The Marquess of Ramsgate did not get to choose his heir; primogeniture would force him to give Freddie the title, the lands, the fortune, pretty much anything that wasn’t nailed down by entail. But if Lord Ramsgate could have chosen, they all knew he would have chosen Hugh.

Freddie was twenty-seven and had not yet married. Hugh was holding out hope that he might yet do so, but he knew there was no woman in the world who would catch Freddie’s eye. He accepted this about his brother. He didn’t understand it, but he accepted it. He just wished Freddie would understand that he could still get married and do his duty and take all this bloody pressure off Hugh. Surely there were plenty of women who would be thrilled to have their husbands out of their beds once the nursery was sufficiently populated.

Hugh’s father, however, was so disgusted he’d told Freddie not to bother with a bride. The title might have to reside with Freddie for a few years, but as far as Lord Ramsgate was planning, it ought to end up with Hugh or his children.

Not that he ever seemed to hold Hugh in much affection, either.

Lord Ramsgate was not the only nobleman who saw no reason to care for his children equally. Hugh would be better for Ramsgate, and thus Hugh was better, period.

Because they all knew that the marquess loved Ramsgate, Hugh, and Freddie in precisely that order.

And probably Freddie not at all.

“Would you like laudanum?” Freddie asked abruptly. “The doctor said we could give you some if you woke up.”

If. Even less funny than the yet.

Hugh gave a nod and allowed his older brother to help him into something approaching a sitting position. “God, that’s foul,” he said, handing the cup back to Freddie once he’d downed the contents.

Freddie sniffed the dregs. “Alcohol,” he confirmed. “The morphine is dissolved in it.”

“Just what I need,” Hugh muttered. “More alcohol.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Hugh just shook his head.

“I’m glad you’re awake,” Freddie said in a tone that forced Hugh to notice that he had not sat back down after pouring the laudanum. “I’ll ask Corville to tell Father. I’d rather not, you know, if I don’t have to . . .”

“Of course,” Hugh said. The world was a better place when Freddie avoided their father. The world was a better place when Hugh avoided him as well, but someone had to interact with the old bastard on occasion, and they both knew it had to be he. That Freddie had come here, to their old home in St. James’s, was a testament of his love for Hugh.

“I will see you tomorrow,” Freddie said, pausing at the door.

“You don’t have to,” Hugh told him.

Freddie swallowed, and he looked away. “Perhaps the next day, then.”

Or the next. Hugh wouldn’t blame him if he never came back.

Freddie must have instructed the butler to wait before notifying their father of the change in Hugh’s condition, because nearly a full day went by before Lord Ramsgate blustered into the room.