"My brother. My twin brother."
She stopped short as she stared at him.
He shook himself and walked on. "And that is all you need to know."
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
He had a twin brother.
Ellen's head whirled.
And he'd never told her.
He had a mother she'd met by chance and who had only now found out they were married. Otherwise, he wouldn't have told her.
Why?
And why had he not told her that Penwick Hall was his? It was his family home, for as Baron of Tewkbury, he'd inherited the house and the estate. From all appearances, it was lovely and thriving.
She seemed to recall, somewhat darkly, that he and Dobberham had been childhood friends and had grown up together. But he hadn't told her it had been on this land, or at least next to Dobberham's.
He'd brushed it off, saying that was all she needed to know. But that was nonsense, of course.
She had to talk to him about it.
He was her husband, and as far as Ellen was concerned, the pretence had ended long before he'd stumbled into the bedroom the night before.
A slight smile played across her lips as she remembered how young he'd looked, how carefree, without all that paint, his hair in disarray. He'd been sound asleep, lying on his stomach across the bed, hugging a pillow.
There had been no pretence between them, just raw honesty.
She would insist on keeping it that way.
Yet,the entire day, following their walk, he avoided her. Finally, when he was on his way to the billiard room with the other gentlemen, she grabbed his arm and pulled him into the library.
"We need to talk."
"I say, we don't," he began.
"Hush." She placed a finger across his mouth. "You know we do, and you're just avoiding it because it's uncomfortable. But believe me, it won't get any better, so the sooner we talk about this, the better. Not just this business with your mother and brother, but also this." She spread her hands.
"This?" He tilted his head to one side.
"You. Me. Us. What now?"
The clock on the mantelpiece ticked loudly in the silence. The sun flooded through the library windows and for a moment, time seemed to stand still, until Edmund finally opened his mouth to echo, "What now?"
Ellen sighed. "We embarked on this marriage as a pretence. It is no longer. So what now?"
Edmund scratched his neck. "We have a week left here. We have to get through it, pretence or not."
"And your mother?"
"Well, you've seen her, she's fine." He stared sullenly at the pattern on the carpet.
"Don't you think that even as your wife—even if it is entirely, as you say, a pretence," she hastened to add, "that I should at least know a little about your family?"
Edmund shrugged. He looked away and shuffled his boots on the ground.
