were never to make a fuss. Which was why when their mother neglected them, he had never spoken up. Perhaps if he had...
"Your aunt and uncle didn't care if she was happy," Jann went on hotly, "or make any effort to see that she was. They even dismissed her nanny. Said she was too old to be clinging to what was over."
"She was too old," Peter said dully. Although he'd tried to protect his sister from the worst of their mother's excesses, they'd both been thrust into maturity before their time. "She started boarding school that year."
"Yes, but don't you see? She didn't have anyone."
This woman who seemed able to look straight into his soul was staring into his eyes again as though searching for the truth.
"Not even you," she finished.
"I was there," Peter protested, but he hadn't been able to convince Claire of that. "She could have talked to me."
"She tried." Jann's eyes welled with tears. "She said you didn't care. That's what hurt her the most."
"I did care," Peter said fiercely. "But I was at school too. I came back from England at every break in that first year after our parents died. I told Claire that as soon as I finished at Cambridge, we could be together at Willow House just as she wanted."
"But that never happened! You never came for her."
Fury swept over him again as it had done so long ago. "I did come," he said tightly, "but she wasn't there. My aunt and uncle had already enrolled her in boarding school."
"So you left it at that?"
Jann's face mirrored her feelings, the pain evident in her eyes. And her lips trembled, as though she knew only too well what it was like to have no one.
"They said it was ridiculous to imagine I could take care of her myself," he explained bitterly. "And sitting there in their plush sitting room, with maids trotting to and fro, it did seem ridiculous. What did I know about taking care of a young girl?"
"Besides," he went on, hating the emotion rising in his chest, "they told me she was happy, that she'd just started school and if she were disrupted again, the consequences could be grave." He swallowed hard. "They seemed so certain." As positive about everything as he had been unsure.
Jann stretched her hand towards him, as though she guessed what he was feeling and was somehow sorry. He stiffened and leaned away.
"I didn't have to explain this to you," he said, standing. "It won't matter a damn in a court of law. But I did explain, so you'd know. Maybe now, you'll understand how wrong Claire was and stop this ridiculous clinging to Alexander."
"It's you who doesn't understand," Jann countered sharply, "about both Claire and Alex. Claire didn't trust you before, and I don't trust you now."
"I wrote to Claire from Cambridge, and she wrote back. She didn't say anything in her letters about being unhappy." Though he'd worried at the time she might be keeping her unhappiness hidden.
"She complained about the school food," he went on, trying to smile. "I told her about my business plans, how we could spend more time together once she finished school. But she didn't reply."
"She was probably afraid to get her hopes up."
"What are you afraid of, Jann?" he asked her softly, stunned that he'd asked the question. He couldn't afford to become embroiled in this woman's pains or dreams. If he had to fight her, he must remain aloof.
She straightened her shoulders, as though bracing herself to reply, all the while looking at him as though he were a shark, poised and ready to strike.
"Nothing," she replied, giving her hair a determined toss. "This isn't about me."
"That's exactly what this is about." He willed his heart to harden against her, not melt at her deceptive warmth. "You're like all the others."
"What others?"
"Claire was always spending her trust money on one lame duck or other, said they'd do well if they could only get on their feet." He scowled at Jann, forcing himself to remember those other times he now wanted to forget. "Those so-called friends used my
"Your aunt and uncle didn't care if she was happy," Jann went on hotly, "or make any effort to see that she was. They even dismissed her nanny. Said she was too old to be clinging to what was over."
"She was too old," Peter said dully. Although he'd tried to protect his sister from the worst of their mother's excesses, they'd both been thrust into maturity before their time. "She started boarding school that year."
"Yes, but don't you see? She didn't have anyone."
This woman who seemed able to look straight into his soul was staring into his eyes again as though searching for the truth.
"Not even you," she finished.
"I was there," Peter protested, but he hadn't been able to convince Claire of that. "She could have talked to me."
"She tried." Jann's eyes welled with tears. "She said you didn't care. That's what hurt her the most."
"I did care," Peter said fiercely. "But I was at school too. I came back from England at every break in that first year after our parents died. I told Claire that as soon as I finished at Cambridge, we could be together at Willow House just as she wanted."
"But that never happened! You never came for her."
Fury swept over him again as it had done so long ago. "I did come," he said tightly, "but she wasn't there. My aunt and uncle had already enrolled her in boarding school."
"So you left it at that?"
Jann's face mirrored her feelings, the pain evident in her eyes. And her lips trembled, as though she knew only too well what it was like to have no one.
"They said it was ridiculous to imagine I could take care of her myself," he explained bitterly. "And sitting there in their plush sitting room, with maids trotting to and fro, it did seem ridiculous. What did I know about taking care of a young girl?"
"Besides," he went on, hating the emotion rising in his chest, "they told me she was happy, that she'd just started school and if she were disrupted again, the consequences could be grave." He swallowed hard. "They seemed so certain." As positive about everything as he had been unsure.
Jann stretched her hand towards him, as though she guessed what he was feeling and was somehow sorry. He stiffened and leaned away.
"I didn't have to explain this to you," he said, standing. "It won't matter a damn in a court of law. But I did explain, so you'd know. Maybe now, you'll understand how wrong Claire was and stop this ridiculous clinging to Alexander."
"It's you who doesn't understand," Jann countered sharply, "about both Claire and Alex. Claire didn't trust you before, and I don't trust you now."
"I wrote to Claire from Cambridge, and she wrote back. She didn't say anything in her letters about being unhappy." Though he'd worried at the time she might be keeping her unhappiness hidden.
"She complained about the school food," he went on, trying to smile. "I told her about my business plans, how we could spend more time together once she finished school. But she didn't reply."
"She was probably afraid to get her hopes up."
"What are you afraid of, Jann?" he asked her softly, stunned that he'd asked the question. He couldn't afford to become embroiled in this woman's pains or dreams. If he had to fight her, he must remain aloof.
She straightened her shoulders, as though bracing herself to reply, all the while looking at him as though he were a shark, poised and ready to strike.
"Nothing," she replied, giving her hair a determined toss. "This isn't about me."
"That's exactly what this is about." He willed his heart to harden against her, not melt at her deceptive warmth. "You're like all the others."
"What others?"
"Claire was always spending her trust money on one lame duck or other, said they'd do well if they could only get on their feet." He scowled at Jann, forcing himself to remember those other times he now wanted to forget. "Those so-called friends used my
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