business but yours and his."
"Oh, and I do so thank you for that small consideration."
She discarded her cloak, draping it over the back of the chair. She'd been far too angry upon her arrival to concern herself with her outer garments. Indeed, it was only at the insistence of her butler and housekeeper that she'd bothered to don a cloak at all, but the early December morning was gray and cold and bearable only because the brisk air brought the promise of Christmas to come. Jonathon ignored her. "Charles's solicitor knows—"
"My solicitor." Elizabeth's tone was grim. She would sack the man as soon as possible. And do it with a great deal of relish.
"I believe Charles also discussed it with Lord Thornecroft before he put the provision in his will and, upon his death, I felt compelled," Jonathon looked as if he would rather be anywhere but here, "to write to Nicholas and inform him myself."
She gasped and moved toward him. "You did not see your way clear to tell me, your own sister, about actions that would impact my well-being and that of my children, yet you informed Nicholas Collingsworth? A man you have not seen for ten full years?"
"It was only seven at the time."
"Nonetheless—"
Jonathon squared his shoulders. "It was my responsibility to tell Nicholas." She wanted to smack him or scream or both. "And where was your responsibility to me?"
"I fulfilled my responsibility to you." Jonathon's voice was firm. "I watched over your finances until I was confident you could do so yourself. Frankly, there was a great deal of doubt on that score as to whether you could indeed handle estate business and the boys' inheritance and Charles's investments." Strangling was too good for him. She leveled him a lethal glare.
"Not on my part, though," he said quickly. "Precisely why I told Charles from the very beginning that it was not necessary. I always knew there was far more to you than the frivolous, flighty creature you presented to the rest of the world."
"And for that you have my undying gratitude." Sarcasm dripped off her words. She would not be mollified by a mere compliment from her brother. He could be as charming as he wished and it would not change the facts of the matter. "However, you—"
"I didn't tell you because, blast it all, Lizzie, I didn't know how." Jonathon ran his hand through his hair.
"Charles included this clause in his will a year or so before his death, right around the time Nicholas was knighted. Although I know they didn't meet, I suspect the knighthood is what gave Charles the idea in the first place. I probably didn't argue with him about it as much as I should have because I never expected him to die before you had both reached ripe old ages. It would be moot by then.
"It didn't seem appropriate to tell you right after Charles died, and then, as you took over more and more of the management of your affairs, it simply seemed pointless to bring it up. But I swear to you, it has weighed heavily on my conscience."
She snorted in disbelief.
"It has," he said firmly. "I have managed to live with it, but it's been difficult." He heaved a dramatic sigh.
"The guilt, you know."
She raised a brow.
"Perhaps guilt is not entirely accurate." He rolled his gaze toward the ceiling. "Perhaps, as Nicholas did not seem likely to return to England, and you had proven more than competent to handle matters, it seemed little more than an unnecessary detail. Revealing it would do nothing but upset you, so I simply disregarded it. I might have even, well," he grimaced, "forgotten about it entirely." She stared at him for a long moment. Elizabeth knew full well her anger was directed as much at her late husband as it was at Jonathon—if not more. Pity Jonathon had to take the brunt of it. Still, he wouldn't be in this position now if he hadn't held his tongue for so long.
"I suppose I can accept that." She drew a deep breath and forced a measure of calm. "Now that you have revealed some of the truth," she