Page 49 of Four Promises to Love

Owen sighed. “No. But I did not believe in the existence of ghosts either. Then your ladies started seeing visions of Rose.”

“Xenia is convinced that the medium was drawn here to identify the villain of Rose and Thomas’s story,” Ethan said. “She thinks that exposing the truth will end the curse. I had to convince her not to blurt out her suspicions about Langdon Pearce. If the seer has genuine talents, let her tell us who the murderer was.”

“I gave Gigi the same counsel,” Grantley said. “She agreed, but she’s fond of Madame Seraphina—despite the woman being shadier than a forest.”

“Evie concluded on her own that it was best not to mention Pearce. Not due to distrust, but because she does not wish to bias the results.” James smiled faintly. “She also admires the medium’s character—perhaps we ought to trust our wives’ judgment on this?”

“Our ladies are indisputably intelligent but too kindhearted,” Grantley countered. “Remember how Gigi insisted upon letting Wally give our wedding toast? Remember that?”

“No, sorry.” Ethan held up a hand. “To preserve my sanity, I blocked out those hours.”

“You didn’t block them out,” Owen said. “You were asleep. Xenia elbowed you several times when you began to snore.”

“Wives are useful that way.”

“In other ways as well,” Grantley drawled.

James sighed. “Must we remind you that your wife is our sister? None of us have a desire to meet you at dawn, Grantley, but you would challenge a saint’s restraint.”

“That is what Gigi says—” Grantley began.

“Ignore him,” Ethan said. “Perhaps he will go away.”

“We were discussing Owen,” James reminded them.

“There is nothing to discuss,” Owen said quickly.

Truth be told, he had been enjoying the male camaraderie. During the painful rift with Ethan, he’d longed for the good-natured banter and brotherly affection. He didn’t mind being teased or roasted in good fun…but he had to keep his promise to Finn.

“I will not deny that Madame Seraphina arouses some intellectual interest—her work is fascinating, after all—but I am not in the market for a relationship,” he said.

Grantley smirked. “She arouses something in you, and methinks it is not your intellect.”

“If she does not strike your fancy, then perhaps some other chit,” Ethan suggested. “What about the Barretts’ daughter? God knows they’re itching to make a match.”

It took Owen a moment to recall the giggly blonde. “I’ve hardly spoken two words to her. As I’ve said, I am not looking for a wife.”

“Perhaps you should be.” Ethan took a swig from his tankard. “Setting down roots might be good for you. The past is over and done with, and it is time to look toward the future.”

Owen’s gut clenched the way it always did when his brother referenced letting go of the past. Ethan’s forgiveness felt nearly as hard to bear as his anger had been. Owen glanced at Ethan’s right hand; clad in its usual black glove, it rested lightly on the table, looking almost normal until one noticed its stiff, contorted shape.

I did that. Ethan was a celebrated piano maestro at the height of his powers—and I took that away from him. How can absolution be possible?

When he met Ethan’s indigo gaze, the compassion there tore at him.

He forced himself to say lightly, “Not everyone’s future includes marriage.”

“That is true. But I will say that my marriage showed me the true meaning of happiness.” Ethan paused. “Because of Xenia, I believe that everything happens for a reason. She’s made my manor a home, inspired me to compose music again, and soon will make me a papa. I would not change anything about my past—not a single thing—since it brought me to where I am today.”

Owen did not trust himself to speak. He was thankful his brother had found contentment. Even so, Ethan had been a genius at performing, winning over crowds and critics. While his compositions were earning praise, it wasn’t the same, and his magnanimity didn’t change the fact that Owen was to blame.

Owen’s brooding was interrupted by Molly. She plunked a large golden-brown pie upon the table, along with bowls of potato mash and braised red cabbage. The heavenly aromas mingled as the fellows helped themselves to hearty wedges of pie and heaping spoonfuls of vegetables, topping it all with ladles of rich gravy.

“You won’t get food like this in London.” Ethan mopped up gravy with his bread. “Best enjoy it before your trip.”

“I won’t be gone long,” Owen replied. “Sir Joseph and I are presenting my designs to the patron. If all goes well, the work will begin straightaway.”

“You are making quite a name for yourself, lad,” James said.