Sophia turned to Genevieve.
“Something has occurred,” Genevieve said quietly. She did not sound alarmed, but there was a confident concern in her words.
Sophia nodded, swallowing her own worry.
“I rather think so,” she said.
Genevieve’s gaze lingered on the corridor.
“Do you believe it concerns this morning’s unfortunate incident?” she asked.
Sophia did not answer at once. She moved toward the drawing room and gestured for Genevieve to follow. Once inside, she reached for the small sewing basket kept beneath the window and took up her embroidery. Her fingers found the needle easily, though her thoughts strayed far from the silk she pulled through the linen.
“If it does, I suspect we shall know soon enough,” she said at last, settling into the rhythm of her work and forcing a smile. “But come, let us not sit idly andfret. I am confident that my brother will handle any troubles. Have I shared the tale of Gabriel’s first pony?”
Genevieve tilted her head, curiosity flickering in her expression. She was clearly surprised by the sudden change in activity, but she sat across from Sophia, unquestioning.
“No,” she said. “I have heard very little about him, apart from his war injury.
Sophia’s lips curved slightly.
“Ah. Then you are in for a tale,” she said. “He was seven. The creature was called Barley, and he bit everyone he disliked, which was nearly everyone. Gabriel insisted he could manage him. Father tried to dissuade him, but you must understand that Gabriel was quite determined.”
Genevieve’s eyes brightened, the tension in her posture easing as she listened. Sophia allowed herself to relax, if only a little, weaving the memory carefully.
“He was all scraped knees, mud-smeared boots, and a wild mop of hair the housekeeper could never tame,” she said. “He marched up to that pony and declared he would ride him by sunset. And so, he did, right after three bites, one tumble, and a good deal of shouting.”
Genevieve laughed, shaking her head.
“I can picture it,” she said.
Sophia nodded, meeting her sister-in-law’s gaze with intensity.
“There is more to him than silence and stern glances,” she said, smiling faintly. “He has always carried more than he ever says aloud.”
Genevieve looked down, her fingers idly toying with the edge of her sleeve.
“I truly believe so,” she said softly. “I can see it.”
The quiet response struck Sophia more deeply than she expected. Something in Genevieve’s tone suggested the beginning of a bond Sophia had not dared to hope for.
Outside, the wind stirred the trees as the sun began to set. And behind the closed door of the study, something waited. But in that moment, Sophia held fast to gentler recollections. Her brother, wild-haired and grinning, determined to conquer a half-wild pony. Perhaps, in time, Genevieve would help him remember that version of himself again.
***
Gabriel closed the door behind them, the latch catching with a quiet click that seemed to still the air. He moved past the hearth, gesturing toward the pair of armchairs facing one another across the map-strewn table. James sat without speaking, his eyes following Gabriel with an intensity that suggested he had not come merely to exchange pleasantries.
Gabriel remained standing, arms folded across his chest, jaw set. He knew that look well enough. It had accompanied far too many conversations he would rather not remember.
“Well,” he said, his voice flat, “out with it.”
James did not glance away.
“Charles is in London,” he said bluntly.
The name fell between them like a stone dropped into water, the ripples immediate and far-reaching. Gabriel did not speak at once. He turned away and walked to the sideboard, though he had no intention of pouring anything. His hand hovered above the decanter regardless.
“I thought he had fled the continent,” Gabriel said at last, quiet but sharp. “Portugal, was it? Or Italy?”
