Lucien met his gaze in silence.
Arkwright looked from Lucien to Simon and back again. “Jesus, Luce,” he said uncertainly. “It was a joke.”
But Lucien was already walking out the door.
It was time for the sword to fall. He only hoped the blade was sharp.
Lucien sat stillas stone across from his brother and mother as his luxurious coach jolted over the cobblestoned roads. Simon could scarce contain his excitement, his body twitchy as one of the race horses he bred, his hair tousled and cravat askew. Their mother, Lorena Harcourt, Countess of Ravenscroft, leaned against her younger son, her gloved hands trembling where she clutched them in her lap.
Today would provide the last puzzle piece in the mystery that had begun to unravel two years ago when a carriage accident had nearly cost the Earl of Ravenscroft his life, drawing Simon back to the estate he hated. That act of fate had thrown the Harcourtfamily into a spiral that had ended in the revelation of secrets buried for twenty years, and a marriage of almost-unbelievable happiness for Lucien’s brother. Lucien was still uncertain which of these events had infuriated their father the most.
What he did know was this: The impending reunion would mean healing for Simon and their mother.
For Lucien, it was shattered glass, cutting deep.
The instant the coach shuddered to a stop, Simon flung open the door, leaping out before a footman could attend them. He reached up and swung their mother down as if she were a young girl instead of a grandmother past her fiftieth year. Her gown of cornflower blue swayed like a bell.
“There it is, Mama,” Simon exclaimed, wrapping an arm around the countess and pointing to the forest of ships that thronged the harbor. “I can see the Italian flag from here!”
Lucien waited for a footman to lower the step then alighted from the equipage.
The countess turned to Lucien. “The wait is almost over.” Her hand moved toward him, then she let it fall to her side. She had been missing from their lives until three years ago. But even since their reunion, his mother hesitated before she touched him.
He put distance between them, sparing them both the sudden awkwardness. “We’d best hurry before they ferry passengers ashore,” Lucien said. “I’ll lead the way.”
It was no effort to forge a path through the crowd. People from the lowliest dock worker to the high born gave him wide berth, motivated by equal parts awe and fear.
“Know who that is, ducky?” he heard a skinny sailor say to a doxy. “That toff all the fine ladies keep tryin’ to snare.”
Lucien leveled the pair a glare.
The doxy went goggle-eyed and they scurried off into the crowd.
When the Harcourts neared the brigantine, Lucien squinted into the sunlight. It was all a blur, people leaning over the ship’s rail, searching for familiar faces. Women held gloved hands to their bonnets, gowns of every color rippling in the wind. Men stood like sentinels, sheltering them from the wind off the Thames as they waited for sailors to help them into the wherries that would bring them ashore. A drop of sweat trickled down Lucien’s spine.
Could Cassandra see him from wherever she stood at the rail? Could Jane? All he knew was that his sisters were somewhere in that crowd.
Simon broke into his thoughts. “I wonder what they’ll look like. I keep picturing Jane with jam on her chin, and Cass hiding that ratty blanket of hers from father. Do you remember, Luce?”
God yes, he remembered. She’d been clutching what remained of that blanket the night their world had fallen apart.
The image tightened around Lucien’s chest like a vise until it was hard to breathe. His father’s voice echoed in his head.
What do you imagine will happen when your sisters return? A heartwarming reunion? I don’t suppose I will be included.
No.
Family…the tie that binds...Or chains you can’t kick free.
His father’s ugly laughter haunted Lucien as Simon spoke. “Look!” his brother enthused. “They’re helping passengers onto the wherries to row them ashore!”
“So many lost years.” Their mother’s voice quavered. “I haven’t seen the girls since they were in the schoolroom. I feared...prayed…” She clung tighter to Simon’s arm, tears shimmering on her cheeks. Lucien’s jaw ached.
The mocking voice echoed again in his head.You think your sisters will welcome you with open arms? After what you did?
A touch, tentative as butterfly wings, brushed Lucien’s arm. He looked down to see his mother’s gloved hand. She smiled upat him, something hopeful, vulnerable in the curve of her mouth. “I can’t believe we’ll all be together again.”
The vise twisted tighter, crushing his chest.
