Page 84 of The Music of Love

By his third day at Thurlstone Stacy realized he genuinely liked his brother. Indeed, it would have been difficult not to. Robert did everything in his power to make their visit enjoyable and comfortable. When Stacy contrasted his brother’s behavior with his father’s, Robert’s kindness was even more noticeable.

Stacy hadn’t been expecting much from the man who had banished him at birth and that turned out to be a very good thing. The Earl of Broughton was an old man but the years had done nothing to soften him. At first Stacy thought his father’s conspicuous absence was because the old man was ashamed of his behavior; it had taken only a few minutes in the earl’s presence to dismiss that thought.

He doubted the earl even knew the meaning of the word shame. Or love. Or kindness. He treated Stacy with the same contempt he displayed toward all his children. Even Robert, his heir, appeared not to merit any interest or kindness. If anything, the earl seemed to like Robert’s cold wife best. That didn’t surprise him—father-and daughter-in-law were stamped from the same mold: aristocrats more concerned with position than anything else.

Like his sons, the Earl of Broughton was tall and broad-shouldered, or at least he had been. His big frame had been ravaged by time and he was now confined to a wheeled chair. Not even the chair and his bone-thin body could diminish his presence, however. He resembled an ancient falcon that had been hooded but was still dangerous if one came within range of its razor-sharp beak and talons.

His gray eyes were the only part of him that looked alive and they burned with fierce loathing whenever they rested on Stacy. The Earl of Broughton hated him; the realization did not sadden him, but it did confuse him. Why had he disclosed Stacy’s existence if he despised him so much? Stacy pondered that question far more than he wished. He knew his father was a twisted, bitter, hateful old man who deserved nothing from him. Yet he was fascinated by him all the same.

The earl might ignore his children, but he was not immune to Portia—at least not to her music.

The second night of their visit Portia played the Beethoven sonata Stacy loved. By the time she was finished there wasn’t a dry eye in the room and that included the harsh gray eyes of his parent.

“I say!” Robert exclaimed, clapping his hands hard enough to leave bruises. “You are absolutely brilliant, the best I’ve ever heard.”

Portia accepted his brother’s words—the praise of a person who knew next to nothing about music—with a tolerant smile.

Not only had she played magnificently but she looked good enough to eat. She had on the red gown that enflamed him every time she wore it. The red made her hair and eyes look even darker and her skin was the ivory velvet of a magnolia blossom. Around her elegant throat were his mother’s pearls. Stacy saw his father’s raptor-like eyes rest on the jewels and wondered if he was recalling his long-dead wife.

He’d seen the portrait of his mother—a full-length painting by no less than Gainsborough—his first day at Thurlstone. The portrait had been done only a few months after her marriage to the earl. She hung in the gallery, depicted in life-sized brilliance beside a portrait of the earl. Even at half a century Broughton had been a powerful, formidable man, his lips twisted into a cruel, confident smile, his cold gray eyes scorning the viewer.

The second Countess of Broughton had been fair and fragile with startling blue eyes—heartbreakingly lovely. Stacy was stunned by how extremely young she’d been: only seventeen.

And she’d married the monster who hung beside her, borne him two sons, and then died.

Stacy wondered if she ever knew she’d given birth to twin sons. He hoped for her sake that his demon eyes had not been the last thing she’d seen before dying.

He shook away the disturbing, pointless thought and looked over at his older brother, who rode beside him on an elegant bay hack. They were accompanying the ladies on a shopping trip to Plymouth. The women rode inside the Broughton coach, which rumbled along beside them.

“Let us go with them, Stacy,” Robert had said last night when the plan came up at dinner. “I know of a pub in Plymouth where they have remarkable homebrew. I will stand you a pint while I thrash you at darts.”

Stacy smiled now as he remembered his brother’s boastful threat. Darts were something he’d always enjoyed and played often with Hawkins and the grooms. They kept a board in the barn and had a game or two most weeks. Stacy rarely beat Hawkins, but then his stable master was a pub champion in their part of Cornwall and he’d taught Stacy well.

Pendleton was in for a surprise.

“You’ve got a mare in foal by your Geist?” Robert asked him, eyeing the big stallion enviously. Robert’s mount was a fine piece of horseflesh but could not compare to Geist.

“Yes, it will be her first.” Thinking of Snezana always made Stacy recall that night in the stables. He grimaced. The last thing he needed right now was to think of Portia and what had transpired between them that night—or any other time they’d made love. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could take the distance between them. Portia seemed to become more remote and resolute by the hour. He’d hoped she would have sought rapprochement by now, but he was beginning to believe it would have to be him—especially after the way he’d behaved in Plymouth. She’d been stubborn before, but his appalling behavior that night had served to make her doubly so.

Stacy knew he should not admire her ability to be more stubborn than he could be, but he did.

“Will you come to town for the Season?” Robert asked, interrupting Stacy’s unproductive musings.

“I’ve never gone in the past.”

“Then it is time you do come. Surely your wife would like to experience a London Season?”

Stacy had no idea what Portia wanted. Well, other than to make him suffer and eventually come begging.

“Portia enjoys the country.”

“But she’s lived most of her life in cities. She told me she’s been to fourteen European capitals.”

Stacy felt a stab of jealousy that she’d never shared that fact with him. He glanced through the carriage window and saw her laughing about something. The sight made his temples ache. What the devil were they doing? They’d already wasted an entire month of their lives engaging in a pointless argument.

“I believe she has things to hold her at Whitethorn,” Stacy said. “She has made friends in the area and is also very close with my old nurse. I doubt Portia would want to leave her life in Bude.”

“Your nurse lives with you?”