that the gentleman could not so much as step out his door without being surrounded by bill collectors.”
“It seems my cousin has managed to become an even greater dolt than I had anticipated.”
“Yes, indeed, my lord.”
He sucked in a deep breath. “Once I speak with my brother I would like to have a word with his valet.”
The flicker of surprise was so brief it might have been nonexistent. “I will have James awaiting you in the library.”
“Actually I would prefer the privacy of my personal sitting room, always presuming it has not been converted into a nursery or filled to the ceiling with Stefan’s farming manuals.”
“Your rooms are just as you left them,” the servant assured him in grave tones. “His Grace insists that they always be prepared for your return.”
Edmond smiled wryly. It was predictable of his brother. And oddly comforting. There was something to be said for always knowing there was a place waiting for you.
“Have James meet me in my sitting room in an hour.”
“As you wish.”
Knowing that Goodson would not only have James waiting for him, but would do so with the sort of discretion that would avoid any unnecessary chatter below-stairs, Edmond turned and continued his way to the second floor.
Deliberately avoiding the Picture Gallery, Edmond chose the lesser-used Minstrel’s Gallery to make his way toward the private rooms of the vast house. A faint smile touched his lips as he realized that the pale blue damask wall panels were precisely the same as they had been when he was a child, as well as the blue and ivory silk curtains that framed the high, arched windows that ran the length of the gallery.
His amusement only deepened as he silently pushed open the door to the large study that was nearly overrun with books, ledgers and farming manuals stacked on every available surface. Only the heavy oak desk was relatively clear of debris, with one ledger book spread open. Stefan was seated behind the desk in a leather chair, quill in his hand.
“Do you know, Stefan, it is nothing short of remarkable how nothing ever changes at Meadowland, including you,” he murmured softly. “I believe you were sitting at that precise desk, tallying the same quarterly reports in that same old blue coat the day that I left.”
Lifting his dark head, Stefan stared at him in shock for a long beat.
“Edmond?”
“For my sins.”
With a choked sound between a laugh and sob, Stefan was on his feet and hurrying to clasp Edmond in a bear hug.
“Dear God, it’s good to see you.”
Edmond readily returned the embrace. His feelings for Stefan had never been complicated. His brother was the one person in the entire world he truly loved.
“And you, Stefan.”
Pulling back, Stefan allowed a rueful smile to touch the face that was an exact replica of Edmond’s.
Oh, the discerning eye might pick up the fact that Stefan’s olive skin was a shade or two darker from the hours he spent overseeing the tenants, and that the vivid blue eyes held an expression of sweet trust that would never be seen in Edmond’s. But the thick raven hair curled in exactly the same manner, the chiseled features held the same Slavic beauty; even their tall, lean bodies were exactly matched.
The two had spent their childhood taking great delight in switching places and confusing others who could never tell them apart.
Everyone, that is, but their parents and their young neighbor Brianna Quinn. The tiny minx with a wild mane of autumn-hued curls could never be deceived.
“I will have you know this coat is not above three or four seasons old,” Stefan assured him as he smoothed his hands over the blue coat.
Edmond gave a soft laugh. “I would lay ten quid your valet would tell me differently.”
Stefan wrinkled his nose, his gaze skimming over Edmond’s closely tailored mulberry jacket and silver waistcoat.
“Well, I never was as dapper as you.”
“Thank God,” Edmond said with utter sincerity. “Unlike your feckless brother, you have far more important matters to fill your days than the cut of your coat or gloss of your boots. Not the least of which is allowing me to live in magnificent comfort.”
“I would hardly consider being the guardian angel of his Imperial Highness as being feckless,” Stefan countered. “Far from it, in fact.”
“Guardian angel?” Edmond gave a sharp, disbelieving laugh at the ridiculous words. “You are far off the mark, dear Stefan. I am a wicked sinner, a rake, and a self-indulgent adventurer who has only avoided the hangman’s noose due to the fortune of possessing a Duke for a brother.”
The vivid blue eyes narrowed. “You might be able to fool others, Edmond, but never me.”
“Because you are always determined to believe the best in everyone, even your worthless brother.” Edmond lowered himself into a wing chair near the desk, quite ready to be done with the conversation. “Presumably Mrs. Slater is busily preparing a banquet, but in truth I am in more need of a shot of that Irish whiskey you keep hidden in your drawer.”
“Of course.” With a knowing smile Stefan moved to the desk and pulled out the bottle of whiskey and two glasses. Splashing a healthy measure of the amber spirit into each, he handed one to Edmond and took his own seat behind the desk. “Cheers.”
Tossing the spirit down his throat, Edmond savored the delicious burn.
“Ah…perfect.” Placing the empty glass on a nearby table, Edmond settled back in his seat and took a deep breath. He smiled at his brother. “This room smells of England.”
“And what does England smell of?”
“Polished wood, aging leather, damp air. It never changes.”
Stefan polished off his drink and set his glass aside. “Perhaps not, but I find such familiarity comforting. I am not like you, Edmond, always seeking some new adventure. I prefer a more dull and tedious existence.”
“There is something to be said for familiarity. I am glad you haven’t changed Meadowland. I like knowing that when I return, it will be just as I remembered.” He studied his brother, a wicked glint in his eyes. “Of course, once you take a wife you will no doubt be badgered into constant renovations. We might love this rambling old place with its smoking chimneys, leaking casements and sadly dated furnishings, but I doubt a woman of good breeding would be happy to live among such shabbiness.”
As always Stefan refused to rise to the bait. “No doubt that is the reason I still have yet to take a wife,” he murmured with a placid indifference to his bachelor state. Of course he could be. Everyone knew there wasn’t a maiden in all of England, or the rest of the world for that matter, who wouldn’t leap at the opportunity to become the next Duchess of Huntley. “I cannot bear the thought of altering my treasured home.”
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