Twelfth Night with the Earl (The Sutherland Sisters #3)(25)

George was far more interested in the pistols than the lady or the marriage, however. “Can we see it? Yer pistol, I mean?”

“See it?” Henry interrupted. “What good’s seeing it?” He gave his brother a disdainful look. “Can we shoot it?”

Ethan raised an eyebrow. “That depends. Do either of you know how to shoot a pistol?”

“No.” George kicked at a clump of frozen grass sticking up from the ground. “Don’t know ’ow to use swords, or ’ow to fight, neither.”

“Will ye show us?” Henry stepped forward, his tone eager. “You done it all, right? Fists and pistols and swords, and the like?”

Ethan hesitated, surprised they’d asked him, though he supposed he shouldn’t be. Boys needed a man about to teach them masculine pursuits. George and Henry might be wary of him, but it wasn’t as if Cleves Court was overflowing with better options. “Yes, of course. Every gentleman can shoot and fence and box, Henry. But I’m not sure Miss Sheridan will like it if I teach you.”

“Oh well, as to that . . . we’ll tell Miss Sheridan we done it only after it’s done, ye see?”

Ethan stifled a laugh. “That’s lying, Henry.”

“But ye said the other day every boy should know how to use ’is fists. Didn’t ’e say that, George?”

“He did.” George nodded solemnly. “Ye said it right before ye fell on top of Miss Sheridan.”

“An’ Miss Sheridan, she’s the forgiving type, innit she? She’s nice like that. She always forgives us when we’re bad, don’t she, George?”

“’Course she does, even that time we set that fire in the kitchen garden.” George cast an apprehensive glance at Ethan. “It were an accident, yer lordship.”

But Ethan didn’t hear him.

He’d been avoiding Thea because he didn’t know what to say to her, how to ask her to forgive him for his hurtful words the other night, but the boys were right. It wasn’t Thea’s way to withhold forgiveness.

It didn’t matter what he said to her. It only mattered he said something.

“Yer lordship?”

Ethan snapped his attention back to Henry and George. “I will teach you, yes, but only if Miss Sheridan agrees to it. We won’t skulk around behind her back, doing wrong and begging for forgiveness afterwards. An honorable gentleman doesn’t behave that way. You do want to be honorable gentlemen, don’t you?”

Henry and George, who looked rather impressed with this speech, both gave vigorous nods. “Yes, yer lordship.”

“Good. I’ll speak with her later today. Have you had your breakfast yet? No? Well, then we’d best get back to the house at once, before Miss Sheridan sends Peter after us.”



He did speak with Thea later that day. Much later.

He’d intended to spend some time quietly in his bedchamber, to try and get his scattered emotions under control and think about what to say before he went to her, but when he and the boys returned from their walk and he’d sent them down to the kitchens, instead of going straight up to his bedchamber, he found himself standing in the entryway, staring up at the stairs.

That night Andrew had fallen . . .

He’d been right beside his brother, close enough to grab him, but by the time he realized what was happening, his arms had closed on empty air, and the next thing he remembered, Andrew was on the floor below, unmoving, blood pouring from the back of his head.

Christ, he didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want that picture in his head.

Go to your bedchamber. Drown yourself in whiskey. Forget.

But he didn’t.

For reasons he didn’t understand, his feet took him in the direction of the music room. The door was closed, but he pushed it open and stopped, staring into the darkened space. His mother had been an accomplished musician, but after his father left for London permanently, she’d never played again, and the door to the room was kept closed. They’d closed the doors on the saloon and the billiards room next, until the study, the library and the drawing-room were the only rooms left open on the main floor.

What do you remember, Ethan?

Thea wanted him to remember the happy times in this house, so Ethan shut his eyes and tried to picture what it had been like before everything fell apart, but everywhere he went, he saw only empty rooms, each one colder than the last. It didn’t matter how hard Thea tried to remind him—he’d never be able to see Cleves Court as his home again.

He wasn’t sure how long he wandered from room to room, but by the time he reached the kitchens it was early evening, and he was so twisted and jagged inside he was afraid of what he’d do, what he’d say to Thea.

He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t see her at all tonight.

And yet he was there at the kitchen before he could turn back, and the moment he saw her, all the warring emotions inside him began to calm, as if he’d been starved of oxygen, and was finally able to draw a deep breath.

He waited for the pain to come, to drag him under, but as he stood in the kitchen door watching her, the terrible and the beautiful memories began to bleed together, become part of each other. The darkness was there still, but it no longer swallowed the light.

It was because of Thea.

He opened his mouth to say her name, but closed it again without speaking, and stood for a while, his hip against the door frame, watching her. He was invading her privacy, but he was unable to tear his gaze away.