“I love you too,” she said. Often, she thought back to those days when it was just the two of them learning to be siblings. Navigating a world so foreign it took months to understand how to walk in it.
“No more risks, Samantha,” Warwick said.
“I know, and the same goes for you.”
He nodded.
“And now I must tell you about the other visitor I had this morning,” James said.
“What visitor? Tell me it is not more bad news,” Samantha said.
Her eyes went to Warwick. He shrugged as if to say he had no idea what James was about to say.
“I will leave you alone.”
“And listen anyway,” James drawled. “Stay, Warwick. We do not have secrets. In fact, it’s my hope it will make you happy, sister.”
“What will make me happy?”
“We had a caller this morning. He came to see you, but as you were not home and once again hurling your knives at targets, I invited him to attend the ball.”
“Who?” Samantha felt tense again and wasn’t sure why. Not that she hadn’t been constantly since she returned to London. She shot Warwick another look. He was watching her and not James.
“Mr. Blanchet.”
“What? You should have called for me.”
“You will see him at the ball, as I invited him after he told me that you and he had become friends while studying art in Ireland. The man seems a good sort. Did you know his father was a baron?”
“I did, and yes he is a nice man and a fine painter.”
“I sense a but. Did I make a mistake inviting him?” James frowned. “The way he spoke suggested you had formed a friendship.”
“Oh no, he’s a very nice man.” She did not want her brother thinking otherwise.
“He’s also in love with your sister, and even though she told him she doesn’t reciprocate, I fear he still has hope,” Warwick said.
“We are friends now.” She shot him a glare. “He understands that.”
“No, he doesn’t. The man is in love with you. He has no wish to just be your friend, Samantha.”
“I’m sorry, sister. I did not realize he cared for you.”
“It’s all right, James. Really. He is a good man and will enjoy the ball. There is nothing more than friendship between us, no matter what Warwick says.”
Warwick snorted, and it made her angry for no other reason than he was mocking her. Samantha had always hated him mocking her.
“He’s a simpering fool,” Warwick added.
“He is not!”
Warwick made another scoffing sound, which set her teeth on edge. Rather than slapping him, which she had a sudden urge to do, she ignored him and turned to James.
“Thank you for inviting my friend to the ball. I shall look forward to seeing him again immensely. He is polite and well-mannered, and perhaps I may have been too hasty in my declaration that I did not share his feelings. Perhaps there could be something between us one day.”
Warwick’s growl had her smiling on the inside.
“Good day, brother. Warwick.” She dropped into a curtsey and then left, feeling a great deal lighter inside than she had since Warwick had been shot.
