"I'll miss you," he said, not even trying to hide bis pain.
"And
Florence
!
I don't know how I'll break the news to her. She was looking forward to being your sister."
Freddie
laughed,
a soft, bright sound. "Wherever I am, I shall always cherish her as such."
He hugged Edward then, a tight embrace that said far more than words. Edward slapped his back and held tight, wishing Freddie
were
small again, wishing he could keep him safe. When they let go, they
both had to wipe their eyes.
"I love you," Edward said, and there was more in the words than the emotion.
Freddie nodded and backed away, his eyes dazzling bright. He must have known that if he stayed
Edward would feel obliged to make another plea.
His retreat left the library very quiet. A clock ticked on one of the mantels. The gas hissed within its painted globes, a breath more even than Edward's own. Exhausted, he tipped back his head and stared
at the shadow-haunted gloom of the vaulted ceiling. Angels flew across its mural, their wings as muscular as their limbs. Tonight, in the weak yellow light, they looked to Edward as if they were flying straight to hell.
His little brother was in love with Nigel West. He was leaving the country, leaving everything and everyone he knew.
And Edward was letting him do it.
He clenched his hands to sweating fists, but his stomach had made up its mind. Heat rising queasily in
his throat, he ran for the terrace. The air outside was sweet, the breeze a cooling ribbon. Nonetheless,
as soon as he gained the lawn, he was violently, miserably ill. Only his hold on the marble column kept him from falling to his knees.
Florence
found him after the sickness had passed. He was rocking back and forth at the edge of the colonnade, his boots in the dewy grass, his head pressed to his knees. He did not have to look up to
know who sat beside him.
"I don't know how to let him go," he said. "I've tried but it's so hard."
Florence
wrapped herself around him. "You're not letting him go. You're letting him be himself."
"The world will do its best to hurt him."
Florence
soothed his head with a stroke of her hand. "Maybe losing Nigel would hurt him more. He deserves a chance to be happy, to love and be loved like anyone else. Maybe this is the only way."
"Maybe,"
Edward moaned. "I'm supposed to let him risk everything for a maybe?"
"Maybe is all anyone has. You have to let him make the
best
choice."
Edward knew.she was right, but knowing didn't make it easy. He turned in her arms and clung. He felt utterly helpless, more helpless than he'd been since the days he'd tried to protect his rambunctious little brother from their father's ire.
Florence
petted his hair and rocked him—the way any woman might comfort a man she loved. Her words, however, were not those of any woman.
"Love him as he is," she said. "That will give him the strength he needs to face the world."
* * *
Though Aunt Hypatia
had been suspiciously scarce of late, soon after Freddie's return she sent for
Florence
to meet her in the drawing room. She nodded as
Florence
entered but did not speak until
she'd poured them both a cup of tea. "I have put this discussion off," she began, "because I felt I owed you the chance to concentrate on working things
out with Edward. Since you have obviously done so"—her brows rose with worldly humor—"I feel the two of us should clear the air. First"—she lifted
her hand to stall
Florence
's speech—"I should like to apologize, both for my part in deceiving you and
for failing to realize Catherine Exeter was so vindictive.
I had no idea she would use you in that fashion. I consider it most unfortunate, and entirely my fault,
that you did not feel you could turn to me in your distress."
"It... it turned out for the best,"
Florence
said, her hands clutched nervously on her cup.
"Liked having Edward rescue you, eh?"
"Yes,
your
Grace."
"Hmpf, well."
The duchess shot her a knowing glance. "Good for him to have to rouse himself. That
boy has always been too stolid. You, at any rate, will keep his blood pumping."
At her blush, Hypatia unbent enough to pat her knee. Then, with a sigh of resignation, she dug her walking stick into the carpet and pushed to her feet. The drawing room windows overlooked the rose garden, now a riot of late-summer blooms. In the bright gold light, the seams of her face showed the struggles she had passed through in her time.
"The Burbrookes have much to answer for," she said. "I wonder you are able to forgive any of us."
"My own actions have hardly been above reproach,"
Florence
cried, distress bringing her off the couch.
"I would not blame you for thinking me the worst sort of fortune hunter."
"Piffle," said Hypatia. "I know very well Edward's fortune had nothing to do with it. The point is we lied to you, deliberately and with intent to deceive. The only argument I can offer in my defense is that I honestly thought Freddie would change for you. I thought you would make each other happy."
"We might have,"
Florence
said, "if we hadn't fallen in love with other people."
The duchess sighed and turned her gaze to the garden.
"As much as I've seen of life, as much as I've done, you'd think this wouldn't bother me. You'd think
I'd say Freddie was entitled to love where he pleased. But I suppose everything's different when it
affects your family." She hunched her shoulders,
then
forced them down. "We should be grateful he didn't fall for that footman, I suppose. At least this Nigel person will know which fork to use.
Decent manners and all that."
"Perfectly decent,"
Florence
assured her.
"
France
, though," said the duchess, shaking her head.
"Filthy people.
Spend all their time lopping off
each other's heads or pinching women's bottoms."
Florence
could not stifle a giggle.
"Yes," Hypatia agreed, her face lifting naughtily. "At least Freddie and Nigel won't be compounding that problem!"
She thumped her stick on the floor in enjoyment of her own wit.
Florence
's heart eased as she laughed along. If the duchess was making jokes about pinching bottoms,
Florence
knew the worst was past.
* * *
Edward prowled the library late into the night. His brother was leaving in the morning.
His brother and
his lover.
He simply couldn't get used to the idea, though he'd never seen Freddie this content. A weight had been lifted from his
spirit,
a weight Edward hadn't known was there.
Nigel had convinced Freddie to stay through harvest, so as not to deprive Edward of his steward at the busiest time of year. He even coaxed him into helping get the corn into the ricks, a back-breaking, filthy job. "If you're going to be a farmer," Nigel had teased, "you have to be willing to sweat."
The harvest home party they'd held for the laborers was the finest Greystowe had ever seen, a true fete, according to Mrs. Forster, it being in addition to the celebration of Edward and
Florence
's betrothal. The revels had stretched well into the wee hours. Every man in the county had begged
Florence
for a dance, including Freddie and Nigel.
For once her shyness was forgotten. She read stories to the workers' children, and served up slices of pie she'd baked herself. With every smile, she proved she was at home here, among his people, literally laughing until she cried. Edward had never known joy could be bittersweet. He was pacing towards the bust of Plato when the object of his ruminations poked her head past the double door. She was wearing her nightshift and robe, a filmy, flowy combination that sent an immediate surge of heat to his neglected sex. Ever since Freddie's return, he and
Florence
had observed the proprieties. Edward meant the premarital abstinence as a demonstration of respect, both for his aunt and for
Florence
. Not so much as
a kiss had been stolen behind a door. No doubt that, as much as anything else, was contributing to the foulness of his mood.
"Don't come in here," he warned, his resolve pushed to the limit, "unless you want your skirts tossed
over your head."
"I'm not wearing skirts," she said as she padded softly in. Her pretty white feet were bare, twinkling
toes and all. Clearly the woman had no sense. As if to prove it, she cocked her head at him and smiled.
"I came to make sure you didn't pace straight through the carpet."
"You're playing with fire," he warned, but she ran to him as if fire was what she most desired.
His good intentions disintegrated on the spot. He had his trousers open before she reached him; had her down on the floor before her first laughing kiss brushed his lips. He cursed at the tangle of her gown,
and again at the eager encouragement of her hands.
"I'm trying to behave," he protested as she spread her legs beneath his weight.
She muttered something that sounded very much like "To hell with behaving" and then the folds of lawn and lace seemed magically to give way. His nerves spangled like shooting stars. He felt her body's welcome against his crown and entered her before he could think of stopping. The first stroke was pure, teeth-grinding bliss. She was hot
and tight and wet, and her tiny cry of pleasure made him groan like a dying man.
"I missed this," she said, hugging him close with arms and thighs. "I missed this so much."
Edward had no control at all. Their coupling was so fast and hard it had both of them gasping for air.
He was thumping her into the carpet and she was drumming him deeper with her heels. Nothing mattered but racing to the finish, but reaffirming his ownership of her sex. His climax broke like glittering golden fire, explosively good, blinding him to everything but the long, gushing convulsion. He wouldn't have known she followed but for her sharp orgasmic cry.
Once he'd rolled her above him, he never wanted to move again.
"Now," she said as she sprawled atop his chest with his shaft still pulsing lightly in her sheath.
"Tell me what you and Nigel discussed at your oh-so-serious talk."
Edward's breath came out on a sigh. Leave it to
Florence
to "guess what had upset him, and to make it easier for him to share it.
"He apologized for abusing the family's trust," he said.
"As if that mattered at this point.
He advised me on replacements, gave me the key to his files. Ah, and he assured me he'd take the 'best possible care'
of my brother. I felt like the bloody father of the bride."
"Mm," said
Florence
. "And what did you say in return?"
"Gave him a bank draft," he muttered.
"Just in case."
He could feel her smiling against his skin. "I'm sure he appreciated that."
"Of course he did. Unlike Freddie, Nigel is a practical man."
Florence
rubbed her face across his chest. At some point during their encounter, she had opened his waistcoat and pulled up his shirt. Now her arm slid under the hem to hug his ribs.