain couldn’t be kept from her, the way they would have been were she still a babe. Nay, she’d be aware of the gossip.