“The twins trying out the toboggans on the stairs,” she said, furtively slipping free. She stepped over to the little stove, busying herself as she waited for her blush to ebb. “For the past fortnight, they’ve scrambled out of bed at dawn to see who can fly faster. We have a tradition to race down the hill toward the canal every Christmas, and the winner always earns the right to keep the family trophy at their bedside. The boys like to practice when they feel the first nip in the air. But don’t worry, it will be over the instant that Mrs. Rice heralds her trumpet and orders them back to the nursery to breakfast on porridge.”
Just then a rather pathetic bleat of a trumpet sounded, followed by a more robust call to arms.
Jane nodded toward the hall. “See?”
He came to her side, his brow furrowed as he looked to the arched corridor. “Is it always like this?”
“Of course not. It’s usually much worse. When Theodore, Graham and Henry are home from school, those devil-may-care lads actually rattle the windows. Admittedly, Henry has become more sedate in recent years. Though, my nine-year-old sister Phillipa, has taken up the reins he left behind. Fair warning, if you happen to hear someone shout ‘take your marks, get set, go’ be fully prepared to glue yourself to the wall and wait until the blur dashes by. She is forever challenging our brothers to races and besting them every time.”
“And what do your parents have to say about all this?”
She shrugged. “They pass through the halls and, if they happen to notice something amiss, summon the servants.”
“And what do the servants do?”
“Come to me. Then I see to the children and sort things out. Oh, you needn’t look so surprised. It is a method that has proven successful for years, ever since I was Phillipa’s age.”
He was quiet for a moment, considering. “What will happen when you marry?”
It was kind of him to say when and not if, she thought as she busied herself by adding a splash of tea to her waiting cup.
“My husband and I will live here and look after my siblings,” she said. “Of course, that is easier said than done. Thus far, I haven’t met anyone who wants to return to my house after the first visit, let alone one who is eager to bestow his heart and soul to me.”
“Heart and soul, hmm? Is that all you want?”
“It is all I demand,” she clarified after a sip and primly dabbed a bead of moisture from the corner of her mouth. “There has to be something more to marriage than procreation and the exchange of capital. The future readers of my book will want to know how to find love.”
He issued a grunt of disappointment. “I thought you were more levelheaded, Jane. How about I save you loads of wasted time by telling you that a heart is just a blood-pumper? That’s all it does. As for a soul . . . well, I wouldn’t know. If I ever had one, I’m sure it has shriveled to dust by now. Trust me, you’d be better off keeping to your scientific theories and leave the romantic delusions to the poets.”
“I find it hard to believe that a man who has read Romeo and Juliet does not believe in love.”
“I’ve never seen actual evidence of it. Have you?”
His accusatory tone put her on the defensive. “Perhaps if you spent more time away from a brothel you might have done.”
He jerked his chin up and a smirk bracketed his mouth. “But I’m not the one writing a book on it. Aren’t you supposed to prove it?”
“I plan to,” she said crisply. “In fact, I’ve already created a hypothesis regarding the emotion. I compare it to a skill one possesses, much like a head for mathematics. You either have the ability, or you do not. After all, there are those who go their entire lives with never having fallen in love or”—she paused to swallow down a slight catch in her voice—“having been loved in return.”
It was her greatest fear that she would be one of those people.
He stared at her, his gaze far too probing for her liking.
She shifted from one foot to the other, holding her teacup in front of her like a shield and feeling as though he could see directly through her. She might as well have proclaimed herself unlovable right then and there.
Mortified, she turned back to the books and continued in haste. “In order to prove any scientific theory, one builds up from the bottom. Knowing what love is not, aids in defining what it is. Much like your birthmark.”
“Also another pointless quest,” Raven said, but his tone was gentler now.
She didn’t want his pity. Needing to resume a less embarrassing topic, she set the teacup down and tapped her index finger against a stack. “In this pile, we’ve already established what it doesn’t look like. It’s simply too detailed and upraised to resemble one of these drawings. In fact, it’s like a scar that has healed over time.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he scoffed, the return of his mocking tone driving away her momentary discomfiture. “Do you actually think that someone carved into my infant flesh to brand me?”
“Well, not when you say it like that. It would be cruel to consider. All I know is that it is no ordinary birthmark. In fact, it’s quite out of . . . the ordinary.” She gasped as a fresh new thought sparked to life. “Yes, of course!”
She turned away from the table and went to the library cart, shuffling through the contents in a haphazard fashion.
“And what has brought on your sudden excitement?” he asked, peering over her shoulder.
“I’ll tell you in a minute as soon as I’ve—ah ha! Here it is.” She held up the hefty book with triumph. “This is a book of ordinaries, a heraldry of family crests.”
Her finger skimmed quickly through the index. Finding the page number, she riffled over the cut edges until she found her place. Then she went back to the trestle table and spread open the book.
There were a dozen crests on either side, but only one that stood out from the rest. His mark. Her breath caught the instant she spotted it and, behind her, a strained hush settled over Raven like a breaking wave suddenly withdrawing from the shore.
The image was nearly identical to the supposed birthmark on his shoulder. The only alteration was the arrow and laurel branch in the raven’s talons.
She knew they both saw it, but she laid her finger beneath the drawing and the surname of Northcott, regardless. While she wasn’t familiar with the family, she also knew that it was only a matter of looking through the right book. Debrett’s would have it, to be sure.
“That doesn’t prove anything,” he said after a minute, every syllable drawn tight as if gathering momentum for an argument.
“Prove? Perhaps not,” she said logically. “However, it is clearly something worth investigating further. Something that possibly links you to this Northcott family.”
He turned his hard glare from the page to her and growled in warning. “Why are you bent on disrupting my life, turning everything upside down? For your own amusement?”
Stung, she straightened every vertebra in her spine. “Because everyone deserves a chance at a family!”
“Even if I don’t want one?”
“You may have a sister out there who is alone, or a little brother who needs guidance. Would you really turn your back on them? Leave them feeling as if they didn’t matter?”