“Have a seat,” said Stephen.
Toby took one look at the plate of biscuits the housekeeper had laid out on a nearby table and quickly snatched one up. With oat goodie in hand, he took his usual spot on the comfy green-and-white floral sofa.
The hard leather couch and chaise lounge had been moved to another private room, which only Stephen and Bridget used. The main drawing room had been freshly painted in a softer green palette and repurposed as the family room.
Stephen turned from where he had been staring out the window and considered the young boy. In the months since he had come to London and been in the care of first Alice and now Bridget, Toby had blossomed. The shy lad who had hidden behind the skirts of Mrs. Granville was long gone. In his place was a bright, confident boy.
“I wanted to talk to you about my father,” said Stephen.
“Yes.”
“Do you remember much about him? I mean, from when you lived at the house in Witley.”
Toby bit off a big chunk of biscuit and chewed on it for a minute. His expression was one of careful thought. “He was nice to me sometimes. But mostly he just told me to stay away. I don’t know if he liked me much.”
Stephen gritted his teeth. Even in his later years, his father—their father, couldn’t find it in his heart to show affection to a small boy.
Cold, callous bastard.
“I don’t think Sir Robert liked anyone. It wasn’t in his nature,” said Stephen.
Toby screwed up his face, and Stephen silently chastised himself.
Of course, the boy doesn’t understand what you mean. He is six years old.
“I mean, it wasn’t your fault he wasn’t nice to you. He was the same with me when I was little. I spent many years in the kitchen at Moore Manor.”
“Anyway. What I want to talk to you about is . . . you and me.”
It was harder than he had imagined it would be to finally tell Toby the truth of his sire. Bridget had been right; he should have done it as soon as he brought the boy into his care.
Even now, it was a struggle to think of his brother as being more than a boy, a lad, or a responsibility. But he owned it to his family to try.
He strolled over from the window and took a seat next to Toby on the sofa. Keeping his distance from people he cared about had to be a thing of the past, of that he was determined.
“You see, my father was your father,” said Stephen.
There was silence for a time; and he could almost imagine how those words might be rolling around in Toby’s brain while he tried to make sense of them.
“Which makes you my little brother,” he added.
Toby’s mouth opened in surprise. His head turned and he met Stephen’s gaze. A look of wonderment sat on his face.
And then his big, beautiful smile stretched from ear to ear.
Stephen wiped away a tear. Emotion welled up inside him. All those long, lonely years he’d secretly wished for a sibling, and now this little boy had come into his life and made his dreams come true.
He lifted Toby onto his lap. “And that also makes me your big brother,” he said, giving him a tickle.
Toby squirmed and giggled in the way only small children do—honestly and from the heart. “Harry says you are a big lump, so that makes you my big lump of a brother.”
Trust Harry Steele to be putting those ideas into young minds. He would be having a word with his friend about not corrupting his younger sibling. “Well, I don’t know about the lump bit, but yes, we are brothers you and me. And we will stick together forever. Master Toby Moore, I am so very happy that you have come to live with Bridget and me. And that we are now a family.”
Toby placed his small hand in the middle of Stephen’s palm. “The night Sir Robert died, they brought me to his room. When it was just him and me, he said that a big man would visit soon, and he would become my family.”
Stephen swallowed a large lump of emotion. Any moment now he was going to turn into a watering pot and cry a river.
Toby lifted his head and met Stephen’s gaze. “And he was right. You did come for me, and now we are a family.”
Stephen wrapped Toby up in his arms and let the tears fall.