Page 13

Twelve

40 BLOOMSBURY STREET, LONDON - JUNE 17, 1816

TOM

It was something of a habit, even when I was away from my brother’s house, to sit on desks and stare at the paintings behind them. For years, in Grayson House and Thornton Hall, my father’s portraits had hung, judgmental and imposing, behind the desk.

Michael loathed my habit, but staring at the swirls of paint on canvas depicting a man I hardly remembered helped me think.

Henry Grayson hadn’t been a particularly good man. And he’d been an abysmal viscount. But for most of my life, I thought he’d been a good father. It had taken years to see what he’d done, or allowed to be done, to Michael and Hugh. The way he let my mother pit them against each other. The opportunities she stripped from Michael as our father stood silently by. It turned out, he was a terrible father too.

Which was honestly a relief. Because when I’d thought his haughty stare above me meant something, that his judgment was worth a damn, I’d felt the weight of that stare.

The study at the apartments I let on Bloomsbury Street featured a different, almost certainly equally horrid, deceased relative. And though it wasn’t my horrid deceased relative, the effect of the crooked nose and beady-eyed stare was the same.

Because I knew now that this man, whoever he may have been, was just as lost as I was. Only time and paint made him seem like he had the foggiest idea of what he was doing.

A knock came from the door behind me. And to my astonishment, behind the maid’s shoulder was Juliet.

“Come in, come in,” I insisted. A quick glance at my desk confirmed that it was shamefully empty. My instinct to stack and shuffle pages and ledgers to make room for her was entirely useless.

She settled across from me with her usual grace, dropping a basket of pastries on the desk between us. We each reached for a tart and tucked in.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what pleasure I owe this visit to,” I said, finally breaking the silence that had been filled with the fruit and cinnamon taste of comfort.

“You did this for me. Once. I only wanted to be sure you were all right.”

“How did—Did Michael tell you?”

“He told me enough to confirm what I already suspected.”

“So you did send me to Michael’s office…”

Her cheeks darkened. It was probably a fetching flush to others, but it was a mere darkening to my eyes. “I am afraid I must confess. I am as shameless a matchmaker as Kate. I had hoped…” She dropped her gaze to her lap. “I do not know what I hoped. It seems I made precisely the wrong choice. And for that I am truly sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

Juliet merely met my gaze with an intrigued expression.

“It was the best night of my life,” I finished.

“Then I take back my apology. I understand... That sentiment… There was a time when Michael and I seemed impossible. And I wouldn’t have given back our stolen moments for the world. Even if I had to live off them for the rest of my days.”

And that was it. My regret wasn’t the masquerade. It wasn’t the conversation. I regretted that I would have to live the rest of my days with the memory of nothing more than the brush of my lips against his cheek. Why hadn’t I been bolder?

“And if they’re not enough? What if there aren’t enough… stolen moments to sustain me?”

“The masquerade, it was not your only meeting. Was it?” she asked.

“Only one of note. He didn’t even remember our first meeting.” The petulance in my tone didn’t phase her.

“But you do.”

“We first met at Hugh and Kate’s wedding breakfast. I’d suspected there was something… different, that I wasn’t—that I didn’t…”

“Understand the appeal of the fairer sex?” she supplied.

I shrugged. It was better than I could have done. “But I saw him. And everything that had always been confusing made sense. He made sense.”

“And he did not remember you at all.”

“Precisely.”

“What happened next?”

“It was Mother who introduced us. Given that she had just lost Hugh to ‘a conniving harlot,’ she was angling for a match between Lady Davina and myself.”

“I may have to tell Kate that your mother called her a conniving harlot. She has finally learned to take pleasure in Agatha’s displeasure.”

“Oh, I’m well aware. She even encourages it on occasion.” I laughed, Juliet’s joining mine.

When the echoes of our mirth faded, I continued. “Meeting Rosehill changed my life. And he didn’t even remember my name.”

“So your first meeting was a mess. I assume the masquerade went well?”

“Yes.” I could feel the flush rising up my chest, neck, and cheeks.

“Well, then… What seems to be the problem? Aside from the whole of society, of course.”

“Yes, just that little thing. Also, he’s leaving.”

“He is?” she asked.

“He has property in Scotland. He plans to make it his primary residence.”

“Oh, Tom,” she said softly. “What are you going to do?”

“What can I do?”

“Well, it seems you have two options. You can stay. Or you can follow.”

“Follow and do what? With what?” I asked, stuffing a bite of tart into my mouth.

“ Make him remember you.”

“I’m entirely dependent on Hugh and Michael. I have no money, no house, nothing of my own. I can give Xander nothing.”

“I did not realize you felt that way. You are absolutely wrong, of course. But I hate that you feel that way.”

“Oh, I’m wrong?”

“Tom, I was penniless when Michael and I wed. My reputation was in tatters, the title was worthless. In fact, it cost Michael thousands of pounds to clear my father’s debts. Do you think Michael ever, for one second felt that way about me?”

“Of course not. You’re perfect for him.”

“Precisely. Rosehill has no need of money, or titles,” she said.

“But I don’t do anything. I helped Hugh when funds were tight, but now…”

“Tom, you are the glue. You hold everything together. You always have. And this family will absolutely be worse for not having you near. But you have done your duty your entire life. If you need to find your own branch of the family to hold together, we can manage in the meantime. You have taught us well.”

“But…”

“Just promise you will come back. Do not fall so in love with Scotland that you forget the rest of us.”

“Jules…”

“You are my favorite brother, you know. I always wanted one. I know I should not pick favorites, but… I cannot help myself.”

“Well, with such competition as Hugh…”

Her laugh was bright and free. “He improves upon closer acquaintance.”

“He improved after Kate yelled at him.”

“You had no need of improvement, and thus you are my favorite,” she insisted.