“I am Mr. Nightingale.” He bowed. If he gave her his name, she might give him hers.
“I know. Welcome home.” The words came out in a rush once again.
“Thank you.” She knew who he was and that he had not set foot on this property for many years due to his travels. “Where have we met before?” He tried again to get her identity, stepping sideways for a better angle to see her face. He was thwarted as she turned also.
“We haven’t,” she said quickly.
“And yet you know who I am and that I have been absent from England, which would suggest you are not telling the truth.”
She muttered something that he thought may have been “drat.”
“Good evening.” She dropped into a curtsey. “Excuse me.”
He couldn’t detain her without touching her, and he had no right to do that, so he said, “Can I accompany you somewhere, miss?”
She stepped around him and walked away. His eyes fell to what she held in her hand: a quiver.
Odd.
Where would she be going with that at this time of night? Practice, maybe? He knew there would be a tournament, as that was his brother’s usual form of entertainment. He excelled at archery and liked to show off to people. The only problem for Malcolm was, Bram excelled too.
Who was she?A maid or a governess? Why would either know him? Strangely, Bram felt the need to know her identity.
Battling to keep from following, he instead continued on to the house. As he’d been raised here, he knew it well and let himself in a door less used by the guests currently inside.
Climbing the stairs to his room, his footsteps were muted on the soft carpets. His eyes reacquainted him with the fussy furnishings of his brother’s estate. Nightingale Hall was one of the oldest properties in the Nightingale family. Bram’s brother was now Viscount Seddon. He was also as obnoxious and pompous as his sire had been.
He heard voices and braced himself. Bram had really hoped that he’d be washed and dressed impeccably before he met anyone. He’d also preferably have slept a full night, but it looked like that was not to be the case.
“Good Lord, the black sheep has returned to Nightingale Hall!”
And it just had to be them he saw.
“Malcolm, how delightful that the first people I meet at Nightingale Hall are you and Sylvia.” Bram forced his lips up into a smile. “How are you, brother?”
The viscount and viscountess glided down the stairs toward him. Sylvia had her fingertips on Malcolm’s arm, as was proper. Their noses were raised, and they both wore pious smiles that had his teeth gritting.
“Good Lord, look at you, Bramstone,” his brother said. He sniffed and looked Bram up and down.
“I rode from London. Unlike you, who was properly tucked in a carriage with your knee blanket.”
He hadn’t seen this man for four years, and Malcolm could not greet his brother with anything but disdain. There were two years between them, and they’d never been close.
Inhale and exhale, Bram.
People often said the brothers shared absolutely no similarities in either looks or personality. He’d always been happy about that fact.
“Brother, I am pleased to see you and the viscountess in good health.” He forced himself to smile. He was no longer the angry, irrational man who had left England four years ago.
“Thank you. And you also, Bram.” Sylvia’s smile was small.
When Bram had first met his sister-in-law, he’d thought her a sweet, gentle soul. It had not taken long for her husband to file most of her soft and gentle edges away. She was now the perfect viscountess. Cool, brittle, and a notorious gossip.
“And how are my nieces and nephews?”
It was always a miracle to Bram that his brother had six delightful children who were as yet untainted by their parents.
“Alexander will join the army as soon as he is of an age to do so. Leopold is something of a scholar.” Malcolm preened.
