They were silent for several minutes before Sebastian spoke. “I know you are avoiding discussing the contents of Newport’s letter.”
Anthony tensed, shifted, and met his brother’s intense scrutiny.
“Father sent me a copy of the letter. I know what it said,” Sebastian confessed.
Anthony felt the blow sharper than Sebastian’s fist. “So you know he has disowned me in every possible way?” Anthony quirked his lips. The pain that sliced through him at the admission, he had not expected to feel. It was not as if the old man had been overly fond of him growing up.
“He has not disowned you.”
“You defend him?”
“I do not, but he has not disowned you, Anthony. He did not proclaim your parentage to the world.”
“He has instructed the family’s solicitor and mine of the circumstances of my and our sister’s birth. He ordered the information be made public if you attempt to allow me to inherit any of the entail. If that happened, Constance would be faced with social ostracism of the worst kind.” A circumstance he would likely kill to spare her from bearing.
Distress flashed through Sebastian’s eyes. It could not have been easy on him to discover that his sister and brother had been labeled bastards, and that their mother had been unfaithful. But the fact was, Anthony had been cut off by a man he thought was his father. A man he had tried to emulate, and had excelled in his studies at Eton and Oxford in order to please.
Anthony could almost forgive the old duke for revealing his own circumstances in such a manner, but the condemnation from society that would befall his mother and Constance was unforgivable. His kind, vivacious sister, who had charmed the haute monde for the season, would be shredded.
The disdain that would be shown by the upper echelons when they discovered his illegitimacy had a laugh bleeding from his lips, though he was anything but amused. An impotent fury had been eating at his insides. The family would have to stick together with their full wealth and power, but still, no one would accept either sibling’s hand in marriage.
“Constance’s children will be branded. My children as well. And for what?” he asked, raking a hand through his hair.
“We should delay telling her as long as possible,” Sebastian said.
“When have we ever lied to each other?” Anthony demanded, even though he agreed. At only seventeen years of age, she had enjoyed her first season immensely. He wanted her to hold onto her innocence a little longer.
“It may never come out.” Sebastian’s voice was implacable. “I will ensure it never comes out.”
“She deserves to know.” Despite the devastation it would cause her, he felt he owed their sister the truth. And yet, he doubted he could tell her. Much as he had, his sister had always sought an explanation for their father’s coldness. He knew she deserved honesty, but he would hold onto the secret a little longer.
“Constance has much to recommend her—blue blood, wealth, her wit and intelligence, and her beauty. I have rejected a dozen offers for her already. But she needs more time. She is waiting for her prince charming to sweep her off her feet.”
He and Sebastian knew every hurt, every disappointment, every hope she had in relation to their believed father.
“As we speak, she is preparing for the Grahams’ ball, and, by the way, is in need of an escort.”
“Our mother will be there,” Anthony retorted, picking up the decanter from the side bar and refilling their glasses.
“I have no faith in our mother’s capabilities as a chaperone. It was under her tutelage Constance entered the card room at Lady Brunel’s ball and offered to deal for Lord Williamson,” Sebastian snapped.
Anthony’s laughter rang through the library. “Fine. I will go,” he agreed.
Against his better judgment, his mind returned to Miss Peppiwell. He wondered idly if he even had the right to think about her. Or about the beautiful Lady Jocelyn, who even now probably expected their betrothal.
He must disabuse her of the idea immediately, of course. She deserved better than the likes of him.
He was a bastard.
Unlike his brother, Anthony wanted a family, children of his own. The mindless pleasures he had found in his mistresses’ arms over the years had lost their luster. He wanted a deeper connection, one he was sure existed…even if Sebastian insisted it did not. Anthony’s sexual tastes had always made him wary of debutantes, but he’d come to realize not even mistresses could soothe his appetites, so why not indulge himself with a wife?
He clenched his jaw. But now that was impossible. He could not marry without informing his intended of his bastardy—it would be unforgivable to deceive a woman like that. But the moment he confessed his shame, any proper lady would flee from him and the very real possibility of society’s condemnation that came with aligning herself with a bastard.