The Heiress Effect (Brothers Sinister #2)

“Hypothetically speaking,” Oliver said, “suppose that there was a man—a marquess—who promised me his vote on a very important issue. And all I would have to do in exchange…” He took a deep breath and looked away. “All I would have to do was humiliate a woman. Nothing physical, mind you. She wouldn’t be ruined. Just…”

He glanced up into his father’s eyes, and that was all he needed. There was no just. He knew Jane’s situation. He knew how she felt, what it would do to her to have Oliver hurt her.

She wouldn’t be ruined, but I could shred her spirit.

“We’re speaking hypothetically?” His father snorted.

“If the issue in question was important enough, would you…”

“You’re ten years a grown man,” his father countered. “If I still need to tell you what to think of a proposition, I’ve done a poor job raising you, in which case my opinion shouldn’t count for anything.”

“But what if it is a very important issue? What if it would mean a very real difference for everyone, and it’s just one woman who would suffer?” God. He couldn’t even bring himself to spell out the personal consequences.

“No, Oliver. Keep your moral dilemmas to yourself and your university friends. You can’t shunt that burden off to me. I refuse it.”

“You’re annoying. You always act as if everything is so easy. ‘Well, Oliver, it seems to me that your choice is either to quit or continue,’” he mimicked, remembering his father’s advice when he’d been on the verge of leaving school.

The other man only smiled. “I’m your father. It’s my job to annoy you.”

It was not the season for fishing, and unsurprisingly, they hadn’t caught anything.

“When does it stop being one woman?” Oliver finally asked. “And when does it start being…a disgusting thing to ask in the first place?”

“Here’s what I know,” his father replied. “No fish will swim up and leap at your lure three feet off the ground. Cast.”

Oliver flushed and did so. Once more, his lure and sinker hit the pool with a splash.

“What does it say about me that I’m still considering it?”

His father shrugged.

“You’re useless,” Oliver accused. “I thought you were going to tell me what to do.”

“I’m not here to be used. I’m here to fish.”

Oliver contemplated his fishing line for a moment longer. “You know,” he said contemplatively, “I think you’re a fraud. You act as if you’re so wise, and what you mostly do is make idle comments about fishing and expect me to figure it out myself.”

His father let out a guffaw. “That comes as a surprise? I taught you that trick years ago. When you keep quiet, people fill in their own most intelligent thoughts on your behalf.”

After another forty minutes of silence, in which they’d managed to catch one four-inch trout, which was tossed back without comment, Oliver finally spoke.

“When I’m not here, do you fish alone?”

“Free usually comes with me.”

“I didn’t mean to displace her. Is she angry with me? She scarcely spoke last night before disappearing behind a book.”

His father was eyeing the artificial fly tied at the end of his line, prodding it back into shape after the depredations of the fish. “You didn’t displace her,” he said evenly. “I asked her if she wanted to come along, and she declined.”

“So she is angry at me. I wonder what I did.”

“Ask her,” his father said placidly. “I’m sure she’ll tell you.”

Oliver was sure she would, too. Free wasn’t the sort to hold anything back.

“I worry about her,” his father finally said. “I never realized how easy Laura and Patricia were. They wanted normal things. Security and marriage and a family. They wanted more than that, of course. But Free… I didn’t realize your mother and I were going to pass on all our ambition concentrated in one child.”

“What is it that Free wants?” Oliver asked, slightly puzzled.

His father smiled wryly. “What does she not? Ask her. I thought you were ambitious, Oliver. You’ve nothing on your youngest sister.”

Oliver found his sister waiting for them on the way home. She was standing on top of the hill by the stream. Her arms were folded and she hadn’t put her hair up. It blew behind her, a brilliant banner of orange the same color as his own close-cropped hair.

He paused a few feet away from her. “Free.”

She didn’t answer, but her chin squared. Yes, she was definitely angry with him.

She didn’t have a temper, or at least not the temper that people generally thought of when they imagined a woman with hair somewhere on the brighter end of the spectrum. She was patient and kind. She could also be stubborn and immovable.

“Free,” he said again. “How are you doing? Did you want to talk with me?”

She didn’t look at him. “Why would I?” She didn’t blink. “You haven’t kept your promise, so why should I talk to you?”

“Promise?” He stared at her in confusion. “Did I promise something?”

Now she finally turned to him. “Of course you did,” she said. “You promised to spend some time speaking Greek with me. Mama doesn’t know Greek, so she can’t, but you went to Eton.”

“I promised?”