by Holt, Cheryl
“Seven o’clock, which is precisely five minutes later than the last time you asked.”
“I’m just so nervous. Aren’t you nervous?”
Phillip smiled at his wife, Anne. “If I admit to being on the verge of panic, will you feel better?”
“Yes. I hate that you’re so cool and composed. The French Terror is about to walk into my front parlor, and you act as if we’re having the neighbors over for tea.”
They were gathered in Phillip’s town house, and so far, his sister Fanny and her husband Michael were the only ones who’d joined them.
Charles might come—or not. Phillip could never predict what his father might do.
As to Harriet and Helen, Phillip was still crossing his fingers. But as to their husbands, James and Tristan, he wasn’t counting on them. There were too many issues separating James, Tristan, and John, but none of them were caused by the three brothers. Their parents were the culprits, but the weight of their parents’ indiscretions had landed on their children.
Phillip didn’t suppose the three of them would ever be cordial, but then, he probably shouldn’t use the word ever in his convoluted family.
“What is John like?”Fanny inquired. “Did Charles say?”
“He looks like us,”Phillip replied, “and Charles thought, as to his personality, he was very much like me.”
Michael scoffed. “Meaning he’s stubborn and intractable?”
“Yes. He’s stubborn and intractable.”
“Was he…” Fanny paused. “I realize I’ll sound like a snob, so how can I politely raise this subject? Has he been educated? Is he well-mannered? What sort of individual is coming to supper?”
Michael teased, “Are you afraid we’ll have to show him how to use a fork?”
Fanny’s cheeks flushed. “When you put it that way, my concerns seem so haughtily arrogant.”
“I guess he’s quite learned,”Phillip said. “His mother had him intensely schooled by the best Parisian tutors until she fell on rough times. Charles found him to be brilliant and articulate, and of course, the ladies all claim he’s very dashing.”
Michael snorted. “So he takes after Charles more than you, Phillip.”
Anne said, “Let’s all make a vow to be courteous and get along. No matter what happens or what kind of person he is, I don’t want any quarreling.”
“Agreed,”Fanny said.
“The past is the past,”Anne insisted.
Phillip added, “The trouble is old trouble, between the parents, not any of us. I—for one—am very fascinated by the notion of who he is, what he’s accomplished, and that we’re related to him. I can’t wait to meet him.”
“Neither can I,”Fanny concurred. “And if he knows he has siblings who care about him, maybe he’ll stop being so angry and behave better.”
“If you can pull that off,”Michael told her, “if you can persuade the mighty French Terror to cease his rampaging, the entire kingdom will be grateful.”
Fanny laughed. “Perhaps they’ll crown me Queen for a day.”
“I hope not,”Michael retorted. “You’d be insufferable as royalty.”
A knock on the front door halted their banter. They exchanged frantic glances, as if they’d been caught doing something they shouldn’t.
“Just remember,”Fanny murmured, “he’s probably as nervous about us as we are about him.”
“You’re correct,”Phillip advised, “and remember this, too: Charles really liked him, and Charles typically doesn’t like anybody. I’m sure we’ll all be pleasantly surprised.”
The butler entered the parlor and announced, “Master Phillip, may I present Mr. John Sinclair and his fiancée, Miss Sarah Teasdale.”
Michael, Fanny, and Anne stood, as Phillip went over to greet them, finally coming face to face with his only brother. They were the same height, with the same blond hair and green eyes, so it was easy to deduce the kinship. But there were differences, too. There was a hardness to John that Phillip had never had to develop.
Although Phillip had been born a bastard, his grandparents had reared him with every advantage, so he hadn’t had to learn any difficult life lessons. He’d grown up rich and entitled and happy.
Adversity had weathered John, had given him a wary countenance, as if he was constantly expecting an attack. He reminded Phillip of a hawk out hunting, relentlessly searching the area for trouble and missing no detail.
If Fanny had been worried as to how he’d act during the visit, there was no need. His wealth obvious, he was attired like a damn king, wearing the finest clothes, most particularly a green velvet coat that had gold stitching on the bottom that Phillip suspected was sewn from genuine gold thread.
He was dripping with expensive jewelry, including numerous rings laden with diamonds, and even a gold loop in his ear that Phillip was certain the ladies would find fascinating and exotic.
If he’d been promenading into a grand ballroom, he’d have been the most elegantly dressed man in the place.
He and Miss Teasdale were definitely a committed couple, and John seemed very smitten by her. Their strident connection emanated out in a blatant wave, and Phillip could see why John would be fond. She was beautifully striking, petite and slender, with unusual auburn hair and merry blue eyes.
By all accounts, she’d gone to great lengths to save John, and they all owed her a debt of gratitude.
“Mr. Sinclair,”Phillip started, then he stopped. “John, hello. I am Phillip. I am your brother.”
“Hello, Phillip,”John replied, a slight hint of a French accent in his voice.
Phillip pointed behind him. “This is my wife, Anne, and her brother, Michael Wainwright, Viscount Henley.”
“Hello,”John said again.
Phillip gestured to Fanny, and she walked over.
“This is Fanny,”Phillip said. “She’s Michael’s wife and one of your sisters.”
“Hello, Fanny.” John’s expression was cool, giving nothing away.
“Oh, John,”Fanny gushed, “it’s so wonderful to finally meet you.”
John didn’t respond to Fanny’s warm salutation, and Miss Teasdale elbowed him in the ribs, which jolted him into a reaction.
“Thank you for having me.”
Miss Teasdale grinned up at John, looking mischievous and pleased. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“No”—John smiled, appearing embarrassed—“that wasn’t so hard.”
“He was afraid to come,”Miss Teasdale brazenly explained.
“Sarah…”he scolded. “This is awkward enough. Don’t make it worse by telling our secrets.”
“He didn’t think you really wanted to know him.”
“Not know him?” Fanny scowled. “Are you mad?” She stepped to John so they were toe to toe. “I am the first of Charles’s children that Phillip managed to locate. I’m the first to discover how marvelous it is to belong. Welcome home, my long-lost brother. Welcome to our family. You’ll never be alone again. I swear it to you.”
Without waiting to be asked, without questioning whether an embrace would be allowed, she wrapped her arms around John’s waist and hugged him as tightly as she could.
For a moment, he hesitated, his consternation evident, then he draped his arms across her shoulders and hugged her back.
Miss Teasdale beamed with delight. “I knew everything would be all right. I just knew it.”
* * * *
John stood on the verandah at the rear of Phillip’s house. It was nearing midnight, supper over, the evening winding to an end.
He felt as if he was in the middle of a strange dream, where he was confronted by people who looked just like him, and there was an important message being presented, but he couldn’t figure out what it was.
Phillip and Fanny had shared the tale of how they’d met, the damage Charles had caused to their mothers, the lives they’d led after their mothers perished. John hadn’t supplied many details about his own sorry history, about Florence, how
mad she’d been or how terribly she’d suffered because of it.
But Sarah had provided them with other facts that he, himself, wouldn’t have mentioned. John never revealed information about himself to anyone. He’d been engaged in criminal activity for two decades so furtiveness was ingrained in his nature. It was odd to have Sarah openly discuss him, to hear her view of who he was.
She’d told many anecdotes about him, and the world hadn’t stopped spinning, so maybe there was hope for some normalcy in his future.
Or maybe not.
Since he’d been set free, he couldn’t come to grips with who he was supposed to be. He’d been ready to be executed, but hadn’t been. As a result of the trial, his identity as The French Terror had been wiped away as if it had never been. Who was he now? If The French Terror no longer existed, who was to take his place?
He was aimless and adrift, as if he was out on the ocean with no sail or paddle and no ability to maneuver to shore.
Sarah stepped outside and walked over to him. The evening had given him an interesting glimpse of her. In their previous acquaintance, they’d spent most of their time alone or wallowing in indecent conduct. It was intriguing to see her chat and mingle, to make friends and win people over with her sunny disposition.
He’d watched the others to deduce what they thought of Sarah, and it was clear she’d surprised them. They must have assumed he’d bring a doxy like Annalise into their midst, and it had been humorous to peek around the table and find that they were charmed by her.
While they were wealthier than she was, her background was similar to theirs. Very British. Very traditional. She’d easily fit in and been accepted as one of them. He was the one who had been uncomfortable and out of his element, but then, he’d always felt that way. As if he didn’t belong. As if he was the outcast looking in.
“I like your family,”she said, snuggling herself to him.
“I like them, too.”
“Phillip is just like you.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You should.” She rose on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m proud of you.”
“Proud? Why?”
“This was very difficult for you.”
“I expected it would be, but it turned out fine.”
“I’m so glad you mustered the courage to come.”
“And I’m glad you accompanied me. If you’d refused, I probably wouldn’t have bothered.”
“So what now? You’ll keep in touch with them, won’t you?”
“I suppose,”but he didn’t know if he would.
It was all too much to absorb. The happy siblings. The married couples. The children—nieces and nephews with more on the way over the years. He had no idea how to be part of a family and had always disparaged that sort of bond.
“I have a question,”Sarah said. “I’ve been dying with curiosity.”
“About what?”
“At the trial, your father whispered something to you. What was it?”
“He said he was going to save my damn life and that I’d better shut my mouth and let him.”
She laughed and laughed, her merriment washing over him like cool rain.
“I went to him,”she said. “I found out where he lived, and I shamelessly knocked on his door and begged him to intervene on your behalf. You knew that, didn’t you?”
“Yes. I knew.”
“I like him.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“He helped you, so he’s my favorite person in the world. Besides you, that is.”
He snorted and draped an arm over her shoulder, nestling her close. Anymore, it didn’t seem as if he was actually tethered to the earth. She kept him attached, and if he wasn’t holding on to her, he suspected he might simply float off into the sky.
“I wish he’d stopped by,”she wistfully mused.
“Gad, I don’t. The man is a menace.”
“He’s just like you.”
“There you go. We hardly need two of me in attendance at any event.”
“You should spend some time with him. You have to come to terms.”
“I’ve had plenty of bonding for one evening. This should last me for awhile.”
He glanced over to the French windows as a woman emerged from the parlor. At first, he thought it was his sister Fanny, but quickly, he saw that it was Harriet. She and her twin sister Helen had been invited, but hadn’t appeared. Until now.
John understood their reluctance and wasn’t upset by their absence. He was still amazed that Harriet had testified for him and wasn’t sure why she had. She’d done more than enough and further interaction wasn’t necessary.
As to Tristan and James, he wasn’t in the mood for any posturing, so he was relieved they’d stayed away. The waters of a relationship with them weren’t ready to be tested.
What would they talk about? How crazed Florence had been? How many bad decisions she’d made?
John wouldn’t discuss her with them. His opinion about her many flaws and weaknesses were his own business and no one else’s. Especially not James and Tristan Harcourt who had always assumed the worst of her.
Sarah saw Harriet too, and Harriet’s nervousness was abundantly clear. Sarah slipped out of John’s arms and went over to her.
“Harriet!”she exclaimed. “You’re here.”
“Hello, Sarah.”
They clasped hands and hugged as if they were old friends.
“I can’t believe you came,”Sarah said.
“I hadn’t planned on it.” There was an awkward moment, then Harriet asked, “Could I…ah…speak to Mr. Sinclair for a minute?”
“Of course, of course,”Sarah escorted Harriet over. “And you must call him John. Mr. Sinclair is ridiculously formal.” Sarah turned to him. “John, you remember Harriet, don’t you?”
How could I forget? he wanted to say, but didn’t.
Without a second of remorse, he’d tried to kill her and her husband. Fate and a good deal of luck had saved them. Was he forgiven? Did he wish to be forgiven?
He hadn’t had sufficient tutoring in this type of social situation. Could a brother become cordial with a sister he’d almost murdered? At being thrust into her company, he felt ashamed and baffled as to how he should act.
“I’ll leave you two alone.” Sarah flashed him a telling glare, as if warning him to be kind, to behave, then she hurried inside.
“Hello, Harriet,”he murmured once the quiet had settled. “Or should I call you Mrs. Harcourt?”
“Harriet is fine, Mr. Sinclair.”
“Please call me John—as Sarah suggested. Or Jean Pierre. Either will work.”
“I’ll stick with John. The name Jean Pierre conjures up some awful memories.”
He was bewildered as to how he should converse with her, so he dawdled like an imbecile, staring, wondering at the strength of Charles’s bloodlines. How could there be people in the world who were so similar to himself, but John had lived thirty years without crossing paths with any of them? It boggled the mind.
She took his wrist and spun him toward a nearby lamp, illuminating his features. She studied him as keenly as he was studying her.
“Considering the circumstances of our prior encounter,”she finally said, “you seem…different.”
“It was perhaps not one of my best nights.”
“Did you know I was your sister?”
“No”—he shook his head—“and I wasn’t trying to kill you. I was trying to kill your husband.”
“Well, that doesn’t make it any better.”
“I suppose not.”
“Are you sorry?”
He could have given a quick and flippant answer, but she appeared genuinely curious, and he felt he owed her an honest reply.
He thought and thought, struggling to recall that dark, long-ago night. He’d been trailing Harcourt’s ship for days, having watched for him when he’d first sailed out of the Thames and into the Channel.
&nbs
p; John’s crew perpetrated swift and violent assaults that rapidly disabled their opponents. Tristan Harcourt had been asleep in his cabin, taken off guard and completely overwhelmed, his initial indication of trouble being the canon blast that had knocked down his main mast.
But after the preliminary foray, after John had boarded the vessel, Tristan had turned out to be one of John’s fiercest adversaries ever. He’d battled like a berserker to save his men and his cargo and—John presumed—to save Harriet, the true jewel hidden below decks.
Tristan and John had been of equal size and dexterity, of equal skill with a sword. It had been a fight to the death, with John getting lucky at the end, but of course, Tristan could never have won it. Had he gained any ground against John, Raven would have slain him. But still, Tristan had been brave and loyal and devoted to Harriet and his crew.
John respected him for that. He didn’t like him any more than he ever had, but he greatly respected him. As a sailor. As a brawler.
Ultimately, he shrugged. “I don’t think I’m sorry.”
She sighed. “I had to ask.”
“I was very angry.”
“You certainly were.”
It had all occurred so far in the past, and there had been so many raids. It almost seemed as if someone else had attacked Tristan Harcourt. If John was suddenly apprised that some other dastardly fellow had tried to murder Tristan, he wouldn’t have been surprised.
“Thank you for testifying,”he said.
“Sarah convinced me. And Charles. I never can say no to him.”
“It was very bold of you to come—and very kind.”
“I couldn’t let you hang.” She appeared mystified over her willingness to help. “Have you met Charles?”
“Yes.”
“It’s odd, isn’t it? Realizing he’s your father?”
“Yes, it’s very odd.”
They shared a sad smile.
“I’m still learning my way with him,”Harriet admitted. “How about you?”
“I’ve become as closely acquainted as I’d like to be.”
“You don’t wish to know him better? You don’t hope to gain his approval or win his understanding?”
He probably did. When he was around Charles, he was like that ten-year-old orphan who’d kept waiting for Charles to ride to the rescue. Yet he said, “I needed him to supply things when I was a boy and my mother died. There’s not much he could give me at this late date that I would appreciate.”
