Over the next few days, Meg and Lucien couldn’t get enough of each other. Every moment apart was agony. And each night, it always felt like they’d been separated for years, eons, the rapture of coming together almost too overwhelming to endure.
Thankfully, they survived it again and again.
At least, until her brother returned.
It was a Thursday afternoon when the carriages pulled up the drive. Brandon swooped her up in a fond embrace and pecked her on the cheek. Then he did the same to Aunt Sylvia, who swatted him affectionately and told him that she was far too old for such things. Ellie smiled broadly and hugged her, whispering that she couldn’t wait to tell her some happy news over tea.
If Brandon’s exuberance and Ellie’s bright eyes were any indication, Meg could guess what the happy news might be. A new child on the way, their family and their love for each other growing every day.
She was thrilled for them, but a touch wistful, too, wishing to have a husband of her own who was so overjoyed to spend his life with her that he couldn’t contain it.
But Lucien had made no indication that he wanted to marry or have a family. In fact, aside from that first time they were together, he’d taken special care to spill outside her body. Not that she minded. With nothing settled between them, it was better that way. She was content, for now, simply to be with him.
Lucien had stepped out a short while ago. Morgan had wanted to visit the village shops and so he’d taken her and her maid, Nina, along with his cousin on an outing.
Aunt Sylvia explained this in passing, which told Meg that she’d been keeping Brandon well-informed in her letters. Her own letters to him had been, well, a little . . . less informative. Brothers and sisters were bound to have their secrets, after all.
But hers seemed to be growing bigger and bigger every day, like air filling a Montgolfier balloon. The problem was the balloon could only hold so much before it burst.
She knew she would have to tell Brandon the truth. Tonight. Not everything, of course. But enough for him to know what was at stake for her. And perhaps, he might even help her figure out a way to tell Lucien the truth without losing him in the process.
Knitting her fingers together, she watched as Brandon gathered her sleeping nephew in his arms and carried him up to the nursery, while Ellie followed to greet Guinevere.
Maeve and Myrtle stepped out of their carriage next, along with Mrs. Pendergast, who looked a bit green as she shuffled into the house.
Myrtle expelled a long-winded sigh. “Gracious, we thought we’d never arrive. Poor Mrs. Pendergast suffered a bout of carriage-sickness, and we had to stop a dozen times at least.”
“We’ll be sure to pack ginger tea for next time,” Maeve said, her face drawn with exhaustion. But she offered a smile, nonetheless. “It’s good to see you, my dear.”
“And you,” she said to both of them. Knowing that Aunt Sylvia was nearby directing the servants with the trunks, Meg continued in a whisper. “I’m sure you’ve heard that we have guests. A party whom you may recall meeting in London”—she stressed—“during my last Season. The Duke of Merleton, his sister, and cousin, Viscount Holladay.”
They exchanged a look. Then Maeve squeezed her hand. “When we read your letter, we quickly understood the need to alter certain truths. We felt it most imperative to hasten our journey. But it has been days since, and we need to know—”
“Did he propose? Is he here to ask your brother for permission?” Myrtle’s voice chirruped, and she had to clap a hand over her mouth to stifle her excitement.
Meg shook her head. “He doesn’t know the truth. Apparently, he never read the letters. So when he came here, he still thought I was Lady Avalon. But that’s changed now. I think. Nevertheless, it’s still rather complicated between us. So . . .”
They both nodded in unison.
“If he needs a little shove in the right direction,” Maeve said, and Myrtle finished with, “We’ll be right behind him with a fire poker.”
Meg giggled, and then she threw her arms around both of them. “Oh, I’ve missed you.”
* * *
After dinner, everyone retired early except for Meg.
Ellie and her aunts were exhausted from the days of travel, and Morgan from her shopping excursion.
Lucien looked thoughtful all evening, distracted. Then, without lingering over port in the dining room, he and his cousin departed for the lodge. So apparently, he had no desire to speak with her brother on any certain topic that might have been weighing on his mind.
As she stepped onto the terrace into the cool night air, she wondered if he would return later and steal into her bedchamber. If he did, she could ask him what they were to each other. What she meant to him and whether he had any intentions at all.
In their time together, she’d already learned that he revealed more of himself and his inner musings when they were in bed, with nothing between them. And yet, even as her own questions spun circles in her mind, she knew they would be unfair to ask when she kept her secrets from him.
She needed to tell him. But every day seemed to be bringing them closer, and she couldn’t bear the thought of revealing the one thing that might drive them apart.
However, now that Brandon was home, Lucien would soon realize that Guinevere didn’t belong to her brother. It would take him but a second to put the rest of the pieces together. And for the rest of her life to fall apart.
Brandon stepped out onto the terrace and joined her by the balustrade. He lifted his gaze toward the crescent moon. “So the Duke of Merleton is here at last.”
She didn’t pretend to misunderstand.
Earlier that evening in the parlor, Morgan had let it slip that she and her brother had been in Italy two years ago when she’d taken ill. Meg had gone still, expecting a sudden knowing exchange of looks between her aunt or brother or Ellie. But none had come. And in that moment, Meg realized that she hadn’t been the only one keeping secrets.
“How long have you known?”
“Since you first returned from holiday, with your eyes red-rimmed as you stepped out of the carriage. You said you were merely tired, and I pretended to accept that. Then I went directly to my study and sent off some inquiries.” When she stared agape, he shrugged. “Surely, during your Seasons, you didn’t imagine that I possessed a preternatural ability of knowing which man you could dance with and which men you needed to avoid like the plague?”
“No, I thought you were overbearing and trying to keep me from experiencing life.”
“Well, you’re partly right,” he admitted with a trace of chagrin. “I might be a trifle overbearing at times.”
She scoffed.
“But I’ve always wanted your happiness.” He looked down at his hands gripping the stone rail, his knuckles white around the edges, a muscle twitching in his jaw. “Ellie warned me not to interfere unless you asked me to. But, let me tell you, it was killing me not to take that man by the throat and squeeze some sense into him. How dare he take advantage of you, then leave you to bear the consequences all on your own.”
“He doesn’t know,” she said quickly, laying her hand on his. “For much of the past two years, he hasn’t been at his home. So his steward handled all the post. What I’ve gathered from our conversations, is that Lucien—Merleton,” she corrected at the sound of her brother’s growl, “has been beleaguered by so many invitations, and even proposals, over the years that his steward sorts through what is important and what is not. Though I cannot be certain, the man might have assumed my letters were some sort of false claim in a scheme of entrapment and summarily disposed of them.” She shrugged. “All I know is that when Lu—the duke arrived, he thought I was someone else, a certain Lady Avalon who’d stolen his priceless heirloom.”
“The book?”
She nodded. Then she explained how it had all begun with the stolen recipe at Caliburn Keep and gradually turned into her ruse of being Lady Avalon and how, before she knew it, she’d fallen in love and returned home from her holiday with an unexpected souvenir.
“You do intend to tell him,” Brandon said after it was all out in the open.
“Of course I do. I just . . . don’t know how without losing him.”
“If he dared to walk away from you after he realizes—”
“Brandon,” she interrupted with a shake of her head, “I don’t want him to marry me out of obligation.”
“He should, at the very least. Neither you nor Guinevere can have a life without someone questioning the existence of Mr. Arthur.” He rolled his eyes. “You’ve simply been surrounded by those who would rather choose to pretend to be oblivious because they are too fond of you to lay such a stigma on your shoulders.”
She supposed she’d known that all along. After all, one would have to be blind not to see the sideways glances when she visited the village.
“Daniel was here the other day,” she said after a while, changing the topic.
Her brother nodded. “I know.”
“Of course you do.” She sighed.
“I also heard about his wife. I am sad for him. He hasn’t had much luck with the fairer sex, and he’s a good man.”
“I think he came here to see if I would marry him,” she said, looking out on the horizon. “For a minute or two, I thought I could. For Guinevere’s sake. Daniel is kind enough to have me and likely to accept her, too. But being with him when he was here, it just felt . . . wrong. Uncomfortable, like a favorite dress I’ve outgrown. It’s hard to explain.”
A soft smile touched his lips. “That’s almost the way it felt when I first met Ellie. Nothing made sense. The world suddenly dimmed, and the only light was glowing from her. And when she wasn’t near, I was edgy and out of sorts.”
“I remember those days,” Meg grumbled. “You were impossible.”
He laughed ruefully. “Perhaps. But when she was near, every sense suddenly came to life. Food tasted better. Colors were—are—more vibrant.” Smiling, he shook his head. “I was reluctant to accept it at first. But from the moment we kissed, I knew. Something inside of me clicked like a lock tumbling into place. It was the same for Father and Mother, too. For all of the Stredwicks. It’s inescapable. Once you find that one person, being with another would be nearly impossible. Life would be tasteless. Colorless.”
“So . . . if Daniel had truly been my soul’s counterpart, then he wouldn’t have been able to marry someone else.”
“No,” Brandon said with sympathy. “I wanted him to be yours because you had been so certain. But when he came to tell me that he was leaving until you were old enough to know your own mind, I knew he wasn’t yours. If he had been, there wasn’t any way he could have left your side.”
She mulled over this, thinking back to the past two years. “What if your soul’s counterpart doesn’t believe in the Stredwick certainty or in anything that cannot be proven?”
“Then, he would have to be the most stubborn, mule-headed man in existence. I don’t see how it would be possible. It would be like choosing to go through life in a constant fog.” He cupped her shoulder and met her gaze. “Would you like me to talk to him?”
“No. It boils down to the fact that I want what our family legacy has created. And I want the same for Guinevere when she’s older. She deserves nothing less. And unless he changes his mind . . .”
“Or someone changes it for him,” her brother muttered under his breath.
She shook her head. “I need him to choose me out of love. And that is going to be impossible enough when he learns the truth, without my brother’s interference. So no matter what happens, promise me that you’ll let him decide.”
He growled again and expelled a hard breath through his teeth. Yet, in the end, he agreed. “I suppose I’ll have to invite him hunting.”
“As long as you bring him back,” she said with alarm.
“I shall do my best.” He pressed a brotherly kiss to her forehead, then turned to go back inside. However, before he was out of earshot, she was sure she heard him say, “But accidents do happen.”