“And me too,” Reginald said. “You cannot imagine how…good it is to see you again. Painful but good.”
Matthew regarded him with a frown. “You loved me that much,” he said. “I did not know it. You must have thought me the most ungrateful wretch in the world.”
“Yes, I loved you that much,” his brother said. “But I did not show it in the only way that mattered. One can never buy love. I am glad you did not know. And you do not owe me anything, especially thanks.”
They stood gazing at each other.
“Unfortunately,” Matthew said, “we can never go back to do things differently, can we? To do things right. We can only live on and try each day to do better than we did the day before. Which sounds very glib and preachy. Reggie, there has always been a hole in my heart where you were.”
His brother’s eyes were swimming with tears, he saw.
“Oh, Matt,” he said. “In mine too. Where you were.”
“To hell with thanks and forgiveness,” Matthew said. “And pious platitudes.”
“You will stay for luncheon?” Reginald asked.
“I will stay,” Matthew said.
And somehow, excruciatingly embarrassingly, they were in each other’s arms, choking and hiccuping, laughing self-consciously, and slapping each other’s back.
“I ought to have brought Adelaide one of my carvings,” Matthew finally said when he could speak clearly again.
“She would have liked that,” Reginald said after stepping back and blowing his nose. “She will like it. You can bring it next time you come.”
“There is to be a next time, then?” Matthew asked.
“Good God, yes,” Reginald said. “You do not know Addy and Emily, Matt. Tyrants both. I predict with all confidence that they are going to organize some sort of grand party in your honor and invite everyone they know.”
“Good God,” Matthew said.
“Yes,” his brother said, slapping a hand on his shoulder and indicating the door of the room. “Ghastly, is it not? I hope you brought your appetite with you. I believe a bit of a banquet awaits, early in the day though it is. Not quite the fatted calf, but not far off. After you.”
He opened the door and gestured toward the dining room, from which Matthew could hear the voices of his sister-in-law and his niece-in-law.
“Good God,” he said again.
—
When the time crept up to midafternoon but did not bring Matthew, Clarissa chose to take his lengthy absence as a good sign. Surely if the meeting with his brother had gone badly, he would have been here almost on her heels. Nevertheless, she was restless. She stood at the window of her parents’ drawing room,looking out along the driveway and drumming her fingernails on the windowsill.
Her father had fallen asleep in his wing chair by the fireplace, his hands crossed over his waistcoat. He was not quite snoring. Her mother had just described the sound he made as he inhaled as clicking.
“And a bit annoying it can be at times,” she said, gazing at him fondly. “I used to try to close his mouth with one very gentle finger. But he would always jump awake just when I thought I had succeeded and complain that he would never now know how that delicious dream he had been having of me ended.” She laughed softly as she came to stand beside her daughter. “Still no sign? But you know what is said of watched pots, Clarissa. They are good neighbors, the Taylors, and good people. The elder Taylors were more puritanical, may their souls rest in peace. They missed many of life’s joys in favor of righteousness. They were not easy to like.”
“Unfortunately,” Clarissa said, “they destroyed the joy of those under their care too.”
“We must not judge,” her mother said, rubbing her hand in a light circle over Clarissa’s back. “None of us are perfect. None of us behave wisely all the time, especially toward our own children, whom we love most in the world.”
“Like the time I sent Devlin away and he cut himself off completely from us for six interminable years,” Clarissa said.
“Or all the times your father and I ought to have confronted Caleb with our outrage over his infidelities but decided it was better for everyone concerned to let sleeping dogs lie,” her mother said. “Ah, here he comes.”
And Matthew was indeed walking toward the house—with his brother. They were laughing over something, and Reginald wasslapping a hand against Matthew’s back. Clarissa felt the tension she had not realized she was experiencing ease out of her shoulders and neck.
“Reginald and Matthew Taylor are on their way here, Richard,” her mother said, raising her voice just a little, and her father awoke with a snort.
“Just resting my eyes for a few minutes,” he said. “Together, are they? And about time too.”
