Mrs. Crewes was staring at her brother with an expression of such shock and disbelief and joy, Ryan’s throat cinched.
“Gabriel?” whispered Mrs. Crewes.
“Bah!” said the baby on the stoop, holding out her bread to Gabriel.
One of the smaller dogs padded over and began to eat from the child’s hand.
But now another man was there. He popped through the doorway, the butler on his heels, his face creased with concern.
“What happened?” He glared at Gabriel. “Who the devil are you?”
He glanced at the baby on the floor; she’d tipped to her side and begun crawling in his direction. “Noelle—?”
“Forgive me,” interjected Ryan, “but I do believe Mrs. Crewes is about to—”
And then Mrs. Crewes made a small noise and collapsed into a faint.
“Bloody—” The man in the doorway lunged forward just in time and scooped her up. Six dogs crowded around him, pressing noses into her limp form.
“Bartholomew!” the man bellowed before he bent down to press a kiss to the top of her head.
Chapter Sixteen
Gabriel stood in the midst of utter chaos, keeping the dogs off of Ryan. His sister had fainted at the sight of him. One man caught her up; another recoiled against the wall. Two small girls dressed in dueling shades of pink spilled from the house, jabbering and spinning, reigniting the dogs.
Gabriel stared down at the two children, the baby, his sister (unconscious), the man holding her (suspicious), at Lady Ryan, and the second man on the wall, and all six of the dogs. It was more people than Gabriel had encountered altogether in five years.
His sister’s eyes fluttered open and she began squirming in the man’s arms. “I’m alright,” she proclaimed. “I’m alright, I’m alright. Killian,I’m all right. But can you put me down?”
The children were momentarily silenced by her protestations—but only just. Now they bobbed up and down, shouting, “Maman!” and reaching small hands to her skirts. “Put her down, Papa!” the girls ordered, “Put her down!”
Slowly, carefully, the man—she’d called him Killian, so he must be her husband—settled Elise on her feet. She held to him and searched every face until she locked eyes with Gabriel. In a breathless, tear-choked voice, she whispered his name.
Gabriel did not answer; it hadn’t seemed like a question. Also, he had no words. The mere sight of her knocked him backward as squarely as a punch. He landed dizzyingly in the past. Her eyes were so familiar; her expressions exactly as he remembered. Her posture was the same, and the set of her chin. She was the most important face of his boyhood—but now a grown woman. She looked so very much like their mother. She was somehow...shorter? That couldn’t be right, she wouldn’t have shrunk. No, of course not, he’d grown.
Elise—living, breathing,tearfulElise. Adult Elise—with three children who referred to her asMaman. The sight of her flipped him forward and backward in time, like thumbing through the pages of a book. Only, the middle had been torn away. How could he make sense of their story if the intervening years were lost?
Also how mustheappear toher? He was a man now, obviously; with a face and bearing probably very much like their father’s—if their father had been bearded and disheveled and dressed like a common woodsman.
“I’m sorry for the shock,” he finally said. The words came out in French.
“No apologies,” Elise whispered also in French. She wiped away a tear.
Behind him, Lady Ryan pressed a gentle hand to his back. He leaned into the pressure. The warm imprint staked him to earth as memories streaked through his mind. He saw the swing in the garden at the Palace Royale, Elise pushing him too high whiletheir nursemaid begged them to stop. He saw the two of them diving into the water at their seaside villa in Nice, coming up with handfuls of perfectly round stones, swimming to the beach and making a nest of their pretend eggs. He saw the darkness and fear of the prison and bright sun through the bars of the executioner’s wagon. He wasn’t sure he could’ve borne the memories if Ryan hadn’t been there with a firm hand to his back. It was imprudent to rely on her, he knew. He took a step to the side. He wasn’t a child or an invalid, and she need not protect him. But he didn’t feel protected, he felt calmed. He pulled off his hat, remembered his crude haircut, and crammed it back on his head.
“Killian,” Elise was telling her husband, “thisis my brother. But can you believe it? My brother.Here.He’s come. After all of this time.” She laughed, an elated, tear-choked sound.
One of her daughters clung to her skirts and the other pressed against her, hands raised. Behind them, the baby on the stoop began to cry.
Elise seemed not to notice any of it; her gaze was locked on Gabriel. She took a step forward and he braced, unprepared to be touched. Sweat cooled the back of his neck; his throat was dry. She touched the sleeve of his coat and Gabriel looked down, staring at her small, clean hand on the stiff mud-streaked fabric. He thought of the clothes beneath the coat; simple, rustic, mended. He thought of his filthy boots. He tried to conjure up something to say.
The baby’s cries grew louder and Killian Crewes scooped her from the floor. “Everyone on this stoop...” Killian Crewes announced, “who is theheight of my elbow orshorter, will nowretreatto the nursery, select any book, and read it for the length of one hour.”
“ButPapa, we cannot yet read!” reminded one of the girls, jumping up and down.
“How will we know when an hour has gone?” said the other girl. “We cannot tell time!”
“Where is Nanny?” He hitched the baby on his hip.
