“Oh you wouldn’t. And be glad for it. I actually— I owe you another apology,” he began before breaking for another sip of tea.
“Whatever for?”
“You wouldn’t know it, not from our interactions. But I’m usually less… I’m the eloquent brother, believe it or not. But for some reason I just keep offending you. I assure you, I do not mean it. And I wanted to apologize—the other day, I was prying and I upset you. It wasn’t my business, and it was inappropriate to ask.”
The majority of the speech had been directed toward the blackberry tart, but at the very end, he glanced up at me, hesitant, beneath dark lashes. The very tips of them were dusted with a rusty red. It should have been a childish, sheepish expression. But instead, it was an enticing look. One that brought to mind contexts far away from pastry-scented bakeries and apologies.
“How old are you?” I blurted, so busy trapping other thoughts behind mental doors that I couldn’t restrain that one.
His brow furrowed while he tipped his head to the side. “One and twenty. Why?”
Something about that number was both a relief and a frustration. Far too young—not that there was anything to be too youngfor. But also… not. Because Juliet had been considered halfway to on the shelf at the same age when I proposed. Not that it was relevant.
“Just curious,” I said, brushing the thought away.
He shifted back to sit properly in the chair, though his legs remained tucked up under it—too long for anything else.
“I suppose I owe you more than a few probing questions. After all, I started it with my impertinence.”
“You don’t need to, by the way.”
“What?” he asked.
“Apologize. It wasn’t?—”
“Don’t say it wasn’t improper. It certainly was.”
“Oh, it certainly was. But I overreacted. Davina has a tendency to do that to me.”
A smile bloomed across his lips before a huffed chuckle rumbled from his chest. “I’ve noticed.”
“She vexes me on purpose,” I explained.
“I’m almost certain that you’re right. As a youngest sibling, I must inform you that it is our life’s purpose to vex the elder at every available opportunity.”
“Oh, it is?”
“Yes, there are few things in life I enjoy more than vexing Michael or Hugh. Though in fairness, Hugh is just as often the one to vex me as I am him.”
“Not Wayland?” I asked.
“Michael isn’t easily vexed. Though he does loathe when I use furniture improperly. A foot on the desk and his eye begins to twitch. And he rarely has the time to vex me in earnest.”
“The furniture seems to be a struggle even when he isn’t present.” I nodded toward his legs, still tucked ungentlemanly under the chair.
“Chair is too small,” he replied, finally taking a hearty bite of the tart before him.
“Legs are too long,” I retorted.
He swallowed the bite heavily. “It is a daily struggle. It seems every chair in London is too small. And don’t even let me tell you about the doorways.”
“Were you teased as a boy?”
Something about the question had him flushing again. But he pressed forward. “Not about that. Though your sister did call me a cricket once. I can only assume it was in regard to the legs.”
My palm found my face as it so often did in regard to Davina. “Oh good lord. When was that?”
“Hugh’s wedding. The day we met.” His tone was soft, tentative. And behind his eyes, there was a significance I wasn’t catching. “I think you were distracted. She’d wandered off, I suspect,” he added.
