Page 9

Eight

40 BLOOMSBURY STREET, LONDON - JUNE 6, 1816

TOM

He hadn’t recognized me. Again. My lips still tingled from kissing his cheek and I was nothing to him.

It was, perhaps, even worse than our first meeting. Our first meeting had been brief; Rosehill was distracted. I hadn’t spent the entire night before floating on a delicate cloud of joy, hope, and wonder—with a little lust for good measure.

My chest ached as I strode the five or so minutes to my apartments at a clip. The air was too muggy, remnants of last night’s rain lingering in city soot.

There had been a split second when I saw him, recognized his frame from behind, when my heart had stopped in giddy delight. And then he sent it all crashing down.

What was it about me that was so forgettable?

I was generally good at this sort of thing—speaking to people, putting them at ease. Hell, I’d spent my entire life sheltering one brother from the verbal impact of the other.

But something about Xander—Rosehill—turned me into a bumbling fool. Kidnapped by pirates ? Truly? Could I have said anything more absurd?

And he planned to travel. If he chose Scotland… he would be gone until spring at least. It was preposterous to feel an ache in my chest at the prospect of a man I’d had one—admittedly life-altering—conversation with preparing to travel for a few months.

The familiar black door creaked as I pushed it open. My apartment was small, just a kitchen and dining area, a closet-sized study, a pitiful drawing room and bedroom. In fact, I employed only a part-time maid whom I shared with the doctor who lived above me.

I collapsed in a heap on the bed, lamenting almost immediately that I would need to rise if I wished for a drink. Worse still, if I was to be even close to timely for dinner at Grayson House, I needed to leave in an hour—though the thought exhausted me.

The inclination to wallow in my own self-pity was strong. That was a Grayson trait I wasn’t overly proud of. Even Michael, who hadn’t inherited the name, had a tendency to disappear into depression and drink when the walls crumbled in.

Xander had been so perfect last night—flustered in the best possible way. His dark gaze had flicked up and down my form, leaving me aware of my musculature, of my own skin, in an entirely new way. He had been open, so devastatingly honest that I was breathless for more. I would remember last night for the rest of my life, the same way I would Hugh’s wedding.

I rolled to one side, facing the door. An internal war was waging between duty and apathy, and I wasn’t certain which would win when a glint of light caught my gaze.

Sitting on the bedside table, a delicate little snuffbox shot the setting sunbeam back into my eyes. Sometime after I moved out of Grayson House and into this place, it had migrated from the drawer below to a place of honor on top. And every night, I fell asleep staring at it like a pathetic milksop.

Mother had feigned a megrim, which was a key ingredient in a pleasant supper. Of course, I had a megrim of my own brewing behind my eyes, which had made it even more difficult to leave the comfort of my bed and return to Grayson House.

More than two years ago, Kate hosted her first family supper with only Mother, Michael, Hugh, and me in attendance. The addition of Juliet and Kit tended to put Mother off, though she had warmed to Kit with the new title. Mother was a fickle creature.

What a difference two years made. Far from the stilted supper where Mother tossed barbs at Kate and spit venom at Michael while I tried to act as shield for them both, now the conversation was animated and jovial—at least when Mother absented herself.

“So truly, none of the ladies caught your eye the other evening?” Kate asked her brother.

“Kate…” he warned in a low growl.

“I’m not allowed to inquire any longer?”

“You were never allowed to inquire.”

“Well perhaps if you would tell me what you were looking for in a lady I might be able to narrow my search.”

“Any lady you introduce me to now would have scoffed at me a year ago.”

“Kate, leave him be. He’s young,” Hugh said, trying to save his brother-in-law.

“He’s older than you were when you married me.”

“Yes, and he was too young to marry,” Michael added with a laugh. “Not every gentleman can have Hugh’s unearned good fortune.”

Kate considered Michael for a moment, weighing the implied compliment against the attempted foiling of her schemes.

I took a sip of the wine to help choke down a bite of the goose. The new cook had nothing on the recently retired Mrs. Hudson, and that was a loss for the entire family.

“How is little Henry faring? Still teething?” Juliet asked brightly. My chuckle was difficult to trap, but I managed it. I was good at deflecting uncomfortable conversations, but Juliet was a savant . Nothing would distract Kate like her son.

“Yes, I’m afraid. He’s been miserable, the poor dear.”

Hugh cut in, adding, “He said his first word yesterday. Papa .”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Kate retorted. “He said pa twice.”

“Precisely. Papa,” Hugh explained proudly.

“So he said a nonsense syllable twice in a row?” Michael’s smirk was pleased. His wife caught the edge of her lip between her teeth, biting back her own an amused grin.

“It was papa .”

“I think his first word was Kit ,” the man himself explained. “He said ki last week. That’s clearly a reference to his favorite uncle.”

“Take that back,” I replied with no severity. In truth, I could not be more pleased that Henry would have his pick of favorite uncles, all worthy of the title. Though, of course, none so worthy as me.

“Yes, you’re all wonderful uncles,” Jules added. “But I think the important part is that there is no question of who is the favorite auntie.” Once again putting an end to what was sure to have been a half-hearted but not entirely unserious argument.

I tipped my glass of wine toward her before taking a sip. She shifted in her seat, a prim, silent acknowledgment of my compliment.

“At least until one of those two finds it within himself to bring home a wife,” Kate added.

“You think anyone could replace me as Henry’s favorite auntie?” Juliet asked in mock offense. “Nay, that would be impossible.”

“Of course not. Besides, he’ll probably be a man grown before either one of them deigns to offer for a woman.”

Juliet’s bright sapphire eyes met mine with something like discomfiture. Not for the first time since the masquerade, I wondered how much she knew. “I, for one, would not adore either of them a jot less for it.” Her gaze flicked to Kate. “You should not try to rush these things.”

“I’m not.”

“I saw you at the masquerade. You were very much doing precisely that.”

“I wasn’t! I could not even find Tom,” Kate complained.

If Juliet were so inclined, she could have given Michael a run at the card table. A sharper than usual blink was her only tell. “It was a successful evening, do you not think? Even if it didn’t end with any additional sisters-in-law,” she said.

“It certainly was,” Hugh added. “Do you think you will repeat it? Perhaps next year?”

“I wouldn’t be opposed to it. Though we may not be in a position to…” Michael said, trailing off with a significant glance at his wife as he caught her hand in his.

“We do have some news to share,” Juliet added quietly. “I am with child.”

Cheers of delight erupted around the table. The couple’s previous losses had been a poorly concealed secret, and there wasn’t a person present who could contain any pleasure for the couple.

I was ecstatic for them, truly. But there was also the sharp twinge in my chest when I caught the way they looked at each other—the way my cool, perpetually unaffected brother stared at his wife with naked adoration always left a confused swirl in my chest. A little sliver of envy crept in. A longing for a great love of my own that tarnished my joy just at the edges. I hated that part of myself.

My hand itched for a waist to settle upon affectionately, possessively. My lips longed for a private, special smile to share. My forehead craved a temple to rest upon, a place to lend strength.

And the man I wanted every single one of those things with didn’t even recognize me. That was the painful knot I had to swallow as I wished two of my favorite people in the world well deserved joy.