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Philip’s gaze met his directly, his usually impenetrable mask giving way to something raw, something regretful. “I should have had more faith in you. More faith in your ability to choose your own path, to make your own future. You carved out a career in Florence, far from my influence.” He shook his head slightly. “When I refused to support your courtship all those years ago, when I let my reservations about Lady Slight cloud my judgment, I was certain I was preventing disaster.” His lips curved wryly. “And yet, all I did was ensure years of unhappiness for both of you.”
Sebastian’s breath caught. Of all the things his brother could have said, he had not expected this. Not an admission of fault. Not this … this understanding.
Philip sighed. “I should have listened to you back then. Stood beside you. But I let duty, and my own beliefs, dictate my actions. I forgot that you were my brother, deserving of my confidence and regard, not merely a duty to be managed.” He hesitated, then continued, “I do not wish to make that mistake again. I want to be part of your life.”
Sebastian’s throat was tight, his emotions warring within him. He had spent so many years resentful of his brother’s interference, so much time convincing himself that Philip would never see him as anything but the younger brother, the reckless, impetuous spare who needed to be managed.
Now, his brother was sitting before him, acknowledging his mistakes and accepting them.
Something inside Sebastian softened.
He did not hesitate. Rising swiftly, he strode forward, and before Philip could react, he grabbed him in a crushing embrace.
Philip stiffened in shock, his arms pinned at his sides. “Sebastian—”
“Shut up,” Sebastian muttered against his shoulder, squeezing tighter.
For a moment, there was only silence. Then, with an exasperated sigh, Philip relented, his arms coming up to clap Sebastian on the back in an awkward, hesitant motion. It was not the embrace of men practiced in the art of it. It was stiff and brief and graceless and entirely genuine, the kind that only brothers manage, and only rarely.
Richard, still seated, let out a low chuckle. “Well, this is unexpected.”
Sebastian pulled back, clapping a firm hand on Philip’s shoulder. “You were a scoundrel about it, you know.”
Philip rolled his eyes, straightening his coat. “I am aware.”
Sebastian grinned, warmth spreading through him. He could feel the past shifting, settling into something lighter. It had been a long time to carry a grievance, and he found, somewhat to his surprise, that setting it down was not the defeat he had always imagined it would be. It felt rather more like relief.
Philip gave him a long look. “You truly love her, do you not?”
“With everything in me,” Sebastian answered without hesitation.
Philip nodded. “Then I suppose you should marry her.”
Sebastian grinned. “I intend to.”
Philip exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Heaven help me, I am going to have to be civil to her, am I not?”
“Yes, you are.”
Philip sighed. “Well, let us hope she does not make it too difficult. I shall make arrangements for us to accompany you to Calais for the ceremony.”
Sebastian laughed, his heart lighter than it had been in years. Across the room, Richard caught his eye and gave a small, satisfied nod, as though reasonably confident all along that things would end this way, and was not above a quiet acknowledgment of the fact.
Sebastian had gained his heart and his brother back, and it felt good.
EPILOGUE
But vain the assistance that riches bestow,
The rapture that beauty imparts,
To soften the painful reflections of woe,
Or banish distress from our hearts.
The New Ladies’ Valentine Writer (1821)
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