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There was no going back now. “It’s good to see you, John.”

John’s light green eyes moved up and down, taking him in. “By God,” he said softly. “It is. It really is.”

Alec's hand stiffened on the horse's bridle. “Yes.”

“By God,” murmured John again.

He cleared his throat when the pause wore on too long. “Is my mother. . . ?”

His cousin shook himself, still seeming dazed. “Yes. We received James Peterbury’s letter a few days ago, and then yours. It was a shock, but of the happiest kind. My aunt has been beside herself awaiting this moment. You must come in to her at once.” He stuck out his hand, and when Alec took it, he threw his arm around Alec’s shoulder, pulling him into an awkward embrace. “Welcome home, cousin,” he said, his voice muffled against Alec’s shoulder.

This was far more cordial than he’d expected. He hadn’t seen John in nearly ten years, and now he’d come back in disgrace. Gingerly he returned the embrace, then stepped back and collected the reins. John fell in step beside him as they walked toward the house.

“I understand you’ve been looking after things here,” said Alec, for lack of anything better to say while John still watched him from the corner of his eye as one would watch a circus curiosity. He told himself to get used to seeing that expression.

John jerked around to face him, eyes wide, but then he laughed, a bit ruefully. “Oh—yes. Freddie invited me for the Christmas holidays, and then when he fell ill, of course I offered my help. . . ” He pursed his lips and looked at the ground. “My condolences on his death. It was a great shock to all of us.”

Alec nodded once. Freddie, John called him. John had been close with his brother. “Thank you,” he murmured. “I’m glad he wasn’t alone, at the end.”

“No. No, he was not.” John kicked a rock from the drive, sending it bouncing into the neatly trimmed grass. “I shall be happy to go over the books with you at your convenience. I believe they’re still kept in the same manner as your father kept them. Freddie never changed, and I. . . Well, I assumed he would return to form in due time and come thrash me if I changed his accounting.”

Freddie had never been one to thrash, and they both knew it. Freddie would have merely frowned and pinched his lips together, then gone off and redone the books the way he wanted them. Alec felt a stab of grief that he’d never see his brother’s face again. “I'm sure everything is fine.”

“I’ve tried to run things properly, as your father and brother would have done. . . ” John’s voice died as Alec stopped.

“And because you thought they were to be yours,” he said. “John⁠—”

“No, no.” John held up one hand, his smile strained. “I thought that, yes. But it is far outweighed by your return. Losing Freddie was very hard on your mother.”

Alec looked toward the house. Other people had come out. His mother, leaning on his sister Julia’s arm. His sister-in-law, Marianne, holding a child in one arm with another child clinging to her black skirts. Abruptly he felt suffocated, trapped in a nightmare. He wanted to mount the horse and ride far away before he could see their expressions. How could any of them forgive him? For a moment, he wished he had succumbed to his injuries on the field of Waterloo.

“Come.” John nodded at the welcoming party. “They’re anxious to see you.”

As they drew near, Alec began to focus on telling details. Marianne’s children hid their faces at his approach. Marianne, lovely and fair in her widow’s weeds, seemed on the verge of tears as she stared at him, clutching her child to her. Julia watched him belligerently, her chin high and her eyes blazing, taller and thinner than before. But his mother. . .

“Mother,” he said softly, stopping in front of her. “I've missed you.”

She reached out to touch his sleeve. She was smaller than he remembered, more stooped and wrinkled. Her gaze lifted to his face in wonder, the same deep blue eyes that peered from his mirror every morning. Funny how he had forgotten until now that he had her eyes.

“Alexander,” she whispered, sounding dazed. “It really is. You have come back.” She released Julia and took two steps forward until she could lean on his outstretched arms. Her fingers trembled as they curled into the fabric of his coat, digging into his arms. “Oh, Alec,” she said again, tears beginning to stream down her face. “My son.”

Alec felt the first real bite of despair as his mother laid her cheek against his chest and wept. She was his mother, as familiar as his own flesh, and yet not. Shame flooded him, hot and bitter. No matter that he knew he was innocent of treason; his family could not have known, and if they had believed him innocent nonetheless, they had done so without any proof or even assurances from him that it was so. In his outrage and humiliation and fear, he had simply vanished and left them to face the public scorn for him.

“Mother,” he said again, helplessly, as he embraced her. “I’m so sorry.”

She raised her head to look at him, her eyes streaming with tears. “Never,” she said fiercely. “Never apologize! Whatever grief I endured cannot match my joy at your return. I lost both my sons, and now one has returned to me. I don’t care how or why, I only care that you are alive and well and home.”

“What you must think,” he began, until she put up her hand, touching his cheek.

“Not now,” she said gently. “Today is a day for celebration, nothing else.”

Her words only made him feel worse. If she had demanded to know if he truly had sold secrets to the French. . . If she had asked where he’d been for the last five years and what he’d been doing. . . If she had asked why he hadn’t sent her even a whisper of a suggestion that he was still alive. . . All those questions would have been her right to ask, and the fact that she didn’t ask one, but merely gathered him into her arms as she had done so many times when he was a boy, rent Alec’s heart. He was better as a spy now, alone and unfettered, when he didn’t even have to pretend to any sort of honesty. Gently he held his mother and let her weep.

“Oh, but I’ve gone and turned maudlin,” she said, raising her head and dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. “On this, the happiest day in many a month!” She stepped back, and Alec saw her make a small motion urging Julia on.

His sister didn’t appear nearly as pleased to see him. “Alec.” She ducked her head in a stiff curtsey.

“It’s good to see you again, Julia,” he replied. She pressed her lips together and said nothing. “And you, Marianne.”