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I woke the next morning to a feeling of warmth pressed to my left side, while the right side of my body was frozen. I shivered and curled in closer to the heat source. It was soft and pliable. But when it moved on its own, I blinked open my eyes.
I squinted against the sudden glare of sunlight and stared into the slits of Earl Grey’s golden eyes. Above us the glass ceiling of the conservatory was bright with the morning sun. Clearly, I had fallen asleep on the wicker settee in my art studio and curled up in Earl Grey’s blanket, and sometime during the night the friendly feline had decided to join me. He lifted his hind quarters, scooting an inch closer to my torso. I yawned and brushed my hand down his back from head to tail.
“That cat has become quite devoted to you,” my brother said, startling me. I hadn’t even known he was in the room.
I turned my head to see him standing before my easel, studying the portrait I’d left sitting there to dry. I flushed as I suddenly recalled just whose portrait I had worked on last night. I’d painted long into the night and made far more progress than I’d expected.
“What time is it?” I muttered, trying to distract my brother from the canvas.
His gaze shifted to meet mine. “Half past ten.”
I opened my eyes wide and pushed myself into an upright position. “Truly?”
“Yes.”
Earl Grey rumbled a protest as I jostled him and the blankets trying to swing my feet out from under them. I smothered another yawn as I sat up and reached over to pet his sleek fur in apology.
“I see you’re painting again,” Trevor said, taking us back to the subject I wished to avoid.
I smiled self-consciously. “Trying to anyway.”
He continued to study the painting as if he couldn’t take his eyes off it, and not wanting to know exactly what he was thinking, I opted for a more direct diversion, one I’d been attempting most of the previous evening.
“Trevor, is everything all right?”
He glanced up in surprise. “Yes. Of course.”
“Because I know I haven’t been the best of sisters since I came home. I’ve been consumed by my own concerns, to the exclusion of all else. I thought maybe you had problems of your own you wished to share,” I murmured hesitantly.
The corners of Trevor’s mouth turned up in a tight smile. “No, Kiera.” He sat down next to me and patted my hand. “I am well.”
“Are you sure?” I asked, avoiding his eyes by continuing to pet Earl Grey. “There’s nothing troubling you about the estate?”
Trevor gave a short laugh. “There’s always something troubling me about the estate.” He offered me a reassuring smile, but it did not reach all the way to his eyes. “But nothing in particular.”
I suspected he was lying, but it was clear he didn’t wish to confide in me, and I could not force him to. But there was something else I could ask him about.
“You know you are welcome to invite Lord Wilmot or any of your friends to visit. I don’t mind.”
His face immediately creased into a frown. “No, I cannot.”
My stomach clenched. “Be . . . because of me.”
“Yes,” he replied without hesitation.
Feeling a burning begin at the back of my eyes, I dropped my gaze to my feet and wrapped my arms around my churning stomach. Though I had suspected this was the reason, I hadn’t expected my brother to confirm it so baldly. He must truly be ashamed of me then.
“I’m sorry. I should have thought,” I murmured in a low voice.
“Why are you apologizing?” Seeing my confusion, he elaborated. “You couldn’t have known what a bad lot Lord Wilmot is. Could you?”
“Bad lot?” I blinked against the wetness in my eyes, trying to understand what he was saying. “You mean, you’re not ashamed of me?”
“Of course not,” he declared, and I felt the ball of dread that had gathered inside me release.
“So you’re not embarrassed to introduce me to your friends?”
His gaze turned sad. “Oh, Kiera. If I’m embarrassed of anyone, it’s myself.”
“Why?”
He paused, as if considering what to tell me. Heaving a heavy sigh, he turned to stare out the glass wall of the conservatory. “I fell in with some bad people a few years ago. Gentlemen I’m not proud to be associated with.”
“After the scandal broke over my involvement with Sir Anthony’s dissections?” I guessed, and he nodded. “They shunned you as well?”
He sighed again. “Not at first. But after going one too many rounds of fisticuffs in defense of your honor, and calling one of the society matrons a shrew, well, you understand.”
“Oh, Trevor.” I gasped, oddly touched by his poor behavior.
He held up his hand. “I could have ignored their spiteful words. I should have. But I was too angry with them all. With myself.”