Now, for whatever reason, Giles wanted to break the silence and drag them both into the abyss. And if that happened, the bonds between them might fracture beyond any hope of repair.
Praying that Giles would be willing to return to safe ground, Robin said mildly, "Much of what I did was tedious beyond belief, with not a trace of heroism in sight. Of course there was always the risk that I would ran out of luck, but I did my best to ensure that if anything happened to me, word would be sent to Wolverhampton as soon as possible."
"How thoughtful," Giles said with heavy sarcasm. "I'm sure that if I'd known that, it would have made a great difference."
Robin felt a familiar prickle of rebellion. "Is this about the fact that I was insufficiently deferential to the head of the family? I barely tolerated that from Father, and I will certainly not tolerate it from you."
"I'm talking about simple courtesy," Giles retorted. "You were constantly sending information to England, yet a letter a year seemed to be the best you could manage for your family."
Robin's eyes narrowed. "What was there to say? 'I've been lying, stealing, and occasionally killing. When I'm not busy with villainy, I live with a woman who has too much sense to marry me. I'm not dead yet. I hope you are well and the crops are prospering this year. Respectfully yours, Robert.' "
The effect of his words was explosive. Giles swung around, his rage showing in every line of his body. "Are you implying that I'm a coward? God knows that it wasn't my choice to stay safely at Wolverhampton. I would have given everything I owned to go into the army after I left Oxford."
The irrational intensity of his reaction was shocking. Realizing that he had inadvertently triggered a profound and painful regret in his brother, Robin replied, "I know perfectly well you're no coward. Frankly, staying under the same roof with Father took more courage than I've ever had."
Unmollified, Giles growled, "Someone had to take the family responsibilities seriously, and it certainly wasn't going to be you. You were too busy seeing the world and risking your life."
Beginning to feel anger of his own, Robin said sharply, "I had no family responsibilities-I barely had a place at the table. I wasn't the favored son, and my existence or lack of it never made a damned bit of difference at Wolverhampton. I always assumed that staying the hell out of England was the best thing I could do for the noble name of Andreville."
"Don't be childish," Giles snapped. "I was the heir, so of course Father spent more time with me, but he treated you fairly. He was downright generous, considering that your behavior was enough to try the patience of a saint."
"Ah, yes, our generous, fairminded father," Robin said bitterly. "You were never around when he grabbed me and stared at my face as if he couldn't believe he had been so unlucky as to have me for a son. Only once did he actually say it was my fault she died-that he wished to God it had been her who survived, not me-but the thought was always in his eyes. Always."
There it finally was, almost palpable with pain: the memory of the woman whose death had ripped the heart out of a family.
Incredulous, Giles said, "Father actually said that to you?"
"Yes." Robin glared at his brother, so angry that he spat out what he had tried never to think. "You never said it aloud, but I always knew you felt the same way."
For the space of three heartbeats, there was silence. Then Giles asked, "Whatever gave you that idea?"
"Do I have to spell it out?" Robin said tightly. "She was your mother, his wife. You were five years old and adored her, a feeling that was entirely mutual. Every day she came to the nursery to read stories and sing songs to you. I understand that she even taught you to read."
Face ashen, Giles whispered, "How could you know that?"
"I learned it from the servants. Never having had a mother, naturally I was curious about what I was missing. It was my first exercise in information gathering. She was a legend in the servants' hall, you know, because her behavior was so unlike what they expected of a marchioness." Robin closed his eyes, fighting back a fresh wave of the desolation that had permeated his childhood. "God, how I envied you for having her, even if it was only for five years. In your place, I would have arranged a lethal accident for the brat who had killed my mother."
"Bloody hell, Robin, I never felt like that," Giles exclaimed. "Of course I mourned-losing her was the single worst event of my life. But I never blamed you for the fact that she died and you didn't."
"Father did. And he never let me forget it."
Giles turned back to the garden, his broad shoulders rigid. "When a woman dies in childbirth, most surviving family members accept it as the will of God. A few, like Father, blame the child. Others are like me. They… they cherish the baby who survived because it is all they have left of the woman who died."
Robin's voice softened. "You did that well. It made the guilt worse. I was responsible for your mother's death, yet you were always so patient with me."
Giles made an impatient gesture. "Stop talking as if you committed murder. Mama loved babies-I know that she miscarried at least twice between my birth and yours, possibly more than that. She was delighted when her pregnancy was advanced enough to make it likely to be successful. She used to tell me about the new brother or sister I would have, and how I must watch out for you." His voice caught. "I've wondered if she suspected that she would not survive. Her health had always been delicate, and she had to have known that continued pregnancies were dangerous. Yet I'm willing to swear that she was facing the risk willingly. Did your informants tell you that?"
"I never asked about the events surrounding her death. I… I didn't want to know more."
Giles sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "You were several weeks early and not expected to live. After she died, Father locked himself away and wouldn't speak to anyone. The household was in chaos. I heard one of the maids say that you would die without a wet nurse, so I rode my pony into the village. The miller's wife had just lost a baby a few days after birth, so I went to her house and practically dragged her back to Wolverhampton. I insisted that your crib be put in my room, so I could listen during the night and be sure you were still breathing."
Robin stared at him, his chest constricted. "I never knew that."
"It's hardly to be expected that you would-you weren't much bigger than a loaf of bread at the time." Giles made an obvious effort to master his emotions. "You were so like Mama-not just your appearance, but your quick tongue and your charm. Your precocity delighted everyone who met you even when you were behaving like a limb of Satan. I resented the way you got away with tricks that I would have been whipped for."
"Since Father despised me whatever I did, I decided to give him good cause," Robin said dryly. "I was a damned sight better at being outrageous than I ever was at obedience."
Giles shrugged. "Obedience is overrated. Father found my abilities useful, but no matter how hard I tried, I never seemed to be quite good enough."
Beginning to understand what this conversation was really about, Robin asked quietly, "Why are we talking about this after so many years? What do you want of me?"
Giles stared at his large capable hands, looking oddly vulnerable. Beyond the garden walls, a carriage rumbled along the Mayfair cobblestones.
After a very long silence, he said in a voice that was almost inaudible, "It sounds so childish. I suppose what I really want to know is that… that I matter to you. You're the only close family I have. I tried to be a good brother, but because you always went your own way, no matter what the cost, I wasn't usually in a position to help you. Not with Father, not at school, and certainly not when you decided at a ridiculously young age to enter one of the most dangerous trades on earth."