She let him lead her into the courtyards surrounded by the high hedges. Let him lead her past the fountain, to the courtyard where the pool lay limpid under the last of the day's sunshine, where fish flickered and swished, silver flashes in the water.
Convinced him that taking her in his arms and kissing her — just for a little while — was something that despite the advent of his sisters could, with a little determination, still be squeezed into his schedule.
That evening, the magnitude of what Luc faced within his family became clear.
Sitting at the end of the long table, now comfortably filled, Amelia watched, and learned, and, despite having to struggle to keep her lips straight, felt for him.
He was out of his depth.
She'd never imagined seeing him like that — that such a situation could ever be — yet here he was, manfully trying to cope with four very different females, all of whom were under his protection. He was their guardian.
And his evening had got off to an unsettling start.
Handing a platter of beans to Emily, seated on her right, Amelia noted again the abstracted quality of Luc's eldest sister's gaze. Emily's thoughts were very definitely elsewhere, dwelling on exceedingly pleasant memories.
She'd had her suspicions of just what such memories might be; a nonchalant question when they'd gathered in the drawing room earlier and she'd drawn Emily a little apart, concerning Lord Kirkpatrick and Emily's feelings for him, had elicited such a glow in Emily's eyes, and her words, as to confirm just how definite matters had become between Emily and his lordship. Hardly a problem given Minerva was expecting an offer any day.
Squeezing Emily's hand, she'd smiled with feminine comprehension, then turned — to find Luc's dark blue gaze fixed on them. He'd excused himself to his mother and Miss Pink, and come prowling over; she'd been ready to step in should he attempt to interrogate Emily, but that damsel, a light blush to her cheeks, simply put her nose in the air and refused to be meek.
Instead, greatly daring, Emily had confessed that she found his lordship quite manly, indeed, all she could wish for in a husband.
Amel
ia saw Luc clench his jaw, probably wisely biting back a demand to be told all. She doubted he'd enjoy hearing it.
Emily's comment, and the fact she'd looked at Luc in its wake, evoked the inevitable comparison. Kirkpatrick was well enough, well set up and decently handsome, but to rhapsodize him when one had grown up with Luc — that was a clear demonstration of Emily's state.
It was Luc who was masculine beauty personified — grace, elegance and aristocratic polish doing nothing to hide the hard, sharp, darkly menacing qualities of steely strength and inflexible, arrogant will. It was Luc who had always sent a shiver down her spine. And still did.
He'd noticed — his gaze had swung to her, sharpened. "Dinner is served, my lord, my ladies." Cottsloe had bowed in the doorway, struggling not to beam. The whole family bar Edward was here, at home once more, and all was perfect in Cottsloe's world.
She'd been grateful for the interruption. Placing her hand on Luc's sleeve, she'd let him lead her in. Let him seat her at the end of the table, at the place she hadn't occupied since their wedding night.
The touch of his fingers trailing over her bare arm evoked a memory of past thrills; she'd considered sending him a frowning glance — instead, she got distracted, wondering… Luckily, the meal provided a diversion, especially with Portia and Penelope present. Portia, fourteen, was a hedonist, bright, cheery, and sharply intelligent. With her looks and her tongue, and her quick wits, she was so much like Luc that of the four, he found her most difficult to deal with.
Portia tied him in knots. At every opportunity.
Despite that, the affection that flowed between them was apparent. It took Amelia most of the meal to realize that Portia had set herself to play the role of Luc's nemesis, at least within the family, making sure her eldest brother never got too arrogant, too above himself with masculine condescension.
No one else would dare, at least not to the extent Portia did. She herself would never have opposed Luc so definitely as did Portia — not in public. In private… in reality, she had more power than Portia over Luc, more chance of altering his entrenched behaviors where they needed adjustment. She wondered how, given that Portia was only fourteen, she might explain, might suggest that Portia could now leave her brother's arrogance in the delicate hands of his wife.
For unknowingly — Amelia was quite sure unintentionally — Portia was also grating on something else in Luc — the very thing that made him what he was, but which also gave rise to the worst instances of what appeared to be his masculine high-handedness.
She could see it, and was mature enough to value it where Portia did not.
Luc cared deeply for his sisters — not just in the general way of duty, because they were in his care, and had been for the past eight years — but in a manner that went to the heart of family, and what family meant to him.
As she watched him frown and snipe intellectually with Portia, Amelia was reminded of his earlier words about their potential offspring.
He would have to know — she would have to tell him as soon as she herself was sure. It was simply that important to him. So important it was the first thing he'd deliberately revealed now the barriers between them had come down. He'd asked, admitted more than he'd needed to — a confidence she knew how to value and knew she needed to return.
That unwavering, unreasoning, unconditional devotion was there in his expression, in the effort he made to cope, to remain as far as he could in control of his sisters' lives. With or without their consent.
Emily was almost at the point of stepping out of Luc's care, but he'd deal with that by passing her hand to Kirkpatrick. Until he did, however… Amelia made a mental note to suggest to Emily she avoid giving her brother any potentially inflammatory information he didn't need to know.
Then there was Anne, who remained so quiet that everyone was forever in danger of forgetting she was there.
Anne was seated on Amelia's left. She smiled at her, then set herself to learn how Anne had found her first Season. Anne knew her, trusted her, confided in her easily; while she absorbed Anne's reactions, Amelia felt Luc's dark gaze resting on them and dutifully made mental notes.