Page 6 of Fair as a Star

Henry’s quill stilled in his hand. He slowly raised his head. His eyes registered no surprise at Mark’s revelation. “Oh?”

“Why didn’t you tell me she was coming home early?”

His brother’s expression was as implacable as his words. “Why do you think?”

Mark inwardly winced. Henry was many things, but he was no fool. “You might have done. I’d have liked to prepare myself for the shock.”

“Was it a shock? You must have known she’d return eventually.” Setting aside his quill. Henry leaned back in his chair. “Oh, do sit down, Mark. I don’t care for you looming over me.”

Mark grudgingly sank into one of the leather-upholstered chairs facing the desk. They were usually occupied by Henry’s subordinates. Those petitioning for his help or—more often—his funds.

“Where is she now?” Henry asked.

“Gone home. I expect she’ll send a note round to you when she gets there.”

“Her mother will, at least. Mrs. Burnham is nothing if not obliging.” Henry rubbed a hand over the side of his face. There were deep lines etched around his mouth and at the corners of his eyes that hadn’t been present a year ago. Evidence of overwork and too many days consumed with grief after news had come of Jack’s death in Bhutan. “They’ll no doubt invite me to dine.”

“Well,” Mark said, “consider yourself warned.”

“I’m obliged to you.” Henry stood, pushing his chair out behind him. “Would you care for a glass of brandy?”

“No, thank you.” It hadn’t escaped Mark that, the moment he sat down, Henry rose. His brother didn’t care much for being loomed over, but he rather enjoyed doing the looming.

“Suit yourself.” Henry went to his drinks table and poured himself a measure from the crystal decanter on the tray. He drank it down in one swallow. “How did she look?”

Exceedingly dear.

“Fashionable,” Mark said.

Henry refilled his glass. “I suppose that’s to be expected after a year in Paris.”

Mark refrained from commenting. It hadn’t been a lie. He had noticed that Beryl appeared to be more fashionably turned out.

But that hadn’t been all he’d noticed.

Her honey-blond hair was streaked golden from the sun, and the bridge of her nose lightly dusted with freckles. She’d been outdoors while she was away. A great deal of the time, if he was to guess. She looked healthy, but…she hadn’t looked entirely well.

There had been a vulnerability in her countenance. A hint of some hidden worry Mark couldn’t quite put his finger on. But he’d recognized it all the same. Indeed, when she’d drawn back from kissing him, her wide blue-green eyes had seemed a bit sad somehow. A bit lost.

It was the same vulnerability he’d glimpsed in her face a year ago, on the day before she’d left Shepton Worthy without saying goodbye.

He’d wanted to reach out to her. To ask her what was wrong. Instead, he’d just stood there, utterly flummoxed by the sensation of her pillow-soft lips brushing his cheek.

She’d never kissed him before, not in all the years he’d known her. Not even so much as a friendly peck.

Which was all this had been.

A kiss any young lady might have bestowed on a future brother-in-law. It didn’t mean anything. He reminded himself of that fact for what felt like the hundredth time.

“Her aunt will have purchased her wedding clothes there,” Henry said, taking another drink of brandy.

“I really have no idea.”

“The subject never came up in any of the letters the two of you exchanged?”

Mark’s gaze narrowed. “You make it sound as though we were in constant correspondence.”

“Weren’t you? I know you wrote to her regularly.”