Lucien shook himself inwardly at the absurd comparison. “Shooting star?”
“It’s rare, and you have to be watching to see it orsnap, it will be gone. I am quite an expert on the subject as it happens. Shooting stars, not your smiles. It began when mother was ill, and we spent many a long night peering out the window. When we imagined what might come after life, we weren’t satisfied with harps and angels, and decided if the heavens were to be her next residence, we should become familiar with it. We began studying astronomy with the boys. We even chose the star that she would wait upon, so they could see it winking and know she was still watching over them.”
He was charmed in spite of himself. He looked across at the three boys and added more gently. “Your brothers are fortunate to have you. My mother has always loved stars as well,” Lucien said. “She has a room we call the Sky Chamber, painted blue, with gilt stars on the ceiling.”
Servants had accidentally put his father there after the carriage accident that had nearly cost him his life, that location setting in motion events that had turned the world of Everdene, its tenants, and the Harcourt family on end.
Only he knew why those servants had placed his unconscious father in that chamber. And damned if Lucien would enlighten anyone.
“I remember that room from when I was a child,” Grace exclaimed. “The stars were arranged in constellations, weren’t they? I wanted to paint some on the nursery ceiling for my brothers, but my father would not allow it.”
A slight breeze wafted her scent toward him, sunshine and meadow grass. Natural, real, warm.
“I’m afraid I’m quite chattering on,” she said. “It’s been a very long time since I’ve spoken to anyone save my family.”
Lucien followed her gaze to the paddock where the three Elliot rapscallions clustered.
McLeod sat astride the mare, Titania, the horse’s rare golden coat shimmering like liquid metal. Dainty round hooves seemed barely to touch the ground as she changed leads, her neck arched, cream mane flowing. Avery and Ethan stood on the bottom rung of the gate, transfixed, while Bennet balanced on the top, every muscle in his small body seeming to strain toward the horse.
“I know my brothers seem incorrigible, but I believe boys—like horses—need a deft hand to civilize them, without breaking their spirits.” She smiled at her brothers, so warmly it made Lucien’s chest feel tight. He wanted her to smile at him that way. “Wait until you have a son, my lord.”
“I have no intention of doing so.” The words slipped out, sharp edged.
“But you’re a viscount. You will need to provide an heir.”
“My brother is busy filling the Harcourt cradle.”
Green eyes regarded him askance. “So, you are expecting your brother to do your sums?”
“Pardon me?”
“Avery used to do that with Ethan until I caught him. He’d bribe Ethan to do his maths so he could run out to play.” She levelled Lucien a teasing look that gave him a glimpse into the elder sister she was. “It’s called cheating.”
Lucien’s shoulders stiffened. “Compromises need to be made in certain situations,” he said crisply. “My family is nothing like yours.”
“Not many families are. At least as we were before.” A soft sigh stirred the lace at her breast. “It is painful when families change. But then, you know that as well as I. It was no small thing when your sisters left.”
You have no idea, Lucien thought grimly.
“I wrote to Jane, but she never answered,” Grace said.
“She and Cassandra were sent to aunts in Italy. They are recently returned to Everdene.”
Grace’s eyes sparkled. “Jane and Cassandra here! Oh, I would so love to see them again!”
“They have gone to Galen’s Well for the day, the place where my mother resides, but my brother’s wife is having a house party over this weekend. Dinner on Friday night then hunting Saturday morning if the weather holds.Perhaps you would care to join us?”
He made it sound casual, and yet he wanted Grace to be there. Wanted it with a fierceness that was inexplicable. “Your brother is invited as well,” he added to dispel the uncomfortable sense of intimacy between them.
She slanted a merry glance up at him through thick black lashes. “Avery, Ethan or Bennet?”
He arched one brow. “I’d prefer the only Elliot brother who hasn’t doused me in mud.”
“Why, I think you made a jest, my lord.” Her smile lit up her whole face. He experienced a pull of desire deep in his chest. Suddenly he felt as if he were back on the lake shore, the swells of her breasts against his chest.
“I think calling me ‘my lord’ is becoming absurd,” he said. “Call me Lucien.”
Where had that come from? Nobody called him Lucien except his family. But then,shehad. The Grace of his childhood, merely copying the informality of his siblings.
