Silverbridge by Joan Wolf Page B

have brandy, Harry.”
    The earl’s brows drew together as he regarded his young sister. Her returning blue stare was wide and innocent. After a moment, he shooed Ebony off his lap, stood up, went over to a beautiful cabinet of inlaid satin-wood, took a key from his pocket, and bent to open the cabinet door. As he poured the wine and the brandy, Tracy’s eyes moved irresistibly to the large oil painting that hung on the long wall between two windows. She got to her feet and went closer to examine it.
    She was still standing there when Harry joined her, a glass of sherry in his hand. “I see you have found another of our family portraits, Miss Collins.”
    “Yes.” She was looking at the full-length portraits of two teenage blond boys, with a sleek greyhound between them. The background scene was recognizably the lawn at Silverbridge.
    “ Those are Charles’s two sons,” her host informed her. “The one on the left, William, was actually the earl at the time the picture was done.”
    Tracy was acutely conscious of him next to her and stepped closer to the portrait to put more space between them. She gazed earnestly at the tall, slender, b l ue-eyed youngster who stood to the left of his brown-eyed brother.
    From behind them, Jon said, “He seems rather young to be an earl.”
    “Yes.” Lord Silverbridge turned to answer Jon. “His father was killed in a hunting accident when he was only thirty-four.”
    A stab of wild grief pierced through Tracy, totally surprising her. She closed her hands into fists and willed herself not to cry out.
    What is the matter with me? she thought, half in anger and half in fear, as she stood, rigid and breathless in front of the portrait of Charles’s sons.
    Lord Silverbridge continued speaking to Jon. “Charles Oliver was the earl who lived here during the period you are supposedly filming. Miss Collins was curious about him, so I showed her a portrait I have in my office.”
    Before Jon could reply, Meg complained, “You hardly gave me any brandy, Harry.”
    “I gave you enough,” he returned evenly. “You don’t have the body weight to tolerate any more.”
    Tracy forced herself to turn away from what had become a blurry picture, blinked hard twice, and faced the group behind her. She breathed slowly in and out, unnerved by her emotional reaction to Charles’s death.
    Jon was still sitting on the sofa, holding an almost- finished glass of sherry; Harry was standing four feet from her, holding a full glass; and Meg was sitting on the edge of another sofa, her glass empty.
    “You always blame everything on my being too thin,” she said, her face flushed with anger. “You’re al ways after me to eat and drink something disgusting. I should think you would be pleased to see me ask for more.”
    “Not for more brandy,” he replied crisply. “Your body is already stressed enough; you don’t need to be adding stimulants to it.”
    With quiet intensity, Meg said, “I hate you,” jumped up from the sofa, and ran out of the room.
    An embarrassed silence fell on the three left behind. Then Tracy said, “I believe I will follow Meg, if not in quite so dramatic a fashion. It was a long day and a long night.”
    Jon put down his half-finished sherry. “I’m tired as well,” he said, and he and Tracy said good night and left the room.
    “Perhaps we could have dinner together tomorrow night,” Jon said, as they walked together down the corridor.
    “I don’t think it would be a good idea. Did you see that picture of us in the afternoon paper?”
    “Yes. I didn’t think it was so terrible. Even without makeup, you looked beautiful.”
    Tracy was annoyed. “That’s not what I meant. Now there is going to be all sorts of speculation about you and me. If we’re seen having dinner together, it will only fuel the fire.”
    “Would it be so very dreadful to have your name linked with mine?” he asked gently.
    She sighed. “I don’t know. Let me think about it,