the passing years, and the fine, even lines of his mother’s countenance. The golden hair had receded, but the blue eyes remained as clear and intelligent as in his youth.
It was the air of weary melancholy, however, that Edmond silently considered. It was growing worse. With every passing year, the once eager, impractical idealist determined to alter Russian’s future was becoming a defeated, withdrawn man who was riddled with such distrust, of himself and others, that he retreated more and more from the Court.
“Forgive me for my intrusion,” Edmond began gently.
“There are many who I consider an intrusion, but never you, my friend.” He waved a hand to the ever-present tray on his desk. “Tea?”
“Thank you, no, I do not desire to keep you from your work.”
“Always work. Work and duty.” Alexander heaved a sigh, precisely laying down his quill before leaning back in his chair. Like his father, Czar Paul, Alexander possessed a preference for a simple, military-style attire, relieved only by his Cross of St. George. “There are nights I dream of simply walking away from this palace and disappearing among the mobs.”
“Responsibility always comes with a heavy price,” Edmond readily agreed. There had been more than one night he had dreamed of becoming lost among the crowds. A simple, uncomplicated existence was a rare gift that few appreciated as they should.
“A pity I was not like you, Edmond. I think I should have liked to be a younger son, to have had some say in my own destiny. There was a time I even considered abdicating the throne and living a quiet life upon the Rhine.” He offered a wistful smile. “It was impossible, of course, a foolish dream of youth. Unlike Constantine, I had no choice but to accept my duty.”
“Being a younger son comes with its own share of troubles, sire. I would not wish my life on anyone.”
“Yes, you hide your troubles well, Edmond, but I have always sensed your heart is not at rest,” Alexander Pavlovich astonished Edmond by admitting. “Perhaps someday you will share what demons haunt you.”
Edmond battled to keep his face impassive. He had vowed never to speak of the raw wound that festered deep in his heart. Not with anyone.
“Perhaps.” He wisely evaded a direct response. “But not today, I fear. I have come to beg your forgiveness.”
“What is it?”
“I must return to England.”
“Has something occurred?”
Edmond carefully considered his words. “I have been concerned for some time, sire,” he confessed. “The letters that I have received from my brother over the past months have mentioned a number of…incidents that make me suspect that someone is attempting to do him harm.”
Alexander abruptly leaned forward. “Explain these incidents.”
“There have been gunshots from the nearby wood that my brother dismissed as poachers, there was a bridge that collapsed just as my brother’s carriage was upon it, and most recently a fire was started late one night in the wing of Meadowland where my brother’s bedchambers are located.” Edmond gripped the arms of his chair until his knuckles turned white as he recalled his brother’s latest letter. He intended to kill whoever was stupid enough to threaten his twin brother’s life. Slowly, painfully, and without mercy. “It was only because of an alert servant that there was nothing more than a few scorched walls instead of a tragedy.”
The Emperor did not pretend shock that someone as powerful as the Duke of Huntley might be in danger. The previous Czar had been assassinated, with scandalous rumors that Alexander himself had been involved. Then, of course, there was rarely a month that passed without some threat to the throne.
“It is understandable that you are concerned, but surely your brother has taken steps to ensure his safety?”
Edmond grimaced. Despite the fact there was less than ten minutes between their births, the two brothers could not be more different.
“Stefan is a brilliant Duke,” he said, speaking nothing less than the truth. “He tends his lands with the love of a mother for her child, his business investments have tripled the family’s coffers, and he is devoted to the care of those who depend upon him, whether it is his reckless younger brother or his lowest servant.” A rueful smile touched Edmond’s mouth. As different as they might be, the two brothers were devoted to one another, even more so since their parents’ tragic drowning years earlier. “As a man of the world, however, he is extraordinarily naive, completely trusting of others and utterly incapable of deception.”
Alexander gave a slow nod of his head. “I begin to comprehend.”
“I want more than to keep Stefan safe,” Edmond said in a soft, lethal voice. “I want whoever is responsible in my hands so I can choke the life from him.”
“Do you know who it is?”
Edmond’s body clenched with a fury he could barely contain. Along with his brother’s grudging revelation of the odd incidences that had plagued him, had been a passing reference to the fact that their cousin, Howard Summerville, was visiting his mother who lived only a few miles from the Huntley family seat.
Howard was his eldest cousin and the third heir in line to inherit the dukedom if anything were to happen to Stefan and Edmond. He was also a pathetic whiner who rarely missed an opportunity to inform all of society that his family had been ill-used by the Dukes of Huntley.
Who more likely to wish to do away with Stefan?
“I have my suspicions.”
“I see. Then most certainly it is your duty to protect your brother,” Alexander agreed with a grave nod of his head.
“I realize it is an awkward time to leave, but…” His words were cut short as the Emperor abruptly rose to his feet.
“Edmond, go to your family,” he commanded. “When all is settled, you can return to me.”
Edmond gained his feet and performed a deep bow.
“Thank you, sire.”
“Edmond.”
“Yes?”
“Just make certain you do return,” the Emperor commanded. “The Duke has given his loyalty to England, but your family owes Russia one of their sons.”
Hiding a smile at the thought of what King George IV might have to say at the royal command, Edmond merely inclined his head.
“Of course.”
LEAVING HIS SERVANTS AND carriage to follow behind him, Edmond urged his mount to a steady pace from London to his childhood home in Surrey.
Stefan might be a meticulous correspondent, but he tended to devote far too much attention to his crop rotation and newest farm implements. Edmond knew the precise details of the plantings in the north field and very little of how Stefan truly fared.
Still, for all Edmond’s urgency, he couldn’t halt the overwhelming desire to slow his grueling pace as he entered the familiar wooded landscape surrounding his home.
