“We did not,” he said, sketching his sisters a bow, only then aware of another figure in the shadows.
Cassandra beckoned the woman forward. “Paola, this is the brother I told you about. Lucien, my maid, Paola Vincenci. She has been kind enough to accompany me through all of my adventures.”
The hot suns of Italy had turned the woman’s complexion olive, her hair thick and black. Her nose was a trifle hawk-like, but what struck him most was the silken patch that covered her left eye, the ribbon that held it in place scarlet. Her remaining eye narrowed until it glittered like a sliver of jet.
“I am in your debt for seeing my sisters safely to England,” he told the woman, then turned to his family. “I will see you all at dinner.”
“Perfect,” Cassandra said. “That will give us the opportunity to discuss guests for the dinner our dear Simon’s wife is being gracious enough to host for us on Friday.”
Penelope’s cheeks flushed as she looked at Lucien. “I thought it would be nice to have some old acquaintances to welcome Cassandra and Jane home, if you’ve no objection.”
“Everdene Hall is yours in all but name now. I urge you to do as you wish.” They’d had a rocky beginning to their relationship when Simon first courted her, complete with threats Lucien had issued to Simon’s future wife in an effort to keep family secrets hidden. Things were better between them, but there was stilla distance he could not quite bridge. If the estate hadn’t been entailed, Lucien would have signed it over to his brother in a heartbeat. Payment for grief caused.
Penelope regarded Lucien’s cheek with a worried expression, the babe in her arms tugging at the bodice of her gown. “There is a cut on your face.”
“I’m fine,” Lucien answered more sharply than he intended. The babe started to cry and Lucien felt like a right bastard. He resisted the urge to reach out, touch his nephew’s small back. Lucien’s hand was filthy. Better to let people who knew how to soothe a child comfort him. Eight-month-old Kit had plenty of those.
Thank God,a voice buried deep in him whispered.
He turned and walked through the front door, one wave of his hand sending servants running to heat bath water and bring him brandy. Then leave him alone.
The house grew eerilyquiet as Grace put her brothers to bed. The staff was exhausted from preparing for the luncheon and the drama afterwards. The boys, scrubbed until they were pink-skinned from their baths, snuggled into their beds, their hair soft and silky against their pillows, their nightshirts smelling fresh from the wash.
They looked like little cherubs, Bennet’s arm clutched around a stuffed horse, Admiral Nelson on the bedside table to stand guard against any nightmare that might creep in. Grace could only hope the toad was still confined in a bucket somewhere.
“Grace?” Bennet caught her hand as she bent down to kiss his forehead, his voice so soft, tentative.
"What is it, sweeting?”
She heard his breath hitch. “Promise you won’t leave us ’cause we’re wicked.”
Her heart squeezed. How many times had her littlest brother begged her for just such a promise? “You aren’t wicked,” she soothed. “You’re just full of high spirits. You must make amends for what happened today like an honorable gentleman, but I know that you will. And there is nothing you could ever do that would make me stop loving you.”
“Mama left us.” Bennet’s brow furrowed. “Promise you’ll never leave us like mama did.”
She wanted to promise him the world, anything to drive back that haunted curve to his mouth, a grief no child should bear. And yet, she measured her words with care. “Sometimes things happen we can’t control. Mama was sick. She didn’t want to leave you. I promise I’ll stay as close as I can, and I’ll always be with you in my heart.”
She sat beside him, his small, warm hand in hers until his breath softened, steadied, his fingers relaxing in sleep. Gently, she tucked the coverlet up to his chin and brushed a kiss across his brow.
Drawing a deep breath, she went down to the dining room to face her father and Helen. As she entered the room, she saw her father at the table, only two places set, just as it had been before Helen had come along. She felt a twinge of wistfulness.
“Helen is not joining us?” Grace asked as she slid into her chair.
“No.” There was something unnerving about that single word. She braced herself, sensing they were on unsteady ground, a new tension showing in her father’s brown eyes.
Grace sipped watered wine from a crystal goblet. “Papa, I know the boys made a mess of things. I promise, I will take the situation in hand.”
He gazed at her tenderly, a little sadly. “My dearest girl, you have carried far too much responsibility on your young shoulders for too long. You have been invaluable to me and to your brothers during your precious mama’s illness, and our grief after her passing, something for which I will be eternally grateful. But I have not been entirely fair to you.”
"Not at all! I?—”
He cut her off with a wave of his hand. “Helen has helped me to see that harsh truth. You were in the midst of your first season when your mother became ill. I’ll never forget your delight, the two of you planning beautiful gowns, chattering about balls and beaus for half the night through.”
Grace’s eyes misted. How many times had she sifted through memories of those magical days. Visiting modiste’s shops, receiving nosegays and invitations. That heart-pounding moment when the dance partner she longed for approached from across the room. She could see herself garbed in a rose-pink gown, feel Mama’s hand brush back a curl that tumbled across her brow.Oh, my beautiful girl. Look at you! You are perfect.
Her mother had been the only one to think so.
She tucked the memory away.
