Kathryn Smith (28 page)

Was it Wynthrope’s imagination, or was everyone watching to see how he would react to Brahm? It wouldn’t do to be too friendly, besides, just because he had confided in Brahm didn’t mean he
liked
him all of a sudden. Still, he couldn’t seem to summon the same amount of resentment toward him either.

“Why would I want to do that?” As if their father would have wanted him to have any of it.

Brahm tilted his head, his expression mildly mocking. “Because you are the only one I could think of who might appreciate an antique chess set.”

Wynthrope’s eyes widened. Their father’s chess set? Brahm wanted him to have it? He loved that set. As a boy he would sit by himself and play with the pieces. His father would sometimes play with him. It was the only thing they ever did together. Brahm hated chess—probably because it was something else Wynthrope was better at than he. Had their father berated him for that as well?

He schooled his expression to hide his eagerness, but not before he knew Brahm had seen it, damn him. He nodded, the movements jerky. “I will come tomorrow if that is convenient.”

To his credit, Brahm’s smile was nothing more than a smile. There was no smugness, no overt emotion. No one in the room would ever know that the dynamic between them had changed the slightest bit—not by looking at Brahm.

“Good. There are some other things you might be interested in as well, some books and whatnot. I’m sure father would rather they be in the hands of someone capable of appreciating them.” Then, before Wynthrope could even try to choke out his thanks, Brahm pivoted on his heel and walked over to a winged chair with a pronounced limp.

Wynthrope watched his brother as he walked away. Brahm’s leg must be bothering him in this wet, cold weather. It had been crushed in the carriage accident that killed their father. Both Brahm and their father had been drunk at the time, and to Wynthrope’s knowledge, his eldest brother hadn’t had a drink since. Brahm never spoke of the accident, at least not that he knew of. Did he ever wonder if he might have been able to do something? Did guilt ever gnaw at his insides as he ran the scenario over and over in his head, trying to think of something he might have done differently? Or had he been so drunk he couldn’t remember a damn thing?

And why did Wyn care? He had never given this any thought in the past, so why did it matter now if his brother suffered at all? No one blamed Brahm for their father’s death. The accident could have killed him even if he’d been sober. Of course, the accident might not have happened if one of them had been sober. Rumor had it they were racing another carriage when it happened. No one knew for certain. Brahm couldn’t seem to remember and there had been no one else present when the wreck was found.

Wonderful. Now he was obsessing over Brahm instead of Moira. He really needed to get ahold of himself. At this rate he’d soon take an interest in North and Octavia’s marriage or start inviting Brahm to dinner, and then they’d have to cart him off to Bedlam because he’d gone mad as a loon.

Thankfully, Octavia’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Blythe, Devlin, why do you not tell us why you wanted to have us all together tonight?”

Wynthrope’s gaze went to his youngest brother and his smiling bride. They sat side by side on a sofa like the king and queen of some mythological race of giants, trading glances as though they shared some great secret.

Devlin put his arm around Blythe’s shoulders as she flushed. “In eight months you all are going to have a new niece or nephew to dote over.”

There were gasps all around and the women rushed to Blythe with hugs and congratulations. Even Devlin was not saved from their giddy exuberance. They reached up and seized the back of his neck, pulling him down so they could buss his cheek and squeeze him without mercy. The men were more subdued, offering Blythe a kiss on the cheek and their hands to Devlin, except for Brahm, who had always acted a bit more fatherly toward his youngest brother. He caught the taller man in a one-armed embrace and slapped him happily on the back.

After offering his own felicitations, Wynthrope stood back and watched the celebration with a definite feeling of separation. Miles and Varya were ecstatic. They had children of their own and were overjoyed that little Edward and baby Irena were going to have a cousin to play with. North and Octavia, the newlyweds, had yet to start their family, but it was apparent from their expressions that they planned to very soon.

Wynthrope watched them with a strange sense of bewil
derment and envy. Having a child was not a new invention. People had been doing it for years, so he wasn’t quite certain why everyone was carrying on so. Of course he understood that it was a very happy occasion for his family, but he really didn’t think it warranted all this fuss.

At the same time, he wanted them to stop carrying on because the more everyone gushed, the more agitated he became. He envied Devlin and Blythe, just as he envied North and Octavia and Miles and Varya. He envied anyone lucky enough to have found his life mate—anyone fortunate enough to receive unconditional love and trust. He wanted to be such a person, and he really didn’t think it would ever happen. One couldn’t just be given love, one had to earn it, and he had no idea whatsoever how to go about doing that.

“I suppose you will be next,” Brahm said as he came up beside him, also watching the laughing bunch just a few feet away.

Wynthrope cast him a sideways glance. “Doubtful. My money’s on you.”

Brahm chuckled at that. “Who would want an old wreck like me?”

“A rich, titled wreck,” Wynthrope reminded him.

“A
scandalous
, rich, titled wreck.”

Wynthrope shrugged. “I’m sure there are more than a few mamas who would love to toss their daughters into your path.” There was that word again, “toss.”

“You are fairly wealthy in your own right.” Brahm’s tone was casual. “And if I should die without issue…”

Wynthrope turned his head with a horrified expression. “You won’t. Promise me you won’t.”

His brother laughed. “Perhaps you will die before me and the title can go on to Devlin’s son.” They both knew it didn’t matter if North and Octavia produced a dozen sons, none of North’s issue could inherit the title.

He nodded. That sounded much better. There was no way he wanted the responsibility of the title to fall upon his own shoulders. “I still believe you shall produce progeny of your own, however. I rather like the idea of you being plagued by a passel of screaming brats.” He turned his head to watch the others once more.

He heard the smile in his brother’s voice. “I could wish the same on you.”

Wynthrope shook his head. “It will never happen.”

Silence fell between them as they stood apart from the rest of the family. No one seemed to notice that they weren’t as involved as everyone else.

“Thank you for the chess set,” Wynthrope said after a few moments.

“You are welcome. There is only one thing I ask in return.”

Wynthrope frowned. He should have known there would be a catch. “What?”

Brahm shot him a meaningful glance. “That you will not give up pursuing your viscountess. I should like very much to see her as the mother of your screaming brats.”

And with that, he limped away. Wynthrope watched him go with a wry expression. His brother certainly had a flair for exits that was to be envied.

Sometime later, after they had finished celebrating the news of Devlin and Blythe’s impending parenthood with dinner and wine and raucous conversation, Wynthrope took his leave. He was the first to depart, but he couldn’t bear to be surrounded by such loud, happy people any longer. Everyone wished him a good night, except for North who was obviously still very vexed with him. He told Wynthrope he would call on him in the morning. Wynthrope could scarcely contain his enthusiasm.

His carriage was brought around and he climbed into the warm interior, draping the lap robe over him as he rapped on
the roof. He’d caught a bit of a chill riding home from Moira’s that afternoon and it lingered still in his bones. It served him right for going on horseback, but he thought it might earn him a little sympathy from her if she saw how truly repentant he was. He would know better next time.

When he alighted from the carriage in front of his own residence, he was surprised to see someone lying on the steps to the building. He was not the only bachelor who lived there, so at first he wondered if it might be one of the other tenants, passed out drunk. It was a rather cold night, and he stooped down to wake the poor blighter.

It was then that he noticed that the person’s clothing was dirty and torn in places, and stained with blood. If this was a drunkard, he had been in a bit of a scuffle that evening.

Wynthrope rolled the body over carefully, not wanting to add further damage if the person was injured. As the face came into view, he saw that this person was indeed injured. The features were swollen and bruised and almost entirely covered in blood so thick even the rain had failed to wash it away.

Light from the lamp above illuminated the battered face and then Wynthrope saw who it was.

“Christ, no.”

Minnie and her young man joined Moira for dinner that evening. Nathaniel had made plans to see Matthew, and Moira couldn’t find it in her heart to ask him to cancel just because she was afraid Wynthrope might come to call. She would have to face him eventually. Perhaps sooner was better, while she still had the pain of his deception keeping her strong.

Just in case the pain wasn’t strong enough, she had Minnie and her soon-to-be-betrothed to hide behind.

It didn’t take long after Lucas Scott’s arrival for Moira to
decide he was the perfect match for her sister. At five and twenty he was young enough to relate to Minnie and enjoy many of the same pastimes, but he was also old enough that he had a great deal of responsibility laid across his shoulders. He was not one to be easily fooled or steered from his course, and he was as stubborn as Minnie herself, which would come in handy whenever the two of them argued.

Such a handsome fellow as well. His golden good looks and sparkling blue eyes were the perfect contrast to Minnie’s dark hair and eyes and pale skin. And he smiled a lot, which was always a good sign. His family was large and very close, from what Moira had been able to glean from Minnie. He got on well with both his parents and all his siblings—an enviable situation for anyone in the Banning family indeed. It would do Minnie good to be around a loving family.

But the largest trait in his favor was his obvious adoration of her sister. Moira was pleased beyond words at how Lucas lavished attention on Minnie. He talked with her, joked with her, and listened intently whenever she opened her mouth.

Yes, Moira couldn’t be happier for her younger sister, or more jealous. Here she was, more than thirty years old and a widow, and her innocent little sister had what she had never been able to achieve. A short time ago she had foolishly entertained the idea of sharing such harmony with Wynthrope, but now…

Dear heaven, could she not go at least a few hours without thinking of him? Just a hour or two, that was all she asked. It seemed such an impossibility these days. She had never missed or mourned the loss of a person like this—not even Tony.

After dinner, the three of them retired to the drawing room where a warm fire crackled in the hearth. Moira poured mulled wine for them and then found herself unable to drink hers because it made her think of
him
.

Thankfully neither Minnie nor Lucas noticed she wasn’t partaking. They were too busy exchanging secret smiles as they sat together on the sofa. Even though there was a proper amount of distance between them, the joyous tension was obvious. God, she had been relegated to intruder in her own home.

Finally, Minnie took her beau by the hand and turned her attention to her sister. “Moira, I told Lucas that you and I have already spoken, but he has something he would like to ask you.”

Trying her best to smile encouragingly—it really wasn’t that difficult—Moira met the young man’s eager gaze. His smile was sure and genuine—not the least bit hesitant.

“Lady Aubourn, my regard for Minnie is undeniably obvious to you and anyone else who happens to be present when I see her lovely face.” He glanced at said face as soon as he spoke the words.

Oh how sweet. Envy tightened its hold, even as joy warmed Moira’s heart. This was what love should be. Minnie would never wake up in the middle of the night to find Lucas betraying her.

Lucas turned his attention back to her. “I find the very thought of living the rest of my life without her unbearable and therefore humbly request that you save me from such torment and give me your permission to formally ask her hand in marriage.”

She was going to cry. That was all there was to it. Such a well-spoken behest and so very obviously sincere. Only true love could inspire a man to such an overly poetic fancy. When Tony had asked her parents for permission, the topic immediately changed to money and how soon the ceremony could take place. Of course, she had been just as eager to have those decisions made. She had wanted so very desperately to get out of that house that she never once gave
thought to the idea that she might be passing up a chance at something real.

Swallowing against the lump in her throat, Moira smiled lovingly at them both. “My dear Mr. Scott, you not only have my heartfelt permission, but my blessing as well.” She stood and went to them, kissing them both on the cheek as they beamed happily. They had known she would say yes, but the finality of it seemed to overwhelm them.

“I suspect you would like a few moments alone to rejoice,” she remarked, seeing how delighted they both were. They only had eyes for each other, and if Moira didn’t leave soon, they were liable to explode.

But just because she envied them and was happy for them did not mean she was going to completely toss her duties as chaperone to the wind.

“You have ten minutes,” she warned them with mock severity as she made to depart. “And I am leaving the door open.”

Whether they even heard her, she did not know.