Until now.
He hid a frown at the unexpected thought and went on, “But Fellows was referring to the wider family—the Cynsters as a whole—and that’s a much larger brood.”
“How large?”
“I actually counted at the last family gathering we all attended. My generation numbers twenty-eight Cynsters, and if you add the Chillingworths, who are as close as family, that takes us to thirty-two.” He glanced at her and smiled at her stunned look. “And all except me are married, and most have several children, so you can imagine the mayhem at family events and at the two annual gatherings at which attendance is expected.”
Her expression stated she was trying to envision such an event, then slowly, she shook her head. “I can’t even begin to imagine such a horde.”
Grinning, he nodded. “‘Horde’ is an appropriate word.”
She sighed. “As I’m an only child of two only children, the entire landscape of sibling and cousinly interaction is unknown to me.”
He blinked. “Weren’t there other families your parents were close to while you were growing up?”
She lightly grimaced. “Not really. When I was young, Papa was always busy with his London practice, and Mama wasn’t strong. She stayed in the house, mostly, so I only had nurses and, later, governesses as companions.”
Now it was Toby who couldn’t imagine… He shifted to lean against the edge of the alcove.
“Then,” she went on, “Mama died. I was fifteen at the time, and Papa was so devastated, he decided to travel, and of course, he took me with him. We came to Vienna because of his interest in the medical faculty at the university, and after he helped treat a man who turned out to be connected to the royal family, Papa was suddenly in such demand from other members of the court that one thing led to another, and we stayed.”
“I see.” What Toby was seeing was that she had never had the familial, sibling, and cousinly support that he possessed—that he had taken largely for granted all his life.
She cocked her head and directed a curious and faintly challenging look his way. “In the interests of helping me understand how our three children”—she tipped her head toward their rooms—“might behave in various situations, tell me of the adventures and near-disasters that you remember from your childhood.”
He laughed softly. “There are so many, it’s hard to choose.” He thought for a moment, then offered, “Once, when we were staying with my father’s cousin and his wife in Scotland, five of us went riding in the snow.” He related the tale of how they had unwittingly become trapped on an island in a river, cut off on all sides by a sudden raging torrent. “We were safe enough, but couldn’t get off. When we didn’t return by the time we should have…”
In retelling the story, he relived the moments and felt again the effortless camaraderie that had flowed between him and his siblings and cousins, the unwavering warmth and support that had been his from the moment of his birth. A birthright in the true sense of the word—that sense of safety, of security, of privilege that had always been his.
A gift of Fate he hadn’t fully appreciated until now.
Once she’d finished exclaiming over his first tale, she asked, and he gave her two more stories from his memories. Both evoked the same result, the same reaction in him.
After the third tale left her laughing, he waited, and when she quieted, admitted, “My life has been blessed—I do see that.”
She met his eyes, then nodded. “It has. But I rather think it’s made you into the man you are.”
He thought about that, then inclined his head in acknowledgment. Then he asked, “But what about you? Had circumstances permitted, what are the things you would like to have done and, perhaps, once we reach England, might now pursue?”
A long moment passed before she replied, “I honestly can’t say. During our years in Vienna, I was always busy—supporting my father and helping in the practice. I never stopped to think—” She paused, then amended, “I never gave myself time to think about what my future might hold.” She met his eyes. “The present was always demanding enough.”
A second ticked past as she held his gaze, then she arched her brows. “How would you reply to the same question if I was to pose it to you?”
He blinked, thought, and was shocked to realize the truth. Through the shadows that now enveloped them, he met her gaze and admitted, “My answer would mirror yours. I haven’t stopped to think, and I honestly don’t know.”
That was the truth that had prodded him to leave the room and come out here—that thing he wanted that he couldn’t define. It was an aim, a purpose—an end goal.
They stared at each other through the dimness. Two people, two adults, equally adrift. Fate had thrust them together on this journey, and neither knew where it might end.
As he’d told her of his youthful adventures, she’d relaxed and drawn closer. She stood near enough for their gazes to lock and hold.
Toby was conscious of his pulse accelerating, of the rising impulse to reach for her.
The spell holding them tightened, drew in.
They swayed, just a fraction closer.
Tiny as it was, the movement jerked them both back to full awareness.
