The Brigadier's Runaway Bride (Dukes of War Book 5) by Erica Ridley Read Free Book Online

back my commission to the army. The government has no idea I’m alive, much less home.”
    “ I paid it,” his twin said softly. “I not only sold my commission, I received additional funds due to the severity of my wounds while in service. Not just that. During the bedridden months of recovery, I made several risky and foolish investments—some of which paid off quite handsomely.”
    Edmund stared at him. “What are you saying?”
    “The money you had in your accounts when I returned home from war is still there. All your things are still there. One of your servants is still there, keeping the place tidy. I thought you were dead, but I couldn’t bring myself to dispose of your belongings. So I chose the cowardly path, and purchased the townhouse outright so I wouldn’t have to erase your memory. It’s all still yours, brother. To do with what you will. I’m only sorry I couldn’t have done more. If I had so much as suspected you were still alive…”
    His townhouse? His accounts? Edmund’s heart was hammering far too quickly to allow for speech. On the one hand, he had never been one for accepting charity. On the other hand, this was his twin . Doing what brothers do: Looking out for one another. This changed everything.
    His head swam. He had a place to live. Sarah and the baby had a place to live! His townhouse was small, but they would only be a family of three. With the right investments, they might one day live very comfortably indeed.
    Might.  
    Then again, tomorrow he could contract consumption and never live to know his child’s face. Such were the vagaries of Fate. He never knew what the wind would bring him or whisk away.
    Edmund pushed the thought out of his mind. The future was unwritten. All he cared about was now, and right now he and his wife and child possessed a townhouse in which to live. That was all that mattered.
    His spirits lifted further as Bartholomew drove his carriage into Maidstone and up the manicured path to their parents’ country house. Nor did he miss the irony. As a young man, Edmund had found his father overbearing and his mother cloying. After the past eight months, he would happily submit to any amount of browbeating or cheek-pinching they chose to deliver.
    His mother was already bustling out the door at the sight of her son’s carriage stopping at the front gate. “Bartholomew! If you had but mentioned that you might visit, I would have prepared a feast for you and Daphne. I shall send the maids to market at once and insist—”
    Edmund and his brother leaped down from the carriage at the same time. Just like they’d done for nearly six-and-twenty years, their boots hit the snow-specked path at the exact same moment.
    His mother gasped. The blood drained from her face.
    Edmund raced forward just as she swayed into a faint, and caught her in his arms.
    His mother frequently fainted (often unconvincingly) when subjected to a sudden shock. He had always found her flair for the dramatic both irritating and embarrassing. This time, however, he was surprised to discover that he had missed it.
    His swooning mother felt like home.
    Edmund’s wide-eyed father raced from the house looking thinner and much older since last Edmund saw him. Before Edmund could do more than grin delightedly at his father, his mother sprang out of his arms with the agility of a dancer and clapped her hands with glee.
    “I told you he would come home!” she chortled in her husband’s direction. She spun back to Edmund and pinched his cheeks as tears streamed down her own. “You are far too thin. You must eat! I’ll have the cook make… I’ll have him make all your favorite foods. Oh, Edmund, I knew you would come home. I knew it, I knew it!”
    “When did you return, son?” his father asked, his glistening eyes betraying his restrained pleasure. “Could you not have written?”
    “Of course he could not,” his mother snapped. “If he could’ve written, he would’ve done so. He’s