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It was bittersweet to watch the happy familial interplay while her own future was uncertain. She acknowledged to herself that she was angry with the duke, who had promised her they would talk. Loneliness was a constant companion, and she wished once more that her own mama was still here to talk to.

She deserved to know what her husband planned to do about the recent revelations. Had he found Richard? Had they sorted out their disagreement? Did the fact that there was no cause for his anger at Richard affect their marriage? Had it been a significant factor in his decision to marry her?

She had the right to know where things stood. Annabel beat back her resentment of her missing husband and steeled her nerves.

Pushing her conflicting thoughts to the back of her mind, she breathed in the fragrant tea and took another sip while she waited for Mrs. James to return to her seat. She would visit every tenant farmhouse on their lands, meet every Avonmead wife and mother, before she shed another tear.

Mrs. James returned to her seat and picked up her discarded teacup, raising it to her lips to sip before continuing their conversation. “Your Grace, you were saying you are in charge of the Christmas festivities at Avonmead this year?”

Annabel smiled and nodded, determined to proceed as the mistress of the estate, even if her absent husband never rejoined her. “Yes, Mrs. James, we have a wonderful event planned for all the tenants.” Where was her blasted husband? Was he ever coming home?

* * *

“Four years ago, close to this time of the year, the baron called me into his study. It was the day I turned twenty-one. My … birthday …”

Philip wanted to stop the telling. He knew the baron was not a pleasant man, and how could a story that began with a birthday and ended with a familial estrangement possibly turn out well? Steeling his nerve, he reminded himself that he was here for Annabel’s sake. He had hurt his wife, and he would make it up to her. No one had ever died because they were forced to listen to a tragic tale.

“… The baron felt that since I had now come of age, I was man enough to hear the truth. He no longer wanted a snot-nosed brat sitting across from him at his breakfast table every morning, so it was time for me to depart Baydon Hall. He informed me he was not my father, and we were not family. His brother, John Ridley, who died in a riding accident, had dishonored their family by getting his betrothed with child. There was to be a hurried wedding, but the baron—my true father—had taken a reckless ride to race a friend and had broken his neck in the subsequent fall just days before the wedding. As the new baron, he had been forced to salvage the family reputation by marrying—his words, not mine—the chit … in other words, my mother. He was forced to take care of John Ridley’s bastard brat and claim me as his own.”

Philip rolled his head back to stare at the ceiling. He truly despised Filminster. Composing himself, he returned his gaze to his storyteller, who was staring sightlessly toward the mullioned window that looked out to the street. Philip waited for the man to resume.

“He let me know in no uncertain terms that this matter would remain a secret and he would not deny me as his heir, for my mother had failed to grant him a true heir. However, now that I was of age, I was to leave Baydon Hall and never return. His man of business would continue to provide an allowance if I did nothing to embarrass his name, and I could have use of the family estates outside of the Hall. I was not to visit, nor write, as no one wanted or needed to hear from me. I asked him about Annabel, if I could say goodbye. He said why would I want to do that? We were not family.”

The man before him looked defeated as he repeated the baron’s words. Pain lined his young face and made him look older than his years. Philip waited in silence—his chest tight and his lungs strained at the exertion of drawing breath—for the future lord to complete his telling. He could not reconcile the baron’s behavior with that of his own loving parents, who had always made time for him and encouraged him in his learning and confidence. He had been devastated at their unexpected loss, while Filminster had thrown his family connections away like rubbish.

Ridley finally turned his defensive eyes back to the duke. “So, as you can see, our relationship is a lie, built on lies. Annabel and I are nothing to each other.”

Philip frowned as he thought about the younger man’s story. Ridley seemed sincere in his statement and did not appear to notice any illogic in his words.

The duke cleared his throat while he considered how to enlighten the future heir to Baydon Hall. “The baron is despicable, and your tale is … heartbreaking. Which leaves me with the awkward position of … I am unsure how to break this news to you …” Philip attempted to gather his thoughts for clarity as he ventured to speak once more. “… but that makes Annabel your half-sister. Not to mention your cousin. But mostly your sister. And as your sister, she misses you and she needs you.”

“Have you not listened to a word I said? We are not related! I have no connections of my own. I am a charity case along with my departed mother!”

Philip heard anguish in the man’s voice and, in a sudden flash, comprehended what the other man had experienced. Brendan Ridley had been shaken to his core by the news the baron had imparted. He must have felt the disavowal so deeply that he had lost all sense of family and identity. Philip could understand the man’s pain because of his own experiences with his late wife. As Annabel had once told him, some things needed to be said out loud, so they did not get stuck in one’s skull to bounce around until they became disturbed and illogical. The man in front of him had convinced himself that he had no family and was lost in his dark thoughts, with no one to guide him out.

Which meant that Philip needed to intervene. Reason it out for the man. For Annabel.

“Have you spoken to anyone on this matter?”

“No one is aware. Saunton knows the baron threw me out of Baydon Hall, but not why.”

“Brendan, do you mind if I call you Brendan?”

The younger man showed his assent, so Philip continued. “Brendan, your sister loves you very much. I can assure you that the fact of Filminster’s brother being your true sire will make not a whit of difference to her. You are her brother, and that is all she cares about. You are connected to her—to us. Annabel loves you and misses you, and we are your family. You are important to her, to us … to me … brother.”

Brendan started at this sentiment, looking at him with a wounded expression. To see such pain in the brandy eyes that looked just like Annabel’s cut Philip to the core as he recalled how he had left his beautiful wife weeping in her chambers several days past.

“Brother?”

“Indeed. There is no man who can substitute for you, Brendan Ridley, and only you will do. Come what may, you are Annabel’s brother, and she … we need you in our lives.”

The man swallowed hard, pressing his fist to his mouth with eyes closed as he drew a deep breath, the air thick with emotion. After several moments, he opened his eyes, and it was as if a storm had passed, for their depths were lit to reveal rich golds and browns. It was like staring into her eyes, and Philip had to fight back a wave of regret as he realized how much he missed his wife.

Ridley spoke. “What do you need?”

* * *

Annabel was at her wit’s end. Would the duke ever return? Where was he? Perhaps she was destined to walk the halls of Avonmead alone until the very end of her confinement.