Chapter Nineteen

N ight had fallen by the time the hackney stopped at the end of a lane just outside the country village of Ealing.

“I’m stopping here,” the jarvey called down to her and rapped his knuckles against the side of the old carriage. “Ain’t drivin’ down that lane in the dark.”

Jess stepped to the ground and handed up the exorbitant fare for the two-hour ride from Mayfair. “You’ll wait for me?”

“Aye.”

She wasn’t at all confident in that answer. But she had no choice. “Thank you. I won’t be gone longer than an hour.” She added enticingly, “I’ll pay you even more for the return trip.”

But the driver only hunched down beneath his large hat and coat.

Jess hitched up her skirt and hurried down the dark lane. The sun had slipped below the horizon, and the last of the orange streaks decorating the sky had melted against the purple clouds until they were all nearly gone. But despite the growing shadows, she could see a large stone farmhouse standing at the end of the lane, its windows lit with the soft glow of candlelight.

The farm wasn’t anything like what she would have associated with Lucien. Quiet and secluded, with an old-fashioned feel to the gables and wooden shutters, the place could have come straight out of a fairytale, right down to its little wooden front door and climbing rose bushes framing the lead-paned windows on both sides. Trees lined the lane leading to the foreyard, and Jess was certain she could see several barns and other outbuildings behind the main house, including what might have been a kitchen garden. It was absolutely bucolic and quaint in every way, two adjectives she never would have associated with Lucien Grenier.

She paused at the door. Muffled noises came from the house—loud shouts and cries followed by hushed voices. She strained to listen but couldn’t distinguish Lucien’s voice, if he were here at all. There was no brass knocker, so she knocked against the thick wood, then waited.

A loud crash reverberated through the house, the weight of a heavy object falling and what sounded like the shattering of pottery.

Jess reached for the door handle. It turned, unlocked, and the door opened. She stepped inside without thinking about anything except providing help.

A sitting room led off the small entry hall, and Jess paused in the doorway to stare inside, dumbfounded, at the unfolding scene.

A distraught man sat in the middle of the room, the lashes on his almond-shaped eyes spiked with tears and his round face red. All of him seemed to be round, in fact, with his short, overweight body drawn up into a ball, knees to chest, as he rocked himself back and forth. His small chin trembled with emotion. Although his face looked a bit flattened, especially the bridge of his nose, there was no mistake in Jess’s mind as she looked at him—

This man was a Grenier.

Lucien was crouched down next to him on his boot heels, attempting to calm him with soft words and a soothing voice. His manner was slow and patient as he reached toward the man but had his hand swatted away, only to calmly reach out again. This time, he was able to rest his hand on the man’s shoulder and lean in to speak privately to him, which the distressed man answered with a jerking nod.

Behind them, a side table lay overturned with the remnants of a broken clay vase and its yellow flowers scattered around it. A wet puddle soaked the carpet. An older woman knelt down on the rug to pick up the pieces and dab at the water with a towel. Behind her, a gray-haired man stood at the side of the room, looking harried and exhausted.

Then, the man on the floor looked up. He saw Jess and stilled instantly, silencing his cries.

Lucien looked over his shoulder, and his expression instantly turned stony as he, too, froze in part of the bizarre tableau manifesting before her. Stunned surprise flashed in his eyes as he stared at her, as if he couldn’t quite recognize her in this place where she shouldn’t be.

Lucien leaned in to the man sitting on the floor next to him and said calmly, “Phillip, this is my good friend Miss St. Claire. She’s very nice and loving, and you can trust her. She won’t hurt you, I promise.”

“She’s pretty,” Phillip replied in a muffled, slightly slurred speech. Then he sniffed loudly with a swipe of the back of his hand across his eyes.

“Yes, she is,” Lucien agreed. “Jessamyn, this is Phillip.” He paused before adding, “My brother.”

With a smile, Jess stepped forward into the room and knelt down beside Phillip. She held out her hand in greeting. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. And your brother is right.” She slid a look at Lucien before returning her eyes to Phillip. “I would never hurt you.”

Phillip’s face softened, and he calmed down enough to take her hand in greeting. But he didn’t release it, and Jess didn’t pull away. Instead, she curled her fingers around his to give an affectionate and accepting squeeze.

“I’ve come to visit the farm,” she said, her attention fixed on Phillip. “I hope that’s all right with you.”

He nodded. He was much calmer than before, yet Jess could sense a trepidation about her lingering inside him. “Who are you?” he asked, clearly not meaning her name.

“I’m an artist,” she told him, giving his hand another friendly squeeze. “I draw pictures with colored pencils and paints.”

“Of horses and cows and sheep?” His interest was pricked.

“Flowers, mostly. But also kittens and puppies sometimes.”

His mouth formed an O of appreciation. “We have kittens and puppies in the—in the—in the barn.” His brow furrowed as he finally latched onto the words to describe his thoughts. “Black and white ones with—with spots. And white sheep with black faces. And a red cow!”

“And chickens?” she prodded, noting that in his enthusiasm he struggled less with finding the words he wanted.

He nodded. “Lots of chickens. And a rooster! I take care of them. I feed them and clean up their pens, and I make certain they have fresh water. Those are my chores.”

“What lucky animals to have you to take care of them.”

He looked at Lucien, as if needing his brother’s reassurance to accept that compliment.

Lucien nodded in agreement.

With his brother’s support, Phillip relaxed even more. “I’m glad you’re visiting us.”

“Me, too,” she assured him. But from the telltale furrowing of Lucien’s brow, she wasn’t certain he felt the same way.

A hopeful smile broke across Phillip’s face. “Will you tell me stories?”

“Is that how you spend your evenings—taking turns telling stories?”

He nodded and looked affectionately at the older woman who rose to her feet, the pieces of the broken vase cradled in her apron. “Mrs. Porter and Mr. Porter—and me—tell stories and read books, and sometimes we sing songs. Lucien never sings.” His chastising glance at his brother was interrupted by his attention swinging to the instrument in the corner of the room. “I’m learning to play the pi—the pi—”

He pointed to the instrument, and his face screwed up with fresh frustration because the word wouldn’t come.

“The pianoforte?” Jess prompted and drew a nod of confirmation from him. “I can’t play the pianoforte. I’ve tried, but my fingers get all tied up in knots. You must be very talented to know how to play it.”

A sheepish grin blossomed on his lips, and he leaned over toward Lucien to bury his face in his brother’s shoulder, suddenly shy.

“Phillip is very good at it,” Lucien confirmed and patted Phillip on the back. The fraternal gesture struck Jess as a sudden reminder that the two men were of a similar age. “You’ll have to play for Miss St Claire.”

“I would like that,” she agreed. Except that she knew this would be the only time she’d be at the little farm.

“Would you tell a story?” Phillip asked, his voice even more muffled than before from having his face still pressed into Lucien’s shoulder.

“If you’d like.” She eased down onto her hip on the floor, still not pulling her hand away from Phillip’s, and settling in for what might be a long story time. “I know lots of stories. I used to tell them to my sister Amanda. You remind me of her because you have the same smile she does.”

His smile broadened, and thankfully, whatever had upset him before she entered was forgotten.

From the corner of her eye, Jess could see the older couple relax. The woman’s shoulders sagged as the tension left her, and she continued with putting back to rights the mess on the rug. The man blew out a long breath and leaned back against the wall, as if wanting only to stay out of the way.

Lucien also visibly relaxed, and his broad shoulders lost their tautness. He shifted back to sit on the floor next to Phillip, his right forearm resting over his bent knee. Even from several feet away, Jess could feel the anxiousness ease from him.

Jess released Phillip’s hand and sat back. “So a story, hmm? I heard one just the other day about a pirate. Do you like pirates?” When he nodded eagerly, she lowered her voice secretively, “So do I.” She tapped her chin in exaggeration as if trying to remember. “Let’s see…how does the story begin?”

“Once upon a time!” Phillip bounced with excitement.

“Once upon a time, it is, then.” She looked up and met Lucien’s gaze. “I’ve left my hackney waiting at the end of the lane. I suspect I’m going to be here a while and need to release him.”

Lucien nodded. He gestured at the older man, who knew what Lucien wanted and nodded before heading toward the front door.

Phillip mimicked his brother’s authoritative gesture, and the older man nodded again to acknowledge the order as he paused to remove his hat from its peg by the door. The woman handed him a coin from her apron without a word exchanged.

The scene tugged at Jess’s heart. The relationship between the four of them was obviously so much more complicated, and more endearing, than she would ever know.

But she turned a bright smile onto Phillip and took a deep breath. “Once upon a time, there was a notorious pirate named Captain Kidd who ruled the seas from his pirate ship and was always on the lookout for buried treasure. One day, his ship sailed near a mermaid who was sunning herself on a rock…”

Jess continued with the story, and Phillip was fixated on every word. His expressive face showed the range of emotions he felt during the tale, from excitement over the sword fights and sea storms to laughter when Jess impersonated the voices of pirates and sea creatures to worry when the princess of Atlantis was imprisoned by the evil sea monsters. But there was not one tear in sight.

She lost track of time as she told the never-ending story, always adding another obstacle or twist to the tale, but she was aware that the older man had gone outside again to lock up the outbuildings and the woman had gone through the rooms to shut up the house for the night. The fire grew dimmer, and as if on cue when the long case clock in the entry hall chimed out ten o’clock, Phillip let out a great yawn that drew a smile from Lucien.

“Time for bed, Mr. Phillip,” the woman announced as she stepped toward him and held out her hand to help him to his feet.

His face fell. “But the story isn’t over. The pirates have to rescue the princess.”

“But you need your rest,” the woman countered. “You have a big day tomorrow. We’re going to the market to sell your fruits, remember?”

He nodded distractedly and drew out a long, “Yeeesssss…” But he clearly still wanted to hear the rest of the story and wasn’t completely won over by tomorrow’s plans.

“How about I finish the story for you tomorrow?” Jess didn’t dare look at Lucien as she made that offer. She knew she wouldn’t be here in the morning, yet she didn’t want to upset Phillip. “And then you’ll find out what happens to the princess, all right?”

He nodded, appeased, and allowed the older woman to help him to his feet. He reluctantly said his goodnights to Jess and Lucien—whom he turned back to hug tightly with affection—and followed the woman upstairs toward the bedrooms.

Lucien let out a long breath and hung his head, his shoulders sagging, as the energy drained visibly from him. His somber eyes rose to meet hers. “Thank you.”

“I only told a story.”

“You did far more than that.” Heavily, he stood, then reached out a hand to help her to her feet. “But if you ever decide to forgo your art, you could have a successful life ahead of you as a storyteller.” He released her hand and crossed the room to the corner cabinet. “Would you like a drink, Scheherazade?”

She grimaced at his teasing. “Please.”

He opened the cabinet doors and retrieved two glasses. “You were wonderful with Phillip. He’s usually not that trusting of strangers.”

“A Grenier with trust issues,” she mumbled as she collapsed into a nearby chair, too tired after the day’s events to care if she were being rude. “Imagine that.”

He shot her a look over his shoulder as he reached for a decanter and splashed a golden liquid into the two glasses. “We have good reason for it.”

Yes, she very much supposed he did. “I didn’t know you had a brother.”

“I don’t.” He turned around and carried the two glasses back to her. “Not as far as the rest of the world is concerned.” He held out the second glass and gave her a determined look. “And I mean to keep it that way.”