Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 96695 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96695 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
“I don’t really care.” Dorian folded his arms over his chest and tipped his chin up. “He doesn’t deserve someone good like you.”
“No, but if he were to fall in love with someone who was kind, intelligent, and compassionate, it might give him the nudge he needs to become a better person.”
“Maybe,” Dorian mumbled, still not budging from his stiff pose.
“And if he’s going to be king one day, wouldn’t it be good if he were a compassionate, thoughtful person?”
“Ugh. Fine. I don’t wish misery on his head, even if he deserves it.”
Hugo smiled at his brother. He didn’t know what he’d do without Dorian. His brother kept him grounded and pulled him from some of his darkest thoughts. More than anything, he wanted to see Dorian properly settled into a loving relationship where the other person respected his passion for books. Dorian deserved to live in a house with an enormous library and a husband who doted on him.
And the best way to ensure that for Dorian was for Hugo to marry well. With a prince as a husband, all the doors of the kingdom would open for Dorian, but marrying Prince Everand would never happen. However, that didn’t mean there wasn’t a baron or rich merchant out there who could be a good fit.
That was a long-term plan. They needed more short-term answers to get them through the Season.
“How is the bookshop?”
Dorian grimaced and slouched. “I haven’t been to work yet. When all this happened, I immediately ran to Mr. Cuthbert and told him we were having a family crisis. He was very understanding and said that I could begin work tomorrow.”
“That was very thoughtful of him. Have you told Mother?”
“Nooooo,” Dorian admitted in a near whine. “With her fluttering about and sobbing over you and her stupid lie, I didn’t think it was a good time to tell her I got a job. I didn’t want her going on about how I had no prospects because I was working as a clerk in a bookshop.” Dorian leaned his shoulder against Hugo’s and flashed him an overly bright smile. “But now that you’re home, I thought you could break the news to her. She listens to you so much better than me.”
Hugo groaned. “That’s nonsense, and you know it.”
“No, it’s not. She rarely listens to any of us, but she listens to you a little bit, which is vastly better than nothing.”
With a grunt, Hugo shoved his snickering brother off him and pushed to his feet. “You’re almost as bad as Augustine.”
“Hey! That’s not nice!” Dorian shouted, trailing after him as he started for the house. However, Hugo could hear his snickers underlying his words.
Hugo hid his grin behind his hand. Yes, he would do anything to see his brothers happy and safe. Even marry rude Prince Everand if he had to.
Nine
Asoft knock at the door pulled Hugo away from the book he was reading in the study. The entire house had been quiet for a while now, and he’d been sure that he was the only one still awake. Just as he was rising to his feet, the door creaked open and his mother walked in carrying a tray with a cup of tea and a plate of cookies.
“Sorry for disturbing you. I thought I’d bring you some tea and cookies before bed,” she murmured.
For a moment, Hugo stood frozen, his brow furrowed at his mother’s subdued demeanor. He couldn’t remember ever having seen her so quiet. The one exception may have been when his father died.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“Sit. Sit,” she admonished as she placed the teacup and saucer on the table followed by the plate of cookies. “I couldn’t sleep, and thought I’d bake. You should try one. It was your father’s recipe. One he didn’t even share with the shop.”
Hugo didn’t look at the cookies but stared at his mother’s smile. It was fragile and didn’t quite reach her light-brown eyes.
“The gingersnaps?”
She hummed and nodded as she walked across the room. She set down the tray on the edge of the desk and aimlessly tidied up some papers. “As soon as you declared they were your favorite, your father refused to make them in the bakery ever again. He said he wanted to keep something back for his family.”
Hugo picked up a cookie and took a bite. The sweetness of the cookie mellowed the sharp snap of the ginger. It was so familiar that a lump formed in his throat. His father had been gone for two years now, and he was sure this was the first time he’d tasted this cookie since his passing. For a heartbeat, that distance was erased.
“Just like his,” he said roughly after swallowing the cookie.
“Pfft, not even close. My cooking is passable at best. He was always a genius with food. He would have been a master chef even without his magic. I did some cooking prior to hiring a cook to give him a break,” she replied, moving over to a bookshelf to straighten some books.