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Authors: Parker Elling
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loved him—not in a romantic way; they’d tried to kiss once, had started laughing before their lips had even touched, and realized that it just wasn’t for them. Jack was the brother she’d never had, the confidant she always leaned upon.
That he’d turned out to have been born with a bit of a Midas touch, that her small investment had set him on his path toward success, and that he’d paid her back in shares that he told her were worth quite a bit of money . . . well, that had just been a stroke of luck.
Or perhaps Providence.
She never asked about the shares and always just told him to reinvest—that she’d let him know if and when her family needed money—but that it wasn’t something she particularly wanted to think about. She trusted Jack. And she was proud of him and his success.
But at times like these, when she found herself having to lie, tell half-truths, or just weakly shrug, as if that were response enough, well, it was trying, to say the least. She understood that he was a private person and that it was his right to protect his own privacy. But there had been many times, especially in the past few years, as she’d gotten closer to Claire, that she wished, at the very least, he’d let her tell Claire.
With her stepsister’s naturally artistic flair, her input on everything from label making to approvals of scents could have proven invaluable. By now, Jack’s minifactories functioned not only as businesses but as residences for women in need, offering temporary shelter for women who were distressed and unable to provide care for themselves or, too often, their children. Claire’s naturally social abilities could have been used to smooth over many small squabbles and misunderstandings, often stemming from issues that Julia was simply less inherently equipped to handle—or even detect. But on this point, though she’d asked him explicitly, Jack had been resolute: he was particularly adamant that Claire not know.
Julia sighed and pulled her shawl more closely about her shoulders. It wasn’t something she had ever been able to understand. Claire and Jack were the two people she trusted and knew best, and they’d all gotten along fairly well when they’d been younger, despite the eight-year age gap between them and Claire. When Claire’s mother had first married Julia’s father, Julia had thought there would be a period of transition, but Claire had been readily accepted into their group. They’d swum and fished together, taken long rambling walks, and picked fruit together. They’d joked and laughed and told one another everything and anything.
But in more recent years . . .
It wasn’t just that they were less close. There was almost an animosity between Jack and Claire. And no matter how much Julia poked and prodded, trying to get a coherent answer out of them, neither had ever offered a reason beyond, “He (or she) just gets on my nerves.”
Something that was more or less physiologically impossible. A fact that neither Claire nor Jack had appreciated her pointing out.
Chapter 5
“I think it’s time you told me exactly what happened between you and Julia Morland.” Charles was pleased to hear that the note of authority was back in his voice. Clearly, even in disguise, he was capable of reasonable, intellectual conversation. Just not with Julia, apparently.
It was the middle of the afternoon, yet it was the first time Robeson and Charles had crossed paths that day. Robeson had slept late, enjoyed lunch in bed, and had only recently stirred. All of which Charles had learned from Oliver. He’d tried to ask one of the passing maids, who had informed him rather icily that she was sure she didn’t know (in a tone clearly implying that even if she had known, she wouldn’t be telling the likes of him ). He’d walked down the hall and up and down the stairs a dozen times, checking and double-checking the library, trying to find an opportune time to corner Robeson.
Clearly, the
That he’d turned out to have been born with a bit of a Midas touch, that her small investment had set him on his path toward success, and that he’d paid her back in shares that he told her were worth quite a bit of money . . . well, that had just been a stroke of luck.
Or perhaps Providence.
She never asked about the shares and always just told him to reinvest—that she’d let him know if and when her family needed money—but that it wasn’t something she particularly wanted to think about. She trusted Jack. And she was proud of him and his success.
But at times like these, when she found herself having to lie, tell half-truths, or just weakly shrug, as if that were response enough, well, it was trying, to say the least. She understood that he was a private person and that it was his right to protect his own privacy. But there had been many times, especially in the past few years, as she’d gotten closer to Claire, that she wished, at the very least, he’d let her tell Claire.
With her stepsister’s naturally artistic flair, her input on everything from label making to approvals of scents could have proven invaluable. By now, Jack’s minifactories functioned not only as businesses but as residences for women in need, offering temporary shelter for women who were distressed and unable to provide care for themselves or, too often, their children. Claire’s naturally social abilities could have been used to smooth over many small squabbles and misunderstandings, often stemming from issues that Julia was simply less inherently equipped to handle—or even detect. But on this point, though she’d asked him explicitly, Jack had been resolute: he was particularly adamant that Claire not know.
Julia sighed and pulled her shawl more closely about her shoulders. It wasn’t something she had ever been able to understand. Claire and Jack were the two people she trusted and knew best, and they’d all gotten along fairly well when they’d been younger, despite the eight-year age gap between them and Claire. When Claire’s mother had first married Julia’s father, Julia had thought there would be a period of transition, but Claire had been readily accepted into their group. They’d swum and fished together, taken long rambling walks, and picked fruit together. They’d joked and laughed and told one another everything and anything.
But in more recent years . . .
It wasn’t just that they were less close. There was almost an animosity between Jack and Claire. And no matter how much Julia poked and prodded, trying to get a coherent answer out of them, neither had ever offered a reason beyond, “He (or she) just gets on my nerves.”
Something that was more or less physiologically impossible. A fact that neither Claire nor Jack had appreciated her pointing out.
Chapter 5
“I think it’s time you told me exactly what happened between you and Julia Morland.” Charles was pleased to hear that the note of authority was back in his voice. Clearly, even in disguise, he was capable of reasonable, intellectual conversation. Just not with Julia, apparently.
It was the middle of the afternoon, yet it was the first time Robeson and Charles had crossed paths that day. Robeson had slept late, enjoyed lunch in bed, and had only recently stirred. All of which Charles had learned from Oliver. He’d tried to ask one of the passing maids, who had informed him rather icily that she was sure she didn’t know (in a tone clearly implying that even if she had known, she wouldn’t be telling the likes of him ). He’d walked down the hall and up and down the stairs a dozen times, checking and double-checking the library, trying to find an opportune time to corner Robeson.
Clearly, the
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