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“I will allow you that,” Timothy said as he rose to clear the table, “but after all that time in Spain, Italian ought to have followed.”
“How could it, when I never mastered Spanish?”
“You are a fine example of English womanhood.” Llewellyn’s voice rumbled.
“No, no, that makes me like the numberless English abroad who refused to even learn so much asgrazie mille.” Her accent was as inharmonious as ever. “My brain simply does not work that way.”
The duke leaned forward and held her gaze. “Your brain works in wonderful ways.”
Timothy batted his eyelashes at her over Alwyn’s shoulder. She jumped up with enough force to knock the chair over.
“Yes, well. Hmmm. Most kind of you to say so. Tea?” Tabitha fired up the kettle and made a start on the dishes. She elbowed her brother out of the way; he set her chair to rights and sat with Llewellyn to review the languages they had in common, exchanging phrases and, if their laughter was anything to go by, salty idioms. The sounds made no sense to her, but the tone of both their voices was pure harmony: Timothy’s a clear, lyrical tenor and the duke’s a gruff, throaty bass, a joyous chorale of shared knowledge.
Timothy sat back, satisfied. “That counts as nine languages between us.”
“Mr. Gambon reckoned only seven,” the duke teased her brother. “But come, let us not exclude your sister.”
“I exclude my sister at my peril.” Timothy reached for the tea things Tabitha laid before him and poured out as she searched for the last of Mr. Beckett’s honey.
“I had a sister.” Tabitha stopped clattering around the cupboard and exchanged a look with Timothy, who stilled. “I had three brothers and a sister. And a mother and father.”
Silence reigned until Tabitha judged it acceptable to ask, “Were they taken as you were taken?”
“I do not know. I would not know, would I? Not if the gold blocks one’s perception of a captiveversipelles.” Llewellyn flipped his fork over his knuckles then clenched it in his fist. “We were on the move, as an alliance was to be struck between my sister and a pride from the Continent, through marriage. We were eager to meet others of our kind and set off with no thought to any danger. How could we be in danger? We were in the British Isles, in modern times. We were as safe as could be.
“At Milton Keynes we broke our journey, though it was nothing for the likes of us, going from Anglesey to London. I was the eldest and keen to continue, so I did and made for the city. And the next day, I waited and waited. I asked amongst theversipellesI knew of, ran back and forth on the London Road, looked everywhere, and I never found them. His Majesty had no time for me, no matter the ills done to my kind by his.” His hair cloaked his expression, and Tabitha thought she might weep and never stop.
“What a terrible loss.” She had never felt so useless in her life.
A regal nod acknowledged the sentiment. “And so, I roamed. I know Lowell searched far and wide for hisvera amoris, but I did not have his means to travel the whole world. Nor did I want to do so alone…but alone I did, searching high and low.” He took a breath. “For my family, yes, and also for the one I would call mine, daring to hope I’d find not only my mate but what amongst the lions is considered an immense blessing. An aspect that, if its locus is found in the fated mate bond, transcends even thevera amorisin legend.” He looked up at her through those lashes, eyes flashing in the candlelight. “It is known as theconiunctio.”
Timothy rose the moment the duke finished pronouncing the word, even as he drank down the last of his tea; without a wasted movement, almost like a dance, the cup was returned to its saucer, coat collected and donned, hat and scarf in one hand, walking stick in the other.
“I trust, Your Grace, you will continue to behave with the highest discretion where my dear sister is concerned.” He jauntily tossed his scarf over his shoulder. “I am off to embark upon my evening constitutional.”
“I am sorry my sad tale has driven you away,” the duke said.
“Not at all. My sympathies for you are sincere, and I am honored you, in turn, trusted me with your story.” Timothy set his hat on his head. “And I hope my sister will trust you with the whole of our history, despite her habitual reticence.”
“Tim.” Tabitha would not burden the duke with their past, which was nowhere near as painful.
“Tab.” He turned the knob and stood on the threshold. “It is your story as much as it is mine.Nos da, Dy Ras,” he said with a smile for Llewellyn and left.
Thirteen
The door closed; silence reigned. The duke said, “Your brother speaks Welsh flawlessly. It is not often the case with outsiders.”
“What doesn’t he speak flawlessly,” Tabitha grumbled as she bashed the tea things onto their tray and ferried them into the sink. “What did he say?”
“Good night, Your Grace.” That enchanting lyricism entered his tone again. “It is a treat to hear the sound of my first language in my ear.”
“Then I am glad his tiresome ability to master any dialect came in useful.” She plugged the sink and sparingly added lye. Even with her bespoke hand lotion as an antidote, the harsh soap was an unpleasant sensation on the skin. She put the dishes into the water one by one, and the occasional splash of water was soothing and homely.
Once again, the duke seemed better for having spoken of his past. His chair scraped the floor, her only warning, and he was at her shoulder. “Instantaneous consumption?” he asked.
“Quite easily managed.” Tabitha handed him a tea towel; he held it as he would a dead fish. “I made some spirits of Saturn—”
“Blessed Palu, woman!” He took the dripping saucer she handed him and dabbed the towel against it.
