Somerville Farce Read Online Free

had reasoned, the family solicitors should not have to first
bail William out of some country jail before informing him that he
had become the twelfth duke.
    He had not, he realized now, considered the
possibility that William, engulfed in the throes of grief, might
immediately challenge Somerville to yet another duel, in order to
avenge both his father and his brother. Harry thought of it now,
trying in vain to picture a stony-eyed William staring down the
barrel of a pistol at his opponent.
    The mental image dissolved nearly as quickly
as it formed. No, William would never do such a thing. The boy
would seek revenge, Harry was convinced of that—for William did
love him—but it wouldn’t be a conventional revenge. William had
made it a point never, ever, to submit to the conventional if a
more dashing, inventive plan would serve as well.
    Yet, Harry reasoned, pacing the length of
his study, William had behaved most properly for the week they had
remained in London and, surprisingly, had seemed all but overjoyed
to be returning to Glyndevaron without partaking in any of the
varied and ribald activities the metropolis had to offer.
    Harry frowned, his steps leading him to a
window, where he stood looking out on the west lawn. Why did
William’s good behavior gnaw on the edges of his brain? The
explanation came quickly: it bothered Harry because it wasn’t
normal. It wasn’t natural for William to be good, it wasn’t
expected.
    What it was, as a matter of fact, was
deucedly unnerving. It wasn’t like William not to be running some
rig, existing in, or on the precipice of, some sort of trouble.
Having a well-behaved William around was much like having a lighted
bomb tucked inside one’s pants—not only extremely uncomfortable but
also deadly.
    Harry stood at the window for some time, his
hands clasped behind his back, the afternoon sun glinting dully on
his dark hair and highlighting his clear, chiseled profile. He
frowned once or twice, remembering both his failed revenge and his
brother’s seeming bid for a halo, both remembrances jabbing at him
like small needles, keeping him from enjoying the usually pleasing
scene outside the window.
    Perhaps, he thought, shrugging, he was
overtired from spending eight long hours on the road, traveling
back to Glyndevaron, the trip following hard on a nearly sleepless
week spent on a fruitless hunt across London for Somerville. That
could explain the niggling feeling that something wasn’t right.
    It could, he mused further, conjuring up yet
another mental picture of his brother’s rather woebegone face as
they had climbed the steps to Glyndevaron a scant half-hour ago—but
he most seriously doubted it.
    “Ah, there you are, Harry. We’ve been
looking for you.”
    Glynde slowly turned on his heels to stand,
the sun at his back, watching as William and Andrew edged
hesitantly into the study. “William... Andrew,” he said wearily,
inclining his head. “You boys aren’t wearing your usual happy,
smiling faces. Might I assume you aren’t overjoyed with our
precipitate return to Glyndevaron?” he asked, something inside him
making him probe for some slight hint that might explain his
growing feeling that the “bomb” in his clothing was burning down
closer to the end of its fuse. “Perhaps you didn’t get to see every
dark den of iniquity in London but, I assure you, they will still
be there waiting for you when we return to the city in April.”
    “Oh, cut line, Harry!” Willie protested,
throwing himself into a nearby chair. “You know as well as I do
that Andy and I didn’t so much as knock over a Charlie’s box or
roll a single pair of dice in any gaming hell for the entirety of
the time we were in town. It was quite dashed dull, as a matter of
fact—almost the whole week.”
    “Almost?” Harry questioned, his
instincts—and the pinched look on Andy’s thin face—urging him to
delve deeper. “Then I may relax, William, knowing that you did
discover some