Page 149 of A Modest Independence

“They have a house on lease in Half Moon Street,” Tom said. “They stayed there for a time during the business with your uncle.”

Giles grunted in response before resuming his silent stare out the carriage window.

The cliff road was the only point of access to the Abbey. It ascended along a track just wide enough for a coach and four, curving as it went beneath the branches of trees and shrubs that grew at all angles from the cliff face. It was a good half an hour before they reached even ground. When they did, the coachman urged the horses to a faster pace. The well-sprung carriage rolled smoothly behind them, veering to the left through a sparse woodland before finally slowing as it rounded the curve of the drive.

Greyfriar’s Abbey stood in the distance, only a stone wall protecting it from a sheer drop down to the open sea. It had been built on the remains of a twelfth-century monastery, and with its steeply pitched roof, pointed arches, and Gothic tower, it was as bleak and gray as the barren landscape that surrounded it.

The last time Tom had visited, it had been surrounded with heaps of stone—evidence of the repairs Justin had been making to the antiquated structure. Now, however, there were no signs of ongoing construction. The drive was comprised of newly laid stones, and the steps leading to the front entrance were flanked by beds of flowers, rife with blooms of blue, red, and yellow.

Greyfriar’s Abbey no longer looked like an abandoned relic. It looked like a home. A rather dramatic home, to be sure, but a home nonetheless.

The carriage came to a halt at the front steps, and the footman leapt down from the box to open the door. Tom climbed out after Boothroyd. The roar of the sea and the incessant squawking of seagulls circling overhead briefly drowned out the sound of the front doors of the Abbey opening. It took a moment for him to realize that Justin and Lady Helena had come out onto the steps.

Ex-army captain Justin Thornhill was a tall man, his lean, broad-shouldered frame towering over Tom’s more moderate height. With his black hair, gray eyes, and strongly chiseled features, he might have been handsome if he wasn’t so damnably intimidating. The burn scars on his face and neck—souvenirs of the torture he’d suffered while being held prisoner in India—didn’t help to soften his appearance.

What helped was the presence of his wife, Lady Helena. She stood at his side, her hand tucked in his, as beautiful and elegant as Justin was piratical. Her wide hazel eyes were riveted to the open door of the carriage.

Giles emerged from the interior of the cab, climbing down the carriage steps with the help of Hossein. At first he didn’t seem to register his sister’s presence.

And then he raised his head and looked up.

The instant he set eyes on her, his aristocratic mask fell away.

Helena dropped Justin’s hand, clutching her skirts as she ran down the steps and threw her arms around her brother’s neck.

Tom couldn’t hear what she said to him. Whatever it was, it made tears spill from Giles’s eyes.

“There, there, love,” he murmured, his arm coming around her waist. “I’m home now. I’m home.”

Tom climbed the steps to join Justin. He hadn’t made any move to interfere with his wife greeting her long-lost brother. He only watched the pair of them, brows lowered in a frown.

“You don’t approve,” Tom said.

Justin glanced at him. “Where the hell has he been?”

“Hiding in India.”

“Hiding from what?”

“Reality, I assume.”

Justin’s expression darkened. “I could break him in half for what he’s put her through.”

“Probably not the best idea.” Tom paused. “Not yet, anyway.”

Lady Helena turned her brother toward the steps. “Giles, may I present my husband, Mr. Justin Thornhill?” She looked up at Justin, tears of joy glistening in her eyes. “Justin? This is my brother, Giles Reynolds, 6th Earl of Castleton.”

Justin descended the steps and extended his hand to Giles. “Welcome to Greyfriar’s Abbey.”

Giles shook Justin’s hand. “I believe I owe you a debt of gratitude for looking after my sister.”

“Helena is my wife. You owe me nothing.”

Lady Helena found Tom’s eyes. “How can I ever thank you for what you’ve done?”

Tom smiled. “It wasn’t me. It was all Jenny.”

“Jenny?” Justin echoed under his breath.