In honor of their brother Graham’s birthday, Jacob’s sister Chloe and her husband, the Duke of Faircliffe, had brought their baby Dorian for a visit. While the kitchen prepared cakes and pies, the others gathered in the sibling sitting room.
Jacob and Chloe were enjoying a rare moment alone in one of the parlors.
Almost alone. Chloe’s baby, Dorian, balanced on her hip, flapping his chubby white arms, beamed at Jacob with a delighted grin.
“What’s wrong?” Chloe asked.
With anyone outside of the family, Jacob would have answerednothing.
He admitted, “When you first married Faircliffe, there was an empty space left behind. We felt as though we’d lost you.”
Her face filled with sympathy. “The six of us lived under the same roof for so long. It was hard for me, too.”
“But then the others also found someone new,” he continued. “Like you, Elizabeth married and moved across town, but Tommy, Graham, and Marjorie each brought their spouses home. Our house now holds more Wynchesters than ever.”
Chloe’s eyes softened with sudden understanding. “And yet, as the only sibling not to have found love, you feel more isolated than ever?”
He sighed. “It’s silly, isn’t it.”
“I’d say completely understandable. Especially since the only time any of us get together lately is to discuss a new case, not chat with each other. But we love you, even if we rarely have time to say it anymore.”
“I know.” He gave Chloe and the baby a hug. “I love you all, too.”
Dorian squeezed Jacob’s cheek. Chloe grinned and passed Jacob the baby.
“How are you?” he asked as he cuddled his nephew.
“Exhausted,” she admitted. “Despite my husband’s ongoing efforts in the House of Lords, we’ve made no progress on equal voting rights. Parliament is presenting a new militia act later tonight. Supposedly just administrative changes to make matters more efficient, but some fear it’s yet another show of force against commoners. You should hear the things some of the lords say in their arguments.”
“I’d rather keep my sanity,” Jacob said wryly.
“A wise choice. You need a clear mind for your poetry. If you don’t make time for your dream—”
“I’ve made enough time for it,” he said vaguely.
She smiled. “Perhaps one day you’ll be rich and famous.”
“We’re already rich and famous,” he reminded her.
In Jacob’s case, wealthier than his wildest dreams. Years back, he’d stopped checking his bank balance because the number was nonsensical.
“A gift like yours shouldn’t be wasted,” Chloe insisted.
He blew raspberries on the baby’s plump cheeks rather than respond.
His sister elbowed him in the side. “Who knows… You could be the next Sir Gareth Jallow!”
Jacob rolled his eyes. “England isn’t ready forthatmuch change.”
Famed poet Sir Gareth Jallow was a white knight—or perhaps a baronet, no one was quite sure.
Jacob was an untitled Black man. Because Black men couldn’t have titles. Or, apparently, enjoy lucrative poetry careers. It was white men who were published all over England and invited to recite their works at all the most prestigious events.
“I don’t need to see my name on the cover of a book,” Jacob informed her, keeping his voice calm and firm, the same way he spoke to his Highland tiger.
Chloe didn’t look convinced. “You don’t think it would be marvelous?”
“No,” he answered honestly. “How doyouthink the public would react to books bearing my name?”
