Milo was never better at hiding his emotions than when there was something significant to conceal, and this incident was no exception. To look at him, one would think our visitor was no more noteworthy than a traveling salesman come to try to ply us with his goods.
“I don’t have a brother,” he said flatly.
If the young man was discouraged by this less-than-warm welcome, he gave no sign of it. It seemed Milo wasn’t the only one who could hold his countenance.
“You do, in fact.” His tone was light. “An illegitimate half brother, at least. Our father had a relationship with my mother for several years, until he tired of her and left her with nothing but a broken heart, a baby to care for, and a stain on her reputation. He was a blackguard, through and through.”
“I don’t know if what you’re saying is true, but if you’re trying to make me angry by insulting my father, you’ll have to try much harder.”
The smallest smile flickered across the young man’s face, and I was struck again by how much he looked like Milo. From a distance, I imagined they would be nearly indistinguishable.
The realization came to me suddenly. This was no doubt the man who had married Imogen, the man that Mrs. Busby had seen in the village when Milo had been in London.
Things were falling into place. It seemed Imogen had married a Mr. Ames after all.
“You didn’t like our father either then,” he said. “It seems we have something in common besides our looks, despite having been raised in different households.”
Milo’s face was still impassive, but I knew his gambler’s brain was running things through, trying to determine what the best course of action might be in dealing with this young man. I thought that perhaps I should say something, but for once all my years of society training failed me, and I was at a loss.
“What do you want?” Milo asked at last.
“Who says I want anything?”
“Then what are you doing here?”
The young man gave a dry laugh. “I take it you’re not going to welcome me home.”
“This isn’t your home,” Milo replied.
Darien glanced around the room, his insolent gaze taking in the antique furniture and expensive décor, all of it furnished by Milo’s father. There was nothing overtly mercenary in his expression, but I wouldn’t have been surprised if a request for money was forthcoming.
“No,” he said at last. “I know it’s not, but I did hope that you’d be happy to see me.”
I might have felt sympathy for him at those words, but there was something in his tone that expressly rejected the sentiment.
“How do I know you’re even telling the truth?” Milo said.
“For pity’s sake, Milo,” I broke in, finding my voice at last. “Look at him.”
Milo glanced at me, his expression making it clear that my interference was not exactly welcome.
“If you don’t mind, darling, I’d like to have a talk with Darien alone.”
I hesitated. I didn’t like being excluded from the conversation. And, what was more, I was fairly certain the two men could do with a buffer between them. Whatever the situation, I felt that neither of them was in the frame of mind to hold a civil conversation.
I could tell by looking at Milo, however, that he wasn’t likely to take my wishes into account at the moment. And, in all fairness, it made sense that they might want to discuss this matter in private.
I suppose my hesitation was obvious, for Darien flashed me a smile. “Don’t worry. We shan’t kill each other in your absence.”
“That remains to be seen,” Milo said, his eyes on his brother.
Darien’s smile widened.
“I … shall I send in some tea?” It was a silly thing to say, perhaps, but tea had mediated more precarious situations than this.
Milo glanced again at the young man who claimed to be his brother. “I think something stronger may be in order.”
“My sentiments exactly,” he replied.
I nodded. There was a sideboard in the corner of the room with all the liquor they might require, so it seemed there was nothing else for me to do but take my leave.
With one last glance at the two men, I turned and left the room.
* * *
I HAVE NEVER been very good at waiting. Alas, aside from putting my ear to the keyhole—a task that my growing stomach would make physically difficult if I were even so inclined—there was little that I could do.
And so I went to the sitting room and began working on my knitting. Keeping my hands busy did not, however, stop my mind from turning over all the possibilities produced by this latest turn of events.
I had no doubts that this young man was Milo’s brother. Their looks convinced me of that, but even if they had not been so similar in appearance, there were mannerisms I had noticed in Darien’s face, even in the space of a few moments—the tilt of that flashing smile and the impudent flick of the brow—that could not have been replicated by chance.
Milo’s father had never remarried after the death of his wife; by all accounts he had loved her deeply and been much affected by her passing. Nevertheless, I supposed it would be naïve to believe that he had never sought out another source of female companionship. Yes, it was entirely probable that the young man was telling the truth on that score.
But even this brought up several more questions. Why had Darien chosen now to make this appearance on our doorstep? Had it something to do with Imogen? As far as she went, why had he chosen to marry her using Milo’s name? And if they had married in Brighton and agreed to meet in London, what had brought both of them to Thornecrest at the same time?
The whole thing was a muddle, each question leading directly to another more complex one, and I felt a sudden surge of annoyance that I had allowed myself to be dismissed from the conversation. Surprise half brother or no, I ought to have stayed and heard what there was to be said.
Time ticked slowly by. I finished the infant sock I was working on and began to knit its mate.
At last Milo came into the sitting room. I set my knitting aside, studying his face for clues as to how the meeting had gone. It was difficult to tell, though I could detect a faint hardness about his mouth and a certain set to his shoulders that told me that it hadn’t ended in handshakes and welcoming pats on the shoulder.
“Has he gone?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“But he’s coming back.” Surely things couldn’t be settled between them in one brief conversation.
“Yes, there are a great many matters to discuss.”
“What happened?” I asked.
“He does appear to be my half brother.” His voice betrayed nothing of how he felt about this revelation. Perhaps he didn’t know yet how he felt. “He had a few documents in his possession that bear him out: letters, a photograph of my father with his mother.”
“Are you … surprised?”
“It’s unexpected, of course, but nothing my father might have done would much surprise me. In any event, we never took much interest in each other’s personal lives, aside from the reprimands he would occasionally give me for being too public in my behaviors. He might have had any number of mistresses.”
I didn’t know exactly what Milo was thinking, but I knew this must be an extreme shift from the way he had seen things. He had been the only child of parents who were deceased, the last of the Thornecrest Ameses, and now there was this young man, a brother he had not expected and did not especially want.