“You don’t want to do that.” Marcus grabbed for him. “Do not go against Father.”
He dodged his brother’s grasp. “You really expect me to tell Angelica that I can’t marry her unless she gets this money? Can you not guess how that would turn out? She’d tell me to go to the devil, and I’d deserve it.”
“But…Father…”
Brody shrugged and smiled. The old man’s wrath would be swift, and far-reaching. It would burn through his life like wildfire, destroying everything. Ah, well. So long as it didn’t touch Angelica, Brody could handle the heat. He’d certainly lived through worse. “Better dust off your morning dress, brother. I expect you to be my best man.”
Marcus smiled—albeit defeatedly. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
At first, he felt foolish for keeping the ring, but now he was glad he had. Brody rushed upstairs, taking the steps two and three at a time. He reached the landing, schooling himself to slow down as he crossed the long corridor to his bedroom. Dashing about the house like a wild man wouldn’t do. He had to remain calm and collected, lest he draw out every damned servant from their mouse hole. Angelica wouldn’t want an audience—not for this.
Brody flung open the door to his room. Once, he and Marcus had shared the space. As boys, they had planned adventures, masterminded pranks, and scared each other half to death with ghostly tales in the dark. As men, they had shared drinks, laughed about girls, and told war stories they’d never trust with anybody else.
He had fond memories of the room, which was cluttered with everything he owned in the world. Brody stepped between piles of clothes, books, and gramophone records until he reached the chest of drawers in the corner. He tugged open the top drawer. Rifling through his socks and underclothes, he searched for the ring box he’d carefully hidden. His hands met something hard in the bottom of the drawer.
He pulled out the object—but it was not a ring.
In his palm, he held a perfect glass vial.
Morphine.
Wide-eyed, Brody sat it atop the chest of drawers. The precious liquid practically glimmered in the light. He pushed it from his mind, and kept digging. A moment later, his hands found two more objects: one, a ring box, and the other, a syringe.
Someone—God, the Devil, or otherwise—was testing him.
He sat the syringe next to the morphine. He stared at them, unblinking. They were pristine. Beautiful. His veins itched beneath his skin. His mouth went dry, begging for just a taste. Just a taste, nothing more. Brody trembled at the thought of the needle.
Lady Morphine had always been his first love.
Sweat pooled beneath his collar. He was overheated, and shrugged out of his jacket. Before he knew what he was doing, Brody had his cufflinks off, and his shirt sleeve rolled to his elbow. Yes, quickly. Quickly! The ring box fell back into the drawer, landing atop a pair of underdrawers, forgotten in his haste. His lust for dope far outweighed his devotion to Angelica Grey. The girl meant nothing to him now.
No. The girl meant everything to him. Angelica Grey was everything to him. Brody staggered backward. He’d almost succumbed to his addiction. He had almost ruined his life, when happiness was just within reach. His veins screamed. His head pounded. The Devil was back to ride him with a vengeance.
He sank to the floor, head in hands. How odd that morphine could be both a blessing and a curse. For someone like Marcus, the drug had saved him from the pain of his destroyed leg, and the amputation that soon followed. For others, it turned a torturous battlefield death sweet and peaceful. Even for Brody, the morphine had saved him from himself—until it turned him into a man he no longer recognized.
He was shamefully familiar with that fellow now.
Lurching to his feet, Brody grabbed for the ring box. His shaking hands fumbled through his drawer until they found the tiny, velvet cube. He kissed it. He was stronger than his past. He was better for his future. Despite his struggles, he deserved happiness, and—by God!—he was going to seize it while he had the chance.
Angelica had told him he only needed to ask himself each day:
Would he have his morphine today?
No. Not this day.
He would worry about tomorrow when it came.
Brody stuffed the ring in his trouser pocket. He grabbed the vial of morphine, and then crossed the carpet. After taking one last look around his bedroom, he shut the door on his old life, and walked bravely toward the new.
***
He found Angelica and Bessie coming up the stairs. She’d just come from breakfast, and the two women chatted happily as they climbed the steps. He stopped them on the landing.
“Turn around.” His voice was firmer than he’d intended.
She hesitated at the sound. “Why?”