“You wanted to be like him?”
“Oh, God no. I wantedhimto be like someone else. He drank too much, which elicited an enthusiastic meanness; he gambled too much, which depleted the coffers of Avenelle; and he brought women who were not my mother into our home, which is a particular brand of cruelty for confused, lonely children. Luckily, he paid almost no mind to me or my sister; and I had an uncle nearby—the proverbialsecond son—and he stepped in when I was very young, acted as a surrogate father. He demonstrated integrity and loyalty and hard work where my father did not. He was loyal to his wife. I was fortunate for their care andexample. He loved Avenelle, even though it would never come to him. Anything good in me comes from Uncle Stephen.”
“Did your sister benefit from the influence of the aunt and uncle?”
“Sadly, no. Stephen had not yet married when Timothea was very young. He was still in the army. Her formative years were spent with our miserable, homesick mother and a succession of nursemaids.”
“So very sad,” said Drew. “I can see Lady Tribble trying to be a good mother to Imogene and Ivy, but she struggles with her own demons, I fear. I am happy to collaborate with her on bringing up the girls. And with whatever part you will take in it.”
“I value that collaboration so very much, I married you to protect it,” he said. “We are fortunate that you came to us.”
It was meant as a compliment—itwasa compliment—but Drew’s chest felt hollowed out by the statement. Of course he’d married her for the twins. She knew this.
And yet.
“My guess is,” he said, “your late father was a decent man, a hard worker, deeply intuitive, generous, and compassionate. I see these qualities plainly in you, and he is the most likely source.”
“That is quite a list,” she laughed. “I would like to think my father embodied some admirable qualities; that they were incubating inside me all of this time, a secret heritage that needed only to be unlocked. But my mother will not speak of him, and he has no surviving family. We do not know much about him, Ana and me. But he did give me the gift of birds, for all that. And I cherish it more than any bauble or property he could have passed down.”
“How’s that?” Now he tucked the tips of his gloved fingers beneath her bottom, like a doorstop beneath a door. Drew hopped, just a little, at the nudge.
But what did he mean, touching her? Perhaps he didn’t realize his fingertips had collided with her hip? Maybe he wanted her to scoot over?
“Drewsmina?” he asked, and she turned at the sound of her given name. She was unaccustomed to hearing him say it.
He prompted, “How did he give the birds?”
“Oh yes, well, my mother will not discuss him, but shedidfrequently complain about a standing donation left in his will to a birding society in Richmond. It was a constant gripe, every year. ‘Why would he leave even a farthing to strangers and wild creatures?’ She hounded her lawyers for how she could undo the wasteful donation to the Birding Appreciation Society of Richmond Park. At that time in my life, my only defense against her was to vex her, so naturally I looked into it. She hated this donation, so I loved them, whoever they were. I had the wicked idea of traveling to Richmond, approaching the group, and suggesting that they ask her for a larger donation.”
“And instead you found your father’s passion,” he guessed.
“Well, I began to explore the notion of bird-watching as a hobby. Eventually, quietly, without telling anyone—a very rare stance for me—I slipped away into the brush and sat down under a tree and... endeavored to see what it was all about.”
“Much like I’m doing,” he remarked, cocking an eyebrow. Ever so slightly, he wiggled his fingers under her rump.
Drew blew out a breath. “Nothing like you are doing.”
He smiled and her stomach gave a flip. “Carry on.”
“I was far too impatient in the beginning to actually observe any bird, but I would return to it, again and again. I found myself seeking out the forest or the park whenever I quarreled with my mother or Ana. At first, I did it simply because Mother hated it; but gradually I realized it... settled me in a way?”
“I can see it. I walk the grounds of Avenelle whenever I’m troubled; it is a balm like no other.”
“After a time,” she continued, “after I’d managed to be motionless long enough for the bolder birds to put on a show, I sought it out for no other reason than to see them.”
“Brilliant,” he said softly. “Have you any books or notes from your late father that might enrich your experience?”
“I do, in fact. They are among my most prized possessions.”
“And what is your favorite bird, Miss Trelayne?”
Drew opened her mouth and then closed it.
But what of “Drewsmina?” Had he just referred to her as “Miss Trelayne?”
Yes. Yes, he had.
But was it a purposeful slip? Flashes of last night suddenly flickered in her mind’s eye. The window seat. His arms. The bed. He’d called her Miss Trelayne again and again.
