“Maybe,” he said tersely, “it’s none of your business. When I want your publishing advice, I’ll be certain to ‘Ask Vivian’ in writing.”
She propped her fists on her hips. “I’m sure you don’t think I amyour equal in any form—”
He arched his brows. “Is this about my poetry or about you?”
“Everything we experience is about ourselves in some way. We can’t help but see the world through our own eyes. Just because you’ve never known a single sleepless night—”
“You don’t know the first thing about me. You can try to size me up in one glance as you please, but all you know is what you see. It’s dangerous to fill in the blanks with unfounded conjecture.”
“Oh, yes, good sir, please explain danger to me. I am but an impoverished unmarried immigrant Black woman currently living all alone in a not particularly affluent part of town. Ilovelying awake at night, jumping at every sound. Obviously I don’t know the first thing about danger, what with all my privilege.” She jabbed a finger at his chest. “What sob story do you thinkyou’vesuffered?”
He stepped back. “Of all the insufferable, presumptuous—”
“Am I presuming? You’ve seen my home, and how I live. Now we’re standing here in yours. Can you really look around at all your servants and comforts, and tell me with a straight face—”
“I didn’t always live in this house!” His brown eyes flashed. “I didn’t always have a house at all. You know nothing about me, Miss Henry. Perhaps we should keep it that way.”
He spun on his heel and marched toward his barn.
Miss Henry. Not Vivian anymore.
She hurried after him in dismay. “Jacob—”
“No,” he said without turning around. “I’ve had more than enough of your opinions for one day. Go and meddle in someone else’s life.”
She stopped walking, stung.
He didn’t slow.
Viv had no one to blame but herself.
17
Viv considered attending to her unread correspondence in the Wynchesters’ sitting room but decided Jacob deserved more space than that. After the heated words they’d exchanged, she didn’t want him to feel as though he couldn’t reenter his own home out of fear she’d be there ready to pounce.
Especially since her hope had been to lure him out of the loneliness of his barn, not force him deeper into solitude.
She, too, spent most of her time alone with her projects. While she wouldn’t trade her passions for anything, she sometimes longed for someone who understood her. Quentin could barely manage to post parcels properly and wasn’t at all interested in Viv’s writing process or her thoughts about the publishing industry.
Perhaps the Wynchester siblings were different.
Or perhaps they were just as indifferent to Jacob’s passions in their own way. Too busy to have time for their own brother. Maybe he was just as exotic and incomprehensible to them as a Highland tiger or an antbear.
Which… was apparently how Quentin felt with Viv. That she didn’t understand him. That she didn’t take him seriously. That he would have to disappear off the face of the earth for her to pause and question her assumptions.
Viv’s future relationship with her cousin depended on how well she took advantage of the opportunity to get to know all of theWynchesters, not just Jacob. Time was running out. She had to make the most of it.
If she failed, she might never see them or Quentin ever again.
“Begin with the one whose own siblings admit she’s been hiding secrets,” Viv murmured aloud. She would check each Wynchester off her list one by one, and comply with Quentin’s wishes this very day.
She made her way to Charlotte Street, where Marjorie and Adrian’s art studio was located.
When Viv arrived on the premises without an appointment, she expected to be barred at the door. She was pleasantly surprised to be greeted by a friendly sign inviting visitors to come upstairs to observe art in the making.
Annoyance rankled beneath her skin. They couldn’t find Quentin—whom Viv suspected was right here in London—but these two had time to flit about with their little art projects? Perhaps the wonderful Wynchesters weren’t as benevolent and all-powerful as the adoring public believed.
Even as she had the thought, a small part of Viv railed against it. She wanted to be wrong. She wanted to keep Quentin safe. And she needed him to come home. The Wynchesters were the best chance she had.
