Last Updated: August 25, 2011
REUNITED
Saturday, December 6, 1800
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
Arlino Manningfield
(Arlin)
Before I left the hospital, the director assured me she had sent word of my impending arrival to Johnny at Bryler Mansion. Either he had forgotten me or, worse, was still angry that I was in love with him, and it was a small revenge to have me drag my trunk through the snow and mud all the way to his front door.
Despite our twelve year estrangement, my feelings for him hadn't lessened. Worse, they had taken on greater depth, and I feared that if he knew how I felt, he would have continued to shun me.
My eyes were glued to the window, peering out at every little sound, hoping against hope that he would come. The travel coach had deposited me at the coach station over an hour ago and my limbs were numbing. Periodically, I tugged the collar of my greatcoat close about my neck and blew on my fingers.
Hope stirred anew at the rumble of carriage wheels in the near distance. A black carriage led by a gray team of four, pulled into the lane. The coachman remained on his perch, the reins wrapped around his hand while a lanky, olive-skinned footman in a navy and gray livery, leapt down from the back of the carriage to the snow covered cobblestones then sprinted toward the station.
There were only a handful of people inside, and when he entered his gaze was straight upon me as if in recognition, a single brow raising—there could be no doubt who I was. He came over and without a word, grabbed my trunk and effortlessly hoisted it onto his shoulder.
Outside, I helped him lift the trunk up onto the luggage rack behind the coachman's perch. The footman returned to his place, and the coachman turned and smiled down at me.
"Cousin Milo! Dimitri didn't tell me you were snared in Johnny's clutches."
"Mr. Manningfield's been a good provider to me and my family."
Mr. Manningfield?
"Is that so? Where is he? In his bedchamber stroking himself?"
Milo put a finger to his lips in a gesture of silence and pointed at the cabin.
Lowering my voice, "Oh, I see. Think he heard me?"
"Doesn't matter. Just know it wasn't easy for him to come. Give him time and he'll come around on his own."
Milo used to be very perceptive where my brother was concerned. But I wasn't known to be a very good listener and usually followed the beat of my own drum.
At the cabin door, I paused, took a deep breath then yanked it open, and climbed in across from Johnny, a picture of effeminate good looks in a tan greatcoat, light brown hair pulled back under a tophat, and the hazel eyes I adored, fixed on the sights beyond the narrow window.
A smile involuntarily broke out on my face. I felt like a schoolboy seeing the object of his lust for the first time in years. Twelve, to be exact. Just seeing him aroused me, and I was glad of the long coat that hid evidence that my feelings for him had not miraculously gone away. I fought to gain composure but began to babble none the less.
"It's good to see you. I missed you . . . You never wrote." I paused, noted his blank expression, then continued. "I feared you weren't coming, that you were still angry with me—"
His hand sliced through the air between us in a dismissive wave that silenced me.
It wasn't the warm reception I had hoped for.
What if he hates me now?
Fear rose in my throat, and I shivered. Not so much from the cold, but from my twin who was treating me like a stranger.
He sat seemingly unbothered by the frigid air. Nor did he seem apologetic for arriving late and making me freeze in that drafty station and now this cabin. Postcard perfect he was as always. Not a hair out of place. Not a wayward crease in his clothes. Not a wasted smile for a destitute brother.
I kicked the toe of his polished knee boot. "Can't you at least look at me?"
The golden gaze that could light the dark settled upon me, glittering in a brief stream of sunlight that shone in his face as the carriage turned onto a wide, muddy lane.
"I should have instructed Milo to run you over."
"If you hate me that much, why are you letting me stay?"
"Because Dimitri insisted I help you."
"Is that it? The only reason?"
"Yes, because he has never asked me for anything."
"At least someone cares," I muttered. Then louder, "Why can't you act like you care?"
"You're still breathing, aren't you?"
He clenched his jaw and turned back to the window, his hands balling into fists, the skin reddening as his manicured nails dug into his palms.
I could sense he wanted to say more. I wanted him to purge himself because even if he spent my whole time at Bryler calling me every foul name he could think of, at least he would be acknowledging me.
I leaned forward. "I need you to be strong enough to forgive me."
He glared at me then lunged, a stinging blow landing on my cheek before I could throw up my hands to protect my face. Then my throat was seized in a vice that siphoned my breath yet aroused me to such a height, I struck him in the face, knowing that doing so would further anger him.
His grip around my neck tightened.
For a few blissful moments I was alive, because he was focused on me.
Then he let go and plopped back into his seat, rubbing his palms back and forth on his lap, staring at me intently.
"I know exactly what's in your head," I said, massaging my neck.
"You haven't changed."
"I haven't? What about you and your temper? You still keep your bedchamber door open all hours of the day so the servants can see you naked? And . . . and what about this—I waved my hand at him in mockery—always dismissing people like they're peasants at your beck and call?"
"I've worked damn hard for all I have!" he thundered.
"And always sitting around in your little cocoon of silence and playing master of the house with your little brown rabbit."
At her mention, he stared past me out the opposite window.
"Idiot. I knew about it from the start. Did you think Dimitri and I were deaf and blind all those years ago?"
He still said nothing. What could he deny?
We shared everything until she came along.
"Does Natalie know who Fenestra really is? About why you've done the things you have to her?"
"What do you know?"
"Everything I need to. Dimitri wrote regularly. Told me all about the dirt you've been doing. Like how you stole Natalie from him then proceeded to punish her every time she miscarried. Did he lie?"
Nothing.
"Maybe I should give her a reward and tell her about Fenestra."
"Tell her."
I laughed. "Of course you'd say that. It's because she already knows, isn't it? A woman would have to be in denial not to notice that another woman's offspring looks an awful lot like her husband. Only darker."
"I don't care what nonsense Dimitri has been filling your lonely institutionalized hours with, but you will keep your theories to yourself. After all, that's how you got yourself locked away in a—"
"That you put me in because I dared to touch Fenestra."
"No! Mother had you brought there after you put your hands on me! I trusted you and you took advantage when I had no way of defending myself. So, either you keep your damn mouth shut about my life or I'll let slip a few of your secrets."
