The Heiress Effect (Brothers Sinister #2)(10)

“Bossy or not, that book is tripe,” Jane said. But her throat felt too tight, and her fingers curled into a ball. She didn’t think she could ever forgive Titus for those scars.

If Emily took note of her altered tone, she didn’t remark on it. “There’s no smell quite so good as a newly printed, unread book. As for this one… It’s educational. How else am I to learn about other countries?”

There was nothing to be said about Emily’s scars, and the fact that she had them was no reason to stop teasing her. So Jane bumped her sister’s shoulder and adopted a severe tone. “You realize these books are fiction? That each separate volume is probably written by a different man, one who has likely never left London? They’re not educational. They’re made up, and I imagine that the actual residents of Russia, China, and Japan would be quite disturbed to hear what the supposed Mrs. Larriger says of them.”

“Yes, but—”

The door to the room opened without warning, interrupting the argument. Emily jumped and jammed the book under her skirts. Jane stepped in front of her sister. But the damage was already done.

Titus Fairfield looked from Jane to Emily and then back again, more slowly. He shook his head sadly.

“Oh, girls,” he said.

Their uncle Titus was balding and had heavy jowls. That, combined with his deep, somber voice, made him appear perpetually dour and disapproving—an appearance that he no doubt rejoiced in. Jane suspected that he practiced that glum expression in the mirror.

He probably thought an air of moroseness made him seem more intelligent.

“I am not fooled,” he said.

Jane looked at Emily. Emily looked back at Jane.

“Uncle Titus!” Emily said. “How lovely to see you.”

Their uncle held out one hand and tapped the finger of the other against his palm. Emily heaved a sigh. Slowly, she stood and pulled the book out from underneath her. Uncle Titus strode forward and took it from her.

“It’s an improving work,” Emily told him. “A very moral tale, about…”

“Mrs. Larriger and…” A sad sound escaped him. “Victoria Land.” He spoke those last words as if he were reluctantly reciting the name of a brothel. “Jane, my dear, what have I told you about leading your younger sister astray with novels?”

Jane would have been delighted to have Emily give up Mrs. Larriger and her string of unlikely, ridiculous exploits. It wouldn’t take much to divert her attention—just allowing her out in company. Even letting her outside for longer than ten minutes at a time might do the trick.

She’d tried to argue that point too many times.

“Oh, but Uncle,” Emily said, “it’s an educational tale, replete with…geographical features of interest.”

“A novel.”

Emily set her jaw determinedly. “A true story, covered with the thin veil of fiction to protect the identities of the innocent.”

Titus Fairfield opened the book, turned a handful of pages, and began reading aloud. “‘Having convinced the seals to pull my raft and catch my fish, it only remained for me to find some way to train the voices of the penguins.’” He looked up. “A true story, covered by the thin veil of fiction?”

No. Even Titus wasn’t that gullible.

Emily clapped her hands to her ears. “You’re ruining it. Don’t tell me what happens.”

Titus looked at her. “If that is what it will take to stop this. You’ve disobeyed me, and disobedience has consequences.” So saying, he shuffled slowly to the end of the book. “You should not be allowed to take pleasure in your willfulness. If you do not want to hear the ending, then…” He bent his head and began to read. ‘Chapter Twenty-Seven. After the sharks had come—’”

“La la la,” Emily sang, drowning out his words. “La la la la.”

He stopped and closed the book, his expression even more grim. “Emily, my dear. Who taught you to tell untruths? To flout the authority of your elders? To speak as your guardian is speaking?”

You, Jane thought. Necessity.

But her uncle, apparently, had a different thought. His eyes traveled to Jane.

He didn’t look at her with accusation in his eyes. There wasn’t a cruel bone in his body. His expression was just pathetically, droopingly sad. He sat gingerly next to Emily and patted her shoulder.

“Now, Emily,” he said quietly. “I know you to be a truthful girl. And I know that you feel a great affection for your sister.”

He didn’t know Emily at all. He’d never bothered to know either of them.

“It’s quite natural,” Titus said, as if Jane were not in the room. “But you need to keep in mind that your sister is lacking in moral character.”

Jane refused to react. It never did any good to argue or scream or cry—any response on her part only reinforced his poor opinion of her.

But Emily shook her head. “I don’t like what you’re saying. It’s not true.”

“I understand, I understand,” their uncle said, in his slow, sad voice. “I won’t ask you to hate your sister—that would be unnatural for any girl, let alone one of your frailties.”

Jane could see Emily’s fist clenching in her skirts. They might not have looked like sisters, but looks were deceptive. And Emily was incapable of letting an insult to Jane go by.