nursery, in spite of Annamarie’s protests, and set the pile of Niall’s letters on its top. His fingers flew across the keys as he started in on one of Greta’s favorite songs. It was happy and light, and he could hear the sound of her and Jessie’s laughter as they danced. Some little girls demanded to be lulled to sleep at night with a story. His girls always wanted a dance.
A breathy sob escaped him as he switched from playing the dance tune to a lullaby. He squeezed his eyes shut, amazed at how much pain missing people could cause. His children had been gone for three weeks, four days, and twelve hours. Niall had been gone for ten years, five months, twelve days, and two hours. He’d sent his plea to Niall twenty days ago, and still he was alone.
“Papa, tell us the story of Siegfried and Greta again,” his own Greta’s voice sounded in his head.
“Greta was a princess,” he said aloud, pivoting on the piano stool.
He ended up facing an empty room. Rows and rows of books stood on the shelves against the far wall. A miniature table and four tiny chairs sat in the center of the room, its child-sized, silver tea set laid out as though the girls would rush in from the adjoining bedroom at any moment. Jessie’s favorite doll sat with her mild, painted-on smile in one of the chairs. Jessie would be beside herself to have left the doll behind. Annamarie should have known better and taken the doll.
Not that Annamarie had ever been interested in the children the way a mother should. She cared enough for Alan, considering he was the heir and her insurance that she would always have a place in society, but the way she ignored the girls was criminal. He was the one who loved them. He was the one who oversaw their lessons and taught them to sing. He was the one who kissed their fevered brows when they were sick, the one whose bedroom they ran to in the middle of the night when they’d had bad dreams. He was the one who took them to every theatrical performance that passed through Leeds and who had promised them that someday he would take them to London, to a real musical. He was the one who—
“Sir?”
Blake gasped and jerked straight, dizzy from failing to breathe as his thoughts ran wild. He blinked rapidly and glanced around, trying to remember where he was and what he’d been doing. Threads of panic wormed their way through him as the reality of his situation came back to him. He was alone. The girls were gone. Niall was gone. Everyone who loved him and whom he loved had been stolen away from him.
“Sir.” Xavier, his valet, cleared his throat and took another step into the room. Deep concern cut lines in the young man’s face.
“Yes. Sorry.” Blake shook his head and stood. He rubbed the heels of his hands against his burning eyes, then scrubbed a hand over his thick beard. Had he forgotten to shave for days again?
“Sir, you really shouldn’t sit up here all alone like this.” Xavier walked deeper into the room, hands clasped behind his back. He was the only one in the household who had leave to address Blake informally, since he was Blake’s valet and closest friend, but even informality seemed formal coming from Xavier. In spite of his unremarkable birth and his employment, Xavier held himself like a king. The image was helped by his patrician good looks, though Blake hardly noticed things like that anymore.
“I came up here to….” Blake let his arms fall to his sides. He couldn’t remember why he’d come to the nursery except that he’d finished his lunch, and coming up to the nursery to see what his children were up to was simply what he did with his afternoons. Or at least what he had done.
“You need to wash and dress.” Xavier lowered his voice to a gentle tone as he crossed to stand by Blake’s side. “It’s been too long.”
“It hasn’t been—” Blake stopped. Truth be told, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a proper bath. There didn’t seem to be any point in it, considering the house was empty and Niall hadn’t responded to his letter yet. Not even a letter of his own or a telegram. The horrible thought struck him that Niall hadn’t been lying. He really wouldn’t ever forgive him.