Prince of Ravenscar (Sherbrooke Brides 11)

Not an instant after they’d passed out of the dining room, he rose as well. “I am ready for my surprise, sir.”

Rupert laughed. “You have been so restrained, my boy, I shan’t tease you any longer. Come with me.”

Julian walked into the drawing room, nodded to the ladies, then stared as Baron Purley pointed. Hanging over the mantel was a portrait of a man. Julian’s heart started to pound. It was his father, he knew it to the soles of his feet. He was young, Julian’s own age. He stood tall and lean, radiating as much power as the beautiful black st

allion beside him. His large hand lay on the animal’s sleek neck. A wry smile played over his mouth. He was an eighteenth-century gentleman, his black hair powdered, his eyebrows as black as a sinner’s dreams. He looked like a king, a magnificent being in control of everything in his universe.

Julian was his image. He walked numbly to stand in front of the portrait, simply stared up at it, saying nothing at all. He was scarcely aware that everyone had stilled; there was no sound at all now in the drawing room, as if everyone was holding his breath, waiting, watching him.

Julian swallowed. He didn’t turn, merely asked, “Sir, where did this portrait come from? I have never seen it. Indeed, I have never before seen a painting of my father. He—he is a young man.”

Corinne said quietly, beside him, her hand on his forearm, “I have never seen it, either, Rupert. Oh, my, had I known him then, I should have flown through the vilest storm to get to him. Even old, he was formidable.” She paused, swallowed. “You are his image, dearest. I had not realized—” She swallowed again and turned. “Where did you get this painting, Rupert?”

“Actually, his grace gave it to me not long before he died. He said since we were close, he hoped that I would also be close to you, his son. He asked me to guard it until you were a man grown, Julian. He said that once you were a man, perhaps you would see yourself in him.

“I had forgotten it, truth be told, until I was telling you about your father. It is about time you had it, don’t you think?”

Julian felt swamped with feelings so intense they were nearly unfathomable, and they ebbed and flowed through his racing blood. He turned to face the baron. He said simply, “Thank you, sir. I thank you very much.”

Corinne said, “I thank you, too, Rupert.” She threw out her arms. “Do you know, I believe this grand surprise calls for dancing. Shall we?” She raised her voice and called out, “Pouffer, we need a waltz!”

The old man must have been standing outside the door, because he was in the drawing room and seated at the pianoforte in an instant. Soon the strains of a waltz bounded throughout the room. Julian had always wondered how those arthritic old fingers made such beautiful music.

Julian found himself turning toward Sophie. She wasn’t moving, merely smiling at him.

He cocked an eyebrow at her and held out his hand.

His mother looked toward him, smiling, before she accepted the baron’s hand. “That was very well done of you, Rupert.”

He said, as he waltzed Corinne slowly in wide circles, barely missing Devlin and Roxanne, “Julian—the prince—is special, as his father told me he would be so long ago. Perhaps it is best I forgot the painting until now. They are of the same age, and Julian can now understand who and what his father really was when he was young.”

Corinne said, “It is such a pity so many die so very young. His grace was very lucky. You and I are lucky as well. I have found that one seems to come to understand what one is really made of as the years pass and experience brands us. But there seems too little time to make use of what we learn, since the time simply disappears from one thought to the next, and then one is dead. But another’s experiences, do they really teach us anything at all?”

Rupert said, “I agree that we all travel alone. I think another’s experiences may touch us, maybe even teach us about ourselves.”

Corinne said, “I remember well your precious wife, Lydia. Such a dear lady she was. She surely touched you deeply, made you more aware of who and what you were.”

The baron said nothing. He began humming.

Richard paused by them for a moment. “I believe years do change one, but not at the core, never at the core.”

Vicky tapped her slippered foot until Pouffer finished the first waltz and immediately broke into another, this one more exuberant. The old man seemed to bounce on the piano seat. Vicky danced with Julian, and she laughed, a sane, focused laugh, Roxanne thought, as she watched them.

Devlin said to Roxanne, as he watched Sophie waltz with the baron, “Who knew Pouffer had such talents? Her grace, I have found, usually has fine ideas.”

“I think Corinne wished to give Julian time to settle. Seeing his father as a young man, seeing himself so clearly in his father, it must touch him deeply.”

Devlin said slowly, “Julian holds what he feels deep inside, so I do not know how profoundly it touches him. I believe I heard Richard laugh at something your sister said. How can you be enemies with a person when you are dancing? Have I ever told you your name sings on my tongue?” He grabbed her and brought her into his arms. She was laughing as he whirled her about, barely missing Leah, who was so happy she didn’t even frown at her.

After all of them drank their tea and were off to bed, Julian found himself returning to the drawing room. To his surprise, his mother was there, a candle held high in her hand, staring up at his father’s portrait.

He said quietly, “I wonder why Lord Purley never showed it to you?”

Corinne turned slowly to face her son. “I’ll tell you why, Julian. I never showed any interest, and so he simply forgot, as he said.” She looked at the portrait again. “When I met your father, I was seventeen years old. Your father was old, beyond old, to my girl’s eyes. Even when I married him, I never thought of him as any other than what he was when I met him. Do you know, looking at him quite terrifies me.”

“I am the image of him, Mother. It is like I am looking in a mirror. Do I terrify you?”

Corinne looked at her son, lightly patted his forearm. “It is not the same thing, dearest. No, not at all.”