Chapter 29

T he sign for The Green Man swung on the wintry breeze, the gold letters flashing in the morning sunlight, and the silent stableyard served as a testament that last night’s revelries had left most of the village still snug in their beds. Despite the powders and tonics she’d taken, Angelica’s head pounded, though for vastly different reasons than most; despite going to bed at a reasonable hour, sleep had evaded her, and with the added exhaustion surrounding this wretched holiday, her body couldn’t afford a restless night.

Closing her eyes, Angelica said a silent prayer for her sister with all the fervor of her heart, but she finished the petition with a sigh for there was nothing more she could do for them. It was in the Cogswells’ hands. Contemplating that situation (or a certain gentleman ) was a poor excuse for a distraction as there were no more answers to be had at this juncture.

Hunching down, Angelica burrowed into the folds of her cloak and scarf. Even with several layers of cotton, wool, and muslin between her and the world, the air sliced into her skin as the ice bit at her toes. Eventually, she would have to move, but for now, she stood there, staring at the inn.

Did it matter if one recognized a trap if one was still determined to step into it? Of course, Charity’s invitation could be an honest request for company. But that led to other considerations. Did she wish to further an acquaintance with Charity? Was there any reason? No doubt Thomas would hie back to London for another twenty years, leaving little point in forging a connection with his wife.

Those questions left Angelica tied up in knots, her stomach regretting the breakfast she’d eaten. Her teeth gnawed at the inside of her cheek as she studied the building, though the stone facade provided no answers.

As she forced her feet forward, her boots slipped. Angelica’s heart jolted, but she was saved from making a spectacle of herself (even if there was no one about to witness it), and she made her way to the front door. The public room sat empty, except for Mr. Brown, who looked asleep on his feet as he polished the tankard on the bar.

Angelica slipped down the corridor, up the stairs, and knocked on the door Charity had indicated in her note—only to find Thomas staring back at her.

“Angelica?” he asked.

“Ah, there you are,” said his wife as she snatched her cloak from the bed. In one fluid movement, Charity had it on and plucked a bundled-up Biddie from the floor. Before Angelica knew what was what, the lady dragged her inside and swept past her. Giving the pair a gimlet eye, Charity said, “You both claim to be sensible adults but are bickering like children, and I am done listening to you two pick at each other. I am taking Biddie on a walk and expect you two to have this sorted out by the time I return.”

Both Thomas and Angelica stared at her as Charity flashed the key at them and shut the door, followed by the metal snick of the lock engaging. Blinking at the wood, Angelica couldn’t help the impulse that had her twisting the knob.

“Sort it out,” called Charity from beyond the barrier. Biddie babbled something, but the sound faded as her mother’s footsteps drifted down the stairs.

As one, brother and sister looked at each other for a long moment.

Glancing at the handle, Angelica couldn’t help testing it one more time before sighing and tossing her cloak over the ottoman. Perching on the armchair, she watched her brother settle onto the bed, his elbows resting on his knees.

And they continued to watch each other in silence.

In a flare of dramatic irony, a memory resurfaced from the night before, and despite all the wretchedness that surrounded it, Angelica couldn’t help giving herself a wry huff of laughter. Not many hours ago, she’d wished to lock Guinevere and Clarence in a room together, and it seemed that Charity was of a similar mind. With that thought the heaviness of that situation settled back onto her shoulders, bearing down on her until Angelica struggled to remain upright.

Yet amongst that pain, her words to Clarence rang in her thoughts, making her see the situation in a whole new light. Was she doing the same as that couple—assuming the worst whilst shirking any accountability for her actions? And could she set aside her pride long enough to discuss this situation without resorting to childishness? If not, Angelica Callaghan would be a hypocrite of the highest order, and as painful a pill as that was to take, it eased some of the strain pressing against her ribs.

“Charity will leave us here indefinitely if we do not speak,” said Thomas with a chuckle, though it was a little too flat to be genuine.

“I was in the midst of an epiphany,” she murmured.

Thomas’s brows rose at that. “Then do not allow me to interrupt. Epiphany away.”

The flippancy in his tone had Angelica’s teeth clenching together, and she forced in a breath, allowing it to ease the strain in her muscles as she considered what she wanted to say. Be cordial. Be patient. Do not assume the worst.

“Why did you return home now?” she asked with a sigh.

With a pensive hum, Thomas prodded the rug with his toe. “Having a child alters so much, and it made me realize I want Biddie to have more family.” Another nudge, his eyes fixed on the floor as he flipped the edge back and forth. “And in the past year, Charity has been able to forge a close bond with her father and his new wife, and I suppose it gave me hope that we might follow suit.”

Angelica’s brows rose. “Why are you so eager to rekindle a relationship you do not wish to maintain?”

Straightening, Thomas stared at her. “Who says I do not want to maintain it?”

Her pulse quickened, and a jolt of anger shot through her, sending blazing heat through her veins. And though several uncharitable thoughts leapt to her mind, Angelica forced herself to hold onto the last shreds of her tattered patience—which was doubly difficult with all the exhaustion and strain of the last few days piled atop her. Drawing in a deep breath, Angelica waited until she was certain she could speak evenly.

“You never wrote to me,” she said, her brow furrowed as she met his gaze with equal incredulity. “You promised to do so, but I never got more than a rushed postscript in the rare letters you sent Mother, and when I was finally old enough to write to you, I didn’t think you wanted to hear from me.”

His mouth shot open, and Angelica didn’t know if Thomas was simply demonstrating his own maturity or was drawing upon her example and matching calm for calm, but he paused, sitting in silence for a long time before speaking.

“I understand how you came to that conclusion,” he admitted, and Angelica’s brows rose.

Scrubbing at his face, Thomas rose to his feet and turned to the fireplace, his hand resting upon the mantlepiece. “I thought my family didn’t wish to hear from me. Father filled my head with stories about the navy, then tossed me out into the world without another thought. When I had shore leave in England, I rarely had time enough to travel to Northumberland and back, but regardless, he never sent money for me to do so. I had to pay my way if I wanted to see my home, and frankly, the cost seemed too dear when even my mother didn’t bother to write more than twice a year.”

Angelica’s brows shot upward. “That cannot be true.”

“I assure you it is,” he shot back, and she held up her hands in placation.

“I apologize. I meant it as a statement of shock, not denial.” She cast her thoughts back to the times when Mama gathered them around to read Thomas’s letters. The whole affair was treated like a ceremony of sorts—something honored and sacred. “Mama led us to believe she’s an avid correspondent.”

Turning away from the fireplace, Thomas returned to his spot with a sigh. “I understand why that might’ve looked like I was purposefully snubbing you, but I assure you I wasn’t. My feelings toward the family are…complicated at the best of times, but I often wondered what became of you, Angelica. I might’ve been a boy when I left, but all my best memories of home revolve around you, and I am sorry if I ever made you feel unwanted. That was not my intent.”

Angelica considered that whilst picking at her skirts. “I wish I could say it wasn’t my intent to make you feel unwanted, but to be entirely honest, I was angry with you for a long time. It helps to know the truth behind your actions.”

A beat of silence followed that before Thomas drew in a deep breath.

“I do not resent them for sending me away. The navy provides a good education and profession at little cost to the family, and I cannot say that I would do differently if I were in their shoes.” Thomas paused, his expression falling as his eyes studied the floorboards. “Yet I am the only one they sent away. How do I not take that personally?”

Angelica’s heart twisted in her chest, and her eyes stung as she imagined little Thomas alone in his berth, pondering these questions—for his tone made it clear that the thought still pained him.

“Papa sold his first book of poetry a year or two after you were sent away but before any of the other boys were old enough. But I assure you there hasn’t been money for travel.”

“I realize that now, but as a child, it seemed to me that I was the castaway,” said Thomas with a huff.

“I hadn’t meant—” Angelica stopped and forced herself to measure her words. “I hadn’t meant to imply that you should’ve known better. I was simply explaining. It seems we both are victims of false assumptions, and I thought it was better to over-explain than allow more misunderstandings.”

Thomas winced. “And it doesn’t help when your brother continues to rush ahead, assuming the worst of things.”

“It is not as though I haven’t done the same many, many times before.”

And for one long, wonderful moment, they shared their first genuinely warm smile in twenty-seven years.

Thomas huffed, and sadness tinged his expression. “Do you know that Father never wrote? The great poet who lives by his pen never bothered to use it to communicate with his son. Not once. And when I arrived home, anxious to be reunited, I discovered he is an avid correspondent not only with Mr. Knight but with at least a dozen other gentlemen before him.”

Angelica’s breath hitched as she considered that, her eyes meeting her brother’s, and in them she hoped Thomas saw the understanding of her heart, for she wasn’t certain she could explain just how much she empathized with that pain.

Forcing her throat to swallow, she murmured, “The family has little time for anything that isn’t their passion of choice. If you aren’t artistic or creative, you are naught but an inscrutable grump.”

“And judging from what I’ve witnessed, you are very familiar with playing that role.”

Angelica gave a faint shrug. “They love me in their way, but they do not always appreciate how much work it takes to keep the family afloat. Mama never cared for education, as it only ‘dampened one’s creativity,’ but someone had to see to the younger siblings’ education. Then Emily arrived, and her little ones needed assistance because their mama spends her days earning their bread with music lessons. Papa makes a wage of sorts doing performances and such, but he cannot keep any of the appointments straight, and collecting on the bill is so gauche—”

“And meanwhile, your brother—who might’ve helped—never bothered to see if you required anything.”

Had she heard that admission even an hour ago, Angelica would’ve gladly accepted it as her due, but with Thomas’s pain still pulsing in her chest, she shook her head. “Do not carry that burden. We were both struggling with our own pain, and though it may have blinded us before, we needn’t allow it to do so any longer.”

“Then may we try being brother and sister again?” he asked.

Angelica winced at herself. “You mean without me snapping every time you try to be kind to me?”

But Thomas scratched at his cheek. “My wife has chastised me on many occasions for my habit of avoiding difficult discussions by jesting and pretending nothing is amiss, so I can well imagine that my behaving as though we are old friends didn’t help matters.”

Pinching her lips, Angelica tried not to smile at that. “You are very good at being irritating.”

“My wife would agree,” he replied, not bothering to hide his grin. “And you must promise that we can be friends again, for I do not recall the family being quite so…”

“Unruly?” she supplied, before tacking on, “Anarchic? Frenzied?”

“Exhausting,” he said, widening his eyes. “I need a level-headed ally, or else I fear they will swallow me whole.”

Though she did appreciate the jest, Angelica watched him for a long moment, wondering if she was bold enough to seize what she longed for. The prospect wasn’t ludicrous, as they were family, but they hardly knew one another. Yet with so much weighing on her at present, she needed something to anchor her.

Rising to her feet, Angelica fought a blush as she reached out her hand. His brows rose at that, but Thomas didn’t hesitate to take it, and she pulled him to his feet, slipping into his arms before her good sense got the better of her.

“I have missed you,” she whispered.

Thomas didn’t speak, and Angelica couldn’t see his expression, but the tightening of his hold told her readily enough that he felt the same.