“Manage is surely too strong a word,” Thomas drawled from the foot of the table. “My brother is preoccupied with his amusements, and we do have several land stewards.”
Griffin picked up his knife. “What my brother is trying to say is that, yes, I do oversee the Mandeville estates as well as my private ones.”
Thomas gave him a blank, unfriendly stare as he sipped his wine.
To Thomas’s right, Lady Hero straightened as her hand disappeared beneath the table. “Are your lands in Lancashire as well, Lord Griffin?”
“Yes.” Griffin toyed with his knife. “A result of prudent marriages by my ancestors.”
“But that’s so far from London,” Lady Phoebe exclaimed. “Surely you must get lonely in the country.”
She bit her lip and stared straight ahead as her hand, too, suddenly darted underneath the table.
Thomas, seemingly oblivious to all this, snorted. “My brother can find excitement no matter where he is. And he has his trips to London should he find a need to debauch himself.”
Griffin narrowed his eyes, staring at Thomas, feeling the blackness boil at the back of his eyeballs. He smiled and dropped the knife. It clattered onto his plate.
The ladies started.
Thomas merely raised his eyebrows.
Griffin shifted his gaze to Lady Phoebe, who sat between him and Thomas. “I enjoy riding and hunting, my lady, and overseeing the planting and harvest takes up much of my time, so no, I’m not lonely, though I do thank you for your concern.”
She was frowning, her eyes darting between him and his brother, but at his words she smiled tentatively. “Well, we shall have to be sure to see that you are properly entertained when you are in London, won’t we, Hero?”
Lady Hero pressed her lips together. “Phoebe…”
“What?” Lady Phoebe looked confused.
Lady Hero’s expression was wooden. Even Miss Picklewood’s face looked more welcoming.
At that moment, Griffin felt tiny paws on his knee. They tapped quite imperiously.
“I’d be delighted to go anywhere you have a mind, Lady Phoebe.” He smiled and broke off a piece of pastry, feeding it to Mignon beneath the table.
“Our time is largely taken up by wedding arrangements,” Hero said repressively.
“But you must shop.” He picked up the knife again, idly twirling it between his fingers. “And eat and go to fairs and the like.”
Lady Phoebe giggled nervously.
Hero’s eyes dropped to her plate. Her cheeks had gone pale, her mouth crimped in a straight line.
He shrugged easily, though his heart had shriveled. “Or perhaps not.”
Thomas stirred in his seat. “I wouldn’t think you’d be inclined to go to any more fairs.”
Lady Phoebe perked up. “Why do you say that?”
Griffin arched an eyebrow at his brother, a sudden memory lightening his mood.
“Because Griffin nearly got himself killed by a pack of traveling tinkers at the last fair he attended,” Thomas drawled.
“Really?” Phoebe leaned forward.
“Indeed. He was in the act of stealing—”
“Merely examining,” Griffin interjected.
“Stealing,” Thomas rolled over him with his parliamentary voice, “a trinket of some kind.”
“A penknife,” Griffin murmured to Phoebe. “It had a ruby on the hilt.”
Thomas snorted. “Paste, most likely. In any event, one of the tinkers, a man of at least six feet tall, caught him by the scruff of the neck, and had I not intervened, I would be one brother shorter today.”
Griffin smiled wryly, putting down the knife and taking a sip of wine. “Even then Thomas was rather renown for his oratory.”
Thomas grinned and Griffin remembered that long-ago day. The sudden fear, the complete relief and gratitude when his bigger, older brother had come to his rescue. He looked down at his plate, nudging the knife with his fingertip. That time seemed centuries ago now.
“How old were you?” Hero asked softly.
He inhaled and looked up, meeting her far-too perceptive eyes. “Nearly twelve.”
She nodded and the conversation moved on to a piece of gossip Miss Picklewood had heard.
But Griffin was silent, contemplating that past when he and Thomas had been so close.
And the present when they were so very far apart.
Chapter Nine
Queen Ravenhair looked at the offerings of her three suitors and nodded regally. “Thank you,” she said, and led them into the dining room where she turned the conversation to other matters.
But that night as Queen Ravenhair stood upon her balcony, the little brown bird flew to the railing. She took the bird into her cupped palms and saw that he had a string about his neck, and at the end of the string was a small iron nail.