The Countess Conspiracy (Brothers Sinister #3)(10)

“More serious,” he said. “You know Violet and her interest in botany. She’s never missed one of my lectures. It’s the only thing she respects me for.” That, he was afraid, was the bitter truth. “I gave that up, but I’m not surrendering you.”

His brother looked at him. “That means a lot to me, Sebastian.”

It was a start. After five years of growing distance, Sebastian finally had a start that he could improve upon. His brother smiled at him; the moment grew almost uncomfortable,

Before it could stretch into awkwardness, the stable door burst open.

“Uncle Sebastian!” A blur of child rushed into the stable. “Uncle Sebastian! What did you bring me?”

“Bring you?” Sebastian said, carefully refusing to look in his brother’s direction. “Harry, why would you think I had brought you anything?”

“Oh, come now, Uncle Sebastian, don’t tease—”

Harry stopped abruptly, seeing his father in the shadows. “Oh, Papa,” he said, suddenly subdued. “I didn’t see you there.”

Benedict’s eyebrow rose. “Spoiling my child, are you, Sebastian? Didn’t see fit to mention that earlier, did you?”

“Would I spoil Harry?” It was important not to sound too innocent, or Benedict would know he was lying. He was just congratulating himself on hitting the proper note when his brother held out his hand.

“Give me the horehound and nobody gets hurt.”

With a grimace, Sebastian withdrew a packet of sweets from his coat pocket and handed it to his brother.

“That thing we were talking about?” Benedict said. “That thing you wanted? Exercise a little discipline. He’s a boy, not a puppy, and I don’t want him spoiled.”

“Aw, Papa.” Harry glanced from one adult to another. “Wait, what did Uncle Sebastian want? Was it about me? Is he going to take me on that fishing trip he mentioned last time he was here? Is he?”

“You may have a single sweet after dinner,” Benedict said firmly, juggling the packet Sebastian had relinquished. “If you’ve been good.”

“Yes, sir.” Harry bit his lip. “But what other thing were you talking about?”

“Being good means you don’t ask questions,” Benedict said.

That seemed like a really boring rule to Sebastian, but he held his tongue. If he had to field Harry’s incessant questions all day, he’d probably think differently.

Sebastian glanced at Harry. “Doesn’t he…” Doesn’t he know that you’re dying?

“No,” Benedict said easily. “I don’t believe in teaching a boy to ride a horse until he’s capable of comprehending the dangers.”

“Can I show Uncle Sebastian the owl’s nest?” Harry asked.

“Go ahead.” Benedict nodded to Sebastian. “But remember what we talked about, Sebastian. I’ll see you in the house.”

Sebastian followed his nephew out the swinging stable doors. All he had to do now was meet Benedict on his own ground. To show him that Sebastian was more than what he’d seen. And once that was accomplished…

He glanced down at Harry.

Once that was accomplished, he’d see what else followed.

“Are these fierce owls?” he asked his nephew as they exited the stable, trotting through the meadow. “Owls as large as dragons, with thick claws and razor-sharp beaks? Have we been sent by the queen to make them stand trial for their crimes?”

“Yes!” Harry agreed happily. “These are—” He stopped. “Oh, no. I can’t. That’s…that’s pretending, isn’t it? Father said I’m too old for that now.”

Another time, Sebastian would have pooh-poohed that concept. He would, in point of fact, have mentioned that he had an extra stick of candy in his coat pocket, and that only the finest owl hunters in the land received the Sweet Wand of Horehound as a reward when they vanquished a nest of the Poisonous Owls of Feathergloop.

But Benedict wouldn’t like it.

“Yes,” he said glumly, “it’s pretend. And if you say you’re too old for it…”

He looked down at his nephew’s head—at that dark cowlick that didn’t quite sit properly, leaving Harry’s hair sticking up no matter how much he swiped it down. Sebastian mussed it fiercely, until the brown strands stood out from his nephew’s head like a halo.

“Let’s just go look at the owls.”

IT HAD BEEN TWO WEEKS since Violet had last seen Sebastian—two weeks that she had hoped would lessen the sting of his words. Somehow, she managed to pretend nothing was amiss—going about her daily tasks as if a gaping hole had not opened in her life. But routine didn’t help; it only reminded her of everything that she’d lost.

It was proof of Violet’s disquiet that she had eventually given up pretending and come to this comfortable Mayfair home. From the outside, it looked like any genteel residence: white paint, black trim, flowers in boxes at the front windows. When Violet was let inside, there was the usual marble entryway, the normal formal sideboard. But there was also a small army of tin soldiers encamped on the wide steps leading up to the first floor, abandoned by their generals in the midst of battle preparations.

Some families believed that children should be seen and not heard. But Violet’s sister had too many children to do anything more than cast haggard glances at that particular rule. The entry to Lily’s house echoed with the shrieks of children at play.