AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Sadness shadowed her aunt’s face. “When your papa died.” Bronwyn blinked. That had been over a decade ago. “She made it very clear that I wasn’t the right kind of influence to have around you and Florence, and that I wasn’t welcome. I don’t enjoy going where I’m not wanted so I found myself an agreeable husband in the Comte de Valois and left for Paris.”
In truth, Bronwyn wouldn’t have known her mother had had a twin sister if she hadn’t discovered the portraits tucked away in a drawer of them when they’d been children, whereupon she had nagged her mother to death until she’d confessed the truth of her sister. She had forbidden her sister’s name from being mentioned, however, stating that Esther had run off with a scandalous French comte with no morals whatsoever and lived an undisciplined, vulgar life somewhere in Paris.
Of course, a much younger and much-too-sheltered Bronwyn had been fascinated. Thanks to Wentworth, whose network of informants ran all over Europe, she’d found her aunt’s address in her first stint as the Kestrel and corresponded in secret for the better part of the past year. They had met during a shopping trip to Paris as well as a delivery for Wentworth and discovered an instant camaraderie between them.
Her mother, however, would not be pleased.
Then again, the marchioness would not be happy about a lot of things.
When the coach arrived in Mayfair, along with their largest entourage known to man, Bronwyn was a froth of nerves. Between dealing with her unresolved feelings where Thornbury was concerned and now handling the certain consequences of her mother and aunt’s reunion, she would have preferred being chased by faceless enemies.
The Marquis de Tremblay was ushered into her brother’s residence, where she and Aunt Esther made sure he was settled and then walked to the house on the other side of the street. For reasons known only to him, Courtland had purchased the home opposite years ago and had kept it, despite being the true Duke of Ashvale and owning both properties.
“Are you certain I cannot stay with Jacques?” Aunt Esther asked, wrinkling her nose. “I am a widow, and it’s not as though we haven’t shared a bed before.”
Bronwyn bit back a giggle. “Hush, Aunt. No, you cannot stay with an unmarried gentleman, no matter how intimately you know each other.” She peered over at her, curiosity riding her. “Are you two courting?”
“Neither of us wants to be mired in wedlock at the moment,” her aunt replied and then waved a dismissive arm. “Men are too much maintenance. We have an…indelicate understanding. Call it that.”
Bronwyn laughed. Good gracious, she loved the lady. “One day, Aunt Esther, I wish to be just like you.”
Her aunt’s eyes twinkled. “Marry an old French peer, murder him with arsenic, and become a gloriously unrepentant widow with a score of younger lovers.”
“Aunt Esther!” She lowered her voice. “Did you truly do away with Monsieur le Comte?”
Her cackles were infectious, making Bronwyn’s lips twitch. “No, darling. I loved the old codger. His poor heart could not handle me, however. We had ten wonderful years together, and I am grateful for every single one of them.”
“Will you marry again?”
Aunt Esther sniffed. “Not if I can help it.”
“Not even if Monsieur de Tremblay gets down on his knees and begs?”
Her aunt winked. “If he’s down on his knees, it’s not to speak, trust me.”
Bronwyn’s entire face went hot before she dissolved into laughter. The woman was truly irreverent. No wonder her mother abhorred her sister. She embodied everything fun about life, while her mother was the opposite. Bronwyn grabbed hold of her aunt’s hand and squeezed, wondering if she was nervous about seeing her sister. The lady didn’t show it, but she had to be feeling something to see a sibling she hadn’t seen in a decade.
That was how Bronwyn had felt when she’d come face-to-face with her half brother, Courtland, for the first time. Her late grandfather had adored his prodigal stepgrandson and that love had turned into a strange fondness by association for Bronwyn, who grew to know her brother through the copious updates and portraits commanded by their grandfather. She doubted it would be the same between the marchioness and her sister, however. There was too much distance and history between them.
“Mama?” she called out as she walked into the familiar foyer. Servants rushed forward to take her cloak and bonnet. “I’ve returned.”
Her younger sister, Florence, walked down the stairs, her pretty face twisted into a sneer. “You are in so much trouble! Mama is in a lather.”
“I told her I was with Ravenna in Kettering.” Yet another white lie to placate her mother and to cover up her travels.
Florence bared her teeth in a fake grin. “Stinson went to Kettering, only to return and report that you were not there. So where have you been all this time, sister dear?”
Drat and botheration!She’d hoped to be back in London much sooner, and also before her very controlling mother sent her brother after her.
“I—” Her brain went blank.
“She’s been with me in Paris,” Aunt Esther supplied from behind her.
Florence’s eyes rounded as they fell on their aunt for the first time. She wouldn’t have known about their mother’s sister or the fact that they were twins. Their mother had sworn Bronwyn to secrecy. “Who are you?” she whispered.
“I’m your aunt Esther. You’ve grown into such a beautiful girl.”
“We don’t have any aunts,” Florence said, face tight with suspicion, though her voice wavered with confusion. The resemblance was too obvious to think otherwise.
