“If he’s missing . . .” he said, thinking out loud. “They have to know.”

“Know what?” Billie asked. She was looking up at him from her position on the sofa, probably the only person close enough to hear his words.

He shook his head, still trying to make sense of it. From the (admittedly sparse) wording of the missive, it seemed that the army was certain that Edward was still alive. Which meant that the general had at least some idea where he was.

If that were the case, why didn’t he just say so?

George raked his fingers through his hair, the ball of his hand rubbing hard against his forehead. “How can a decorated soldier go missing?” he asked, turning back to the rest of the room. “Was he kidnapped? Is that what they are trying to tell us?”

“I’m not sure they know,” Felix said quietly.

“Oh, they bloody well know,” George nearly spat. “They just don’t want—”

But Andrew cut him off. “It’s not like here,” he said, his voice hollow and dull.

George shot him an irritated glance. “I know, but what—”

“It’s not like here,” Andrew said again, this time with rising anger. “The villages are far apart. The farms don’t even border each other. There are giant swaths of land that nobody owns.”

Everyone stared at him.

“And there are savages,” Andrew said.

George stepped closer, trying to block his mother’s view of Andrew’s tortured face. “This is not the time,” he said in a harsh whisper. His brother might be in shock, but so were they all. It was time for Andrew to grow up and bloody well take hold of his emotions before he shattered what little composure remained in the room.

But Andrew’s tongue remained loose and indiscreet. “It would be easy to go missing there.”

“You haven’t been there,” George snapped.

“I’ve heard.”

“You’ve heard.”

“Stop,” someone said. “Stop it now.”

The two men were now nearly nose to nose.

“There are men on my ship who fought in the colonies,” Andrew bit off.

“Oh, and that’s going to help us recover Edward,” George practically spat.

“I know more about it than you do.”

George nearly flinched. He hated this. He hated this so much. The impotence. The worthlessness. He’d been outside playing bloody Pall Mall and his brother was missing in some godforsaken colonial wilderness.

“I am still your older brother,” he hissed, “and I will be head of this family—”

“Well, you’re not now.”

He might as well have been. George cast a fleeting glance at his father, who had not said a word.

“Oh, that was subtle,” Andrew jeered.

“Shut up. Just shut—”

“Stop!” Hands came between them and forcibly pushed them apart, and when George finally looked down he realized they belonged to Billie.

“This isn’t helping,” she said, practically shoving Andrew into a chair.

George blinked, trying to regain his equilibrium. He didn’t know why he was yelling at Andrew. He looked at Billie, still standing between them like a tiny warrior. “You shouldn’t be on that foot,” he said.