Jameson thought about the deal he’d struck with his father and the way Ian had tossed it away, tossed him away. “I don’t want anything from your brother,” he said, and he meant it.
He never needed to see or talk to or hear about Ian Johnstone-Jameson again.
“My brother,” Branford replied, “will want plenty from you.”
His meaning sank in like a rock in quicksand. If Ian expected Jameson to hand over Vantage after what he’d pulled, the youngest son of the Earl of Wycliffe was going to be sorely disappointed. But Branford?
Jameson couldn’t help looking at his uncle, studying him, thinking about the way the man had torn into him about unacceptable risks. There was care there—genuine care. “The offer I made you,” Jameson said abruptly. “Back before the game was done. Vantage—”
“—is yours.” Branford glared at Jameson. “I’ll brook no argument on that. Not from you, not from my brothers. You won it. Honestly. Fairly.”
Jameson cocked a brow. “Weren’t you just British-yelling at me about how I won it?”
“We all felt invincible once.” Branford’s voice grew quieter. “We all had something to prove.”
“I don’t have anything to prove,” Jameson said. “I won.”
“You,” Branford countered, “gave up the game.” Those words hung in the air. “I could hear everything that you said, Jameson, everything that Zella said. When she was barely holding on, when you had to choose between winning and saving her—you didn’t call her bluff.”
Jameson could feel himself, right back in that moment. “I wasn’t sure that she was bluffing.”
“Ian would have taken that risk.” Branford’s tone was measured, no frills, no illusions. “He would have let her fall. Bowen, too, though he would have had a plan for deflecting blame. But you?” The viscount took another step forward, until he and Jameson were practically eye to eye. “You thought you were handing over the game, Jameson, and you chose to put the life of another person over winning. You can call that whatever you like. I call it honor.”
Jameson swallowed, unsure why he suddenly needed to. “I won anyway.”
“And I’ll see to it,” Branford replied, “that no one takes that away from you, takes this away from you.” The next thing Jameson knew, his uncle’s hands were on his shoulders, turning him back toward the window, toward that view. “Vantage is yours now. There’s a trust to see to its upkeep, which I administered for Ian and will continue to administer for you.” The viscount’s voice softened. “Come and go as you will. She’s yours now.”
She as in this place, this slice of history, a family legacy that Jameson had been willing to fight for when he wasn’t even considered family.
“Why would you do that for me?” The question caught in Jameson’s throat. “Why would you do anything for me?”
“Had I known about you when you were born,” came the response, quiet and deep, like a river gone suddenly still, “I would have done something then.”
Jameson thought about Xander and Isaiah, about what it must have been like the moment his brother had realized that he had a father who wanted him.
My uncle would have come for me. Jameson swallowed again. “My grandfather wouldn’t have let you.” What had happened with Xander’s father was a testament to that.
“Bold of you,” his uncle replied, “to think I would have left him the choice.”
Jameson snorted. “You don’t know what my grandfather was like.”
“And Tobias Hawthorne,” the viscount said, “did not know me.”
For a second, Jameson could almost believe that Branford could have faced the old man down. But believing that he would have? Jameson shook his head. “You don’t owe me anything,” he said.
“And if you’d chosen to let the duchess fall, perhaps I could believe that. But like recognizes like, Jameson. You are not your father. I fear you’re far more like me.”
That statement should have sounded ridiculous. It should have felt ridiculous. It shouldn’t have meant anything—but it did.
“I’m not your responsibility,” Jameson tried again, his heart clenching in his chest.
“Everything is my responsibility.” Branford raised a brow at him. “As for your secret…”
It’s ashes now, Jameson thought. And safe. The proof will be returned to me. The Proprietor will say nothing.