And he also thought about the childhoods of his siblings. They’d all been so much older, he hadn’t given much time to what they’d all gone through because he was so focused on surviving, himself.
“Charlie is ten times the marquess our father ever was,” he said.
Phoebe smiled. “I agree. You should tell him that sometime—I think the idea that he is as awful as our father weighs on him.”
“And Reggie may be an arse, but he’s certainly done well for himself.” She laughed softly. He continued, “And you…you may have been forced into a first marriage that made you unhappy, but the second was better, wasn’t it?”
“The second was my choice,” she said with a slight nod. “And I did love Gregory, as he loved me, God rest him. Plus, I could not regret my children, or my life as it has unfolded. So we all survived. Thrived in some way.”
“Well, except for the bastard,” he said, turning his face. “I know all I’ve done is create trouble. Otherwise, you all wouldn’t want me to be different.”
Phoebe took his hands and it forced him to look back at her. “I very much regret that last encounter. I think Charlie and Reg do, as well. It came across wrong, as a judgment.”
“You don’t think it was a judgment in truth?” he asked with an arched brow, challenging her to deny it.
She struggled a moment and then sighed. “It was. But do you know why Charlie asked me to call you back to London?”
“Guilt? Obligation?” Silas shrugged. “Bile?”
“Because he truly wants to fix things,” she said. “That last day you were here, the day after Father’s death, there have been so many conversations about that awful day. About how badly we all handled it. About how sorry each of us was that you felt chased out, accused. Six years is too long, Silas.”
He got up and paced away. “But the cost of what they’re requesting is awfully high, Phoebe. You all want me to just throw away all I am, all I’ve built myself to be, just because it isn’t what you approve of. You want to make me a puppet to dance on your string in order to earn the affection of my family. Do you know what that sounds like?”
“Father,” she said with no hesitation.
They stared at each other a long moment, that one word and all that surrounded it hanging in the air between them.
“It wasn’t a fair request,” Phoebe said softly. “I told them that after you left. They were both chastened when I said it because at their hearts they’re good men who don’t want to be like the one who raised us all. But Silas, if you run away back to America, then it will never be fixed, will it?”
“I don’t know,” he muttered. “I suppose not. I just don’t know if I want to stick around and wait for them to decide I’m worthy of consideration as I am. If they would allow me to be who I am and be with who I chose and not withdraw their affection as a punishment for it.”
He turned and went to the window. He intended it to be just to gain a little distance, but as he looked down he saw a carriage on his drive. It wasn’t his sister’s, though. It was Arabella’s. His heart caught. Was she here? She hadn’t sent word, but then again, that was her way. She didn’t ask for permission, she didn’t mince or pretend.
She was exactly who she was at all times.
“A moment, Phoebe,” he said, and rushed to the door. He opened the door to the parlor and the moment he did so he heard loud voices in the foyer.
“I’m telling you, you have no place here, Miss Comerford,” Poole was saying. “Mr. Windham is not in residence.”
“You will not even ask him if he’ll see me?” Arabella was saying, her voice laced with rare pleading.
Silas strode down the hall and into the foyer without hesitation. “I say, Poole, what is this about? You’re telling Arabella that I am not in residence without even inquiring about my availability? What right do you have to make those decisions?”
The butler pivoted toward him and Silas could see the hatred sparkling in his eyes, the disgust. “Sir, you could not possibly wish that your sister, the widow of both a viscount and a decorated colonel in His Majesty’s army, be exposed to this…this blackmailing hoyden.”
To Silas’s surprise, Arabella flinched a little at that statement. As if this man’s judgment of her actually stung. She stepped back. “I’m sorry, Silas, I didn’t realize your sister was here. Obviously, I wouldn’t wish to intrude or?—”
“Wait,” he said, holding up a hand. “I didn’t ask you to go. Please don’t back away.” He swung his attention back to Poole. “Miss Comerford is my friend, Poole. She will not be spoken to in that manner. Not in my house, certainly never byyou. You who are not fit to shine her shoes. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”
The butler shifted and his nostrils flared. “Yes, sir.” He accentuated both words. “I only thought you would want to be gentlemanly enough to keep the proper part of your life away from…fromthispart.”
“Excuse me.”
All three of them froze because it was Phoebe’s voice that interrupted. She had come into the entrance to the foyer from the hall and stood staring not at Silas, not at Poole, but at Arabella. To Silas’s surprise, Arabella’s cheeks turned bright red and she stared at the floor.
“Poole, my brother is absolutely correct that you have no right to keep a friend from him. You should know better.” She moved forward and extended a hand. “Miss Comerford, I’m Phoebe Broughton, Silas’s elder sister. I’ve heard a great deal about you and have always wished to meet you. You’re even more beautiful close up. Won’t you come join my brother and me for tea?”
Arabella lifted her chin. “I would not wish to intrude.”
