“Surprised?”
“I suppose I never imagined my parents to be so different as hosts from how they are as parents. It’s silly, really. I mean, of course, they have lives beyond their children.”
His voice grew serious. “It’s not silly, Alex. It’s never easy to discover your parents are more than they seem.”
Alex sensed they were talking about something more than the evening at hand. Noticing they had come upon the entrance to the terrace that overlooked the back gardens, she recognized the possibility for a private conversation and said, “I find I am a little warm. Do you mind escorting me outside?”
He gave her a slightly surprised look but nodded in agreement, and they moved through the open glass doors into the cool London night.
They were not alone on the balcony, however, for they found themselves interrupting the Baron Montgrave and Lucian Sewell, who were deep in conversation.
“There is nothing to do.” Lucian spoke quietly.
“There is everything!” the baron replied, his voice louder, more excited.
That was all they overheard before the men became aware of their presence and Blackmoor spoke, “Apologies, Uncle. Baron. We did not mean to interrupt.” He made a move to turn Alex away from the conversation and return inside, when his uncle spoke.
“No need for apologies. The baron and I were just talking about the war”—he turned toward his nephew with a half smile—“and frankly, you’ve saved me from some embarrassment.”
“I was merely discussing the remarkable part your uncle has played in the war, Lord Blackmoor,” the baron added without looking away from Sewell.
Lucian tipped his head in a manner Alex recognized as affected humility. “Baron Montgrave exaggerates. I am hardly the hero he makes me out to be.”
“Not so. I assume your uncle has kept silent about his actions over the last few years, Lord Blackmoor. I can only hope that someday you will ask him to enlighten you about his…exploits.”
Lucian shook his head and met the eyes of the baron, Alex noticed. His next words were directed at the Frenchman. “My nephew need not hear of my past, Baron. It is just that. The past.” Offering a short bow to Alex, he continued, “Lady Alexandra, a pleasure as always. I think I shall return inside.”
With that, Sewell took his leave, the baron quick on his heels, leaving Blackmoor and Alex on the terrace with the cool night breeze around them.
Alex had the distinct feeling that the conversation they had witnessed had been weightier than it seemed…although she couldn’t quite discern why she felt so. Shaking off her thoughts, she looked for a way to lighten the moment for Blackmoor, who seemed lost in his own reverie.
“Well. They certainly were an unconventional pair.”
Looking off into the darkened garden, Gavin murmured his agreement. “My uncle seems to collect companions who don’t quite fit him.” Distractedly, he continued, “As I was saying…it’s not uncommon to discover that your elders are somewhat different from how they seem. My uncle Lucian exemplifies that point.”
“Your time together has not changed that?”
Blackmoor gave a little laugh. “Not in the slightest. He is as much a mystery now as he was when I was a boy—only now…” He trailed off.
Alex meant to let the silence hang until he was ready to say more. Truly, she did. But, unfortunately, she couldn’t help herself. “Now?”
He stayed quiet, and she thought he might ignore her question—so far away he was from this moment, this night. Just when she was about to change the subject, he spoke quietly. “Now he is the only link I have to my father. And, much as I try, I can’t seem to find any of my father in him. And I wouldn’t be surprised if he said the very same thing of me.”
“Why do you say that?” she blurted out before she could stop herself. Once the question was spoken, she qualified it almost immediately. “Not seeing your father in him—I understand that—they are markedly different men, to be sure. But why do you say that he must do the same?”
He turned to look at her and she was surprised by the troubled expression in his eyes, dark grey in the dim light.
“I never had the chance to learn to be like him.” This time, she stayed quiet, watching his throat work, his eyes darken, as he attempted to find words that would make sense. “He died so early. So much sooner than I had ever—At night, when I am home in that blasted house, all I can think is that I should have been more attentive. I should have paid him more mind.”
The words were tumbling from his lips, and Alex desperately wanted to console him. “You couldn’t have known…”
“I know that. I just wish I’d…I just wish I’d been more. Better.” He took a deep breath, pausing long enough to make her wonder if he was going to speak again. Just when she thought she was going to have to break the silence, to reassure him, he spoke in a whisper, “I wish I’d been a better son.”
Her response was instant. “You were a wonderful son. You are a wonderful son. He believed that. I know that as well as I know my own name.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
“How could you?”
He looked at her, really looked at her, for the first time since they’d come out to the terrace, and she was surprised by how much a man he appeared in the darkness. The light shadowed his face, harshening the angles of his straight nose, his strong jaw. His eyes glittered with something unnamed and Alex didn’t know if it was a trick of the light, but she couldn’t look away from him.
“I suppose I never imagined my parents to be so different as hosts from how they are as parents. It’s silly, really. I mean, of course, they have lives beyond their children.”
His voice grew serious. “It’s not silly, Alex. It’s never easy to discover your parents are more than they seem.”
Alex sensed they were talking about something more than the evening at hand. Noticing they had come upon the entrance to the terrace that overlooked the back gardens, she recognized the possibility for a private conversation and said, “I find I am a little warm. Do you mind escorting me outside?”
He gave her a slightly surprised look but nodded in agreement, and they moved through the open glass doors into the cool London night.
They were not alone on the balcony, however, for they found themselves interrupting the Baron Montgrave and Lucian Sewell, who were deep in conversation.
“There is nothing to do.” Lucian spoke quietly.
“There is everything!” the baron replied, his voice louder, more excited.
That was all they overheard before the men became aware of their presence and Blackmoor spoke, “Apologies, Uncle. Baron. We did not mean to interrupt.” He made a move to turn Alex away from the conversation and return inside, when his uncle spoke.
“No need for apologies. The baron and I were just talking about the war”—he turned toward his nephew with a half smile—“and frankly, you’ve saved me from some embarrassment.”
“I was merely discussing the remarkable part your uncle has played in the war, Lord Blackmoor,” the baron added without looking away from Sewell.
Lucian tipped his head in a manner Alex recognized as affected humility. “Baron Montgrave exaggerates. I am hardly the hero he makes me out to be.”
“Not so. I assume your uncle has kept silent about his actions over the last few years, Lord Blackmoor. I can only hope that someday you will ask him to enlighten you about his…exploits.”
Lucian shook his head and met the eyes of the baron, Alex noticed. His next words were directed at the Frenchman. “My nephew need not hear of my past, Baron. It is just that. The past.” Offering a short bow to Alex, he continued, “Lady Alexandra, a pleasure as always. I think I shall return inside.”
With that, Sewell took his leave, the baron quick on his heels, leaving Blackmoor and Alex on the terrace with the cool night breeze around them.
Alex had the distinct feeling that the conversation they had witnessed had been weightier than it seemed…although she couldn’t quite discern why she felt so. Shaking off her thoughts, she looked for a way to lighten the moment for Blackmoor, who seemed lost in his own reverie.
“Well. They certainly were an unconventional pair.”
Looking off into the darkened garden, Gavin murmured his agreement. “My uncle seems to collect companions who don’t quite fit him.” Distractedly, he continued, “As I was saying…it’s not uncommon to discover that your elders are somewhat different from how they seem. My uncle Lucian exemplifies that point.”
“Your time together has not changed that?”
Blackmoor gave a little laugh. “Not in the slightest. He is as much a mystery now as he was when I was a boy—only now…” He trailed off.
Alex meant to let the silence hang until he was ready to say more. Truly, she did. But, unfortunately, she couldn’t help herself. “Now?”
He stayed quiet, and she thought he might ignore her question—so far away he was from this moment, this night. Just when she was about to change the subject, he spoke quietly. “Now he is the only link I have to my father. And, much as I try, I can’t seem to find any of my father in him. And I wouldn’t be surprised if he said the very same thing of me.”
“Why do you say that?” she blurted out before she could stop herself. Once the question was spoken, she qualified it almost immediately. “Not seeing your father in him—I understand that—they are markedly different men, to be sure. But why do you say that he must do the same?”
He turned to look at her and she was surprised by the troubled expression in his eyes, dark grey in the dim light.
“I never had the chance to learn to be like him.” This time, she stayed quiet, watching his throat work, his eyes darken, as he attempted to find words that would make sense. “He died so early. So much sooner than I had ever—At night, when I am home in that blasted house, all I can think is that I should have been more attentive. I should have paid him more mind.”
The words were tumbling from his lips, and Alex desperately wanted to console him. “You couldn’t have known…”
“I know that. I just wish I’d…I just wish I’d been more. Better.” He took a deep breath, pausing long enough to make her wonder if he was going to speak again. Just when she thought she was going to have to break the silence, to reassure him, he spoke in a whisper, “I wish I’d been a better son.”
Her response was instant. “You were a wonderful son. You are a wonderful son. He believed that. I know that as well as I know my own name.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
“How could you?”
He looked at her, really looked at her, for the first time since they’d come out to the terrace, and she was surprised by how much a man he appeared in the darkness. The light shadowed his face, harshening the angles of his straight nose, his strong jaw. His eyes glittered with something unnamed and Alex didn’t know if it was a trick of the light, but she couldn’t look away from him.
