Blythe had talked about herself last night. She wanted to know more about Orlando but also didn’t want to argue about who would talk about their family first.
It was a shame she could not tell him everything. But her family had secrets that could not be shared, such as the fact that a good deal of their wealth came from smuggling.
“I am one of ten living children.”
He sat forward, grey eyes wide. “Are you serious?”
Her family wasn’t so large that anyone should be shocked.
Though, perhaps it was.
“I am also one of ten,” he said.
“Ah, so you can certainly understand the difficulties of siblings always about.”
“Most definitely. Especially when one followed me all the way here,” he laughed.
Yes, Isabella. “She claimed to have shared a chamber with three sisters. Are the rest brothers?”
“That, I will not tell you because I asked you first.”
“Very well,” she chuckled. “First there is Wesley, Marquess of Epworth, then Seth and Cecil. There was a sister, Amelia, but she succumbed to the measles when she was fifteen. Her mother died as well.”
“Your mother?” Orlando asked.
“No. My father’s first wife. He then married my mother and three sons and four daughters were born. I was the first of those daughters. Now, tell me about your siblings.”
“Oh, no. That is not good enough. You must tell me something interesting about at least one of them.”
Blythe leaned back and tried to find the most interesting piece of information and then remembered what had been written to her. “Wesley’s wife, Miranda, formerly Vail, sees ghosts.”
“Ghosts?”
“Yes, ghosts.”
“Does she see them everywhere or in one location?” His tone had taken a serious turn. Blythe had only mentioned it because it was an amusing anecdote and had expected Orlando to laugh.
“She had one in the home she was raised in.”
“But you did not see it.”
“No. They married after I came to the Continent. But it has been described to me by Wesley and my sisters.” Her eyes widened. “Oh dear!”
“What?”
“They do not know where I am. They write regularly but I will not receive their letters.”
“I will speak with the soldiers in charge of the Post and retrieve any missives meant for you.”
She just hoped that John did not claim and destroy them first.
“You could write and tell them where you are,” he suggested.
She stared into his grey eyes. “By the time that letter reached them, I may no longer be here.”
She could be gone tomorrow if she so chose and there was nothing he could do or say. Blythe’s choices were now her own.
Selfishly, Orlando wanted her to remain. He needed her to stay.
