Page 52 of The Viscount's Promise
“Perhaps it would help to talk of him,” she suggested. “I know when I miss Jonathan, talking about him to Daphne or my mother helps considerably. And though I did not know your brother, I can be a friendly ear to bend should you wish it, for with my own loss I can commiserate with whatever you may be feeling regarding yours.”
He stared at her. “You wish me to talk of Bertram?”
“If you wish it.” She looked at him expectantly, folding her hands patiently in her lap.
Talk of Bertram? He frowned. That was not something he had done since the man had taken Lydia to wife. Ever since he discovered that his brother, the one person who had been there for him through all the heartache and turmoil of life, had cared so little for him that he had betrayed him in the worst possible way.
Emily must have sensed his distaste at the idea. She straightened, turning more fully toward him. “Shall I tell you a story?”
“A story?”
She wasn’t at all put off by the brusque reply. Instead she nodded, smiling, that wonderfully crooked smile of hers. “Yes, a story. Granted, it is a true story. But a story all the same.”
He eyed her uncertainly. “Very well.”
“It is about a brother and sister. Twins, actually. One full of life and joy, the other quite shy.”
Her smile softened, her eyes taking on a faraway look. He imagined what she must be seeing just then, her brother Jonathan as he had been, all bounding enthusiasm and that shock of Masters copper hair.
“The boy was forever getting into scrapes, you see,” she continued. “And his sister, though much more careful, never failed to follow right along, as she loved him that much.
“One day, the boy decided on a particularly naughty prank. Wouldn’t it be grand, he said, to let all of the chickens into the house? He imagined the rooster crowing at the break of dawn, waking his parents and siblings. He laughed at the idea of chickens infiltrating every inch of the house, of them laying eggs in cupboards and causing havoc in the drawing room, of finding them sitting in shoes and hiding under tables. Nothing the girl said could dissuade him, for he was a stubborn creature. And so, in the middle of the night, the two children snuck out to the chicken coop and opened the gate. Little knowing that chickens are not the most biddable creatures. They did not listen even once as the children bade them to follow. Instead the birds were incredibly incensed, and rightly so, having been woken most rudely from a peaceful night’s sleep. Those horrid chickens ran hither and thither, right out the gate and into the woods beyond.”
Malcolm burst forth in an unexpected laugh. He could imagine it all as she described it. He remembered well Jonathan and his propensity for mischief. Emily, eyes dancing, gave him an answering smile.
“You can imagine the uproar it caused the following morning, when the chicken coop was found empty,” she continued. “That was made even worse when it was realized there would be no eggs for their breakfasts. The children’s parents, of course, knew where to lay the blame. The boy was known for his pranks, after all, and this had all the flavor of his particular brand of devilment. They railed at him in the most awful way, promising all sorts of dire punishments. They would, they vowed, send him straight into the navy as a cabin boy, never to be heard from again.
“The girl could not know her parents’ threats were empty. She only saw life without her best friend by her side. She swore she was the one at fault, that she had visited the chickens the night before, bringing them the vegetables from her dinner so she did not have to eat them, and she had left the gate open by mistake. Her parents believed her, as she was never one to lie. And so her brother was saved from a fate certainly worse than death.”
Malcolm chuckled. “And what became of the poor chickens?”
“Most were recovered, thank goodness, though I suspect several met a wily fox in the woods and made a delicious meal for him.”
They laughed, the happy sound bouncing about their leafy bower. As their mirth subsided, a thoughtful melancholy washed over him. He took up her hand, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. “Why did you tell me that story, Emily?”
“Because I wanted you to see that talking of those who have left us can help ease the grief. We will never be completely free of it, especially if we have loved them dearly. But for a time we can look on the happier memories and remember them with joy.” She paused. “I have never told another person that story, you know.”
“What, no one?”
She shook her head. “It was something Jonathan and I vowed to keep between us.”
“Why did you tell me?”
There was no mistaking her heart in her eyes. “I think you must know.”
He longed to drag her back into his arms then, to propose to her right then and there. But something held him back. Their life together should not begin while Lydia was around. He would not have their engagement tainted in any way by her.
But he would not wait much longer, he vowed.
She squeezed his hand, jolting him from pleasant thoughts of her in his bed. “Tell me of your brother,” she said softly.
He sighed. “What is there to tell? He is dead. There is no bringing him back.”
“There is plenty to tell,” she urged.
When he stayed silent, she persisted. Stubborn little minx.
“You and he were quite close, weren’t you? I remember you talking of him when I was a child.”
