by Aston, Alexa
He knew there was much more to the story and hoped one day his friend would share it with him.
“Will you write to me?”
Rhys looked at him as if he’d gone mad. “You really want to hear about . . . this?” He raised his arms and gestured to the hundreds of soldiers around them.
“I want to hear from you,” he emphasized. “And I will write in return. No one knows me as you do, my friend. I will need a sounding board.”
Laughing, Rhys said, “I am probably the last person who should render advice to you.”
Dez also laughed. “I am most likely the last person who would take it.” He grew serious. “I will miss you. Other than Dalinda, I have never been so close to anyone.”
A moment passed between them and then Rhys said, “If this bloody war ever ends, I will come and look you up. That’s a promise.”
He sighed. “I suppose I should go and speak to someone about selling out.”
By morning, Dez had made the necessary arrangements and had officially resigned his commission from His Majesty’s Army. He said goodbye to Rhys and caught a ride on a farmer’s cart to the nearest town, where he bought a shirt, pants, and a coat. None of them was fashionable but they weren’t clothing that reminded him of the army. He was ready to disassociate himself with everything remotely involved with soldiering although he did carry an order that would see him on a ship and safely back to England.
The next day, he boarded the vessel and looked ahead, never once glancing back at Spain.
Chapter Six
Gillingham
Dez passed through the village of Gillbrook and rode the two miles to Gillingham, home to the Duke and Duchess of Gilford. He had arrived safely back in England and before traveling to Surrey, he had detoured to Kent in order to see his twin, the other half to himself. He would say the other half of his soul but after all these years, that still belonged to Anna, along with his heart. As the new Earl of Torrington, however, it would be his duty to provide an heir. He wondered if it might be better for his older nephew to take the title instead. It would be something he asked the mysterious and yet pragmatic Mr. Capshaw when they met in person. If Dalinda’s boy could serve as his heir, Dez would never have any need to marry. He thought that might be for the best because he would make for a terrible husband. He saw no need to put some poor woman through a marriage with him when he still ached for the dead girl he would always love.
He rode directly to the stables, where a groom took his horse, and he was shown toward the house. Dez knocked on the front door and was greeted by the butler.
“I have no calling card,” he revealed, “since I have just returned from Spain. I am Lord Torrington, brother to Her Grace.”
The butler’s brows rose a good inch. “Yes, my lord. Do come in.” The servant opened the door wider and stepped aside so Dez could enter.
Immediately, he saw the grandeur of the foyer and was pleased Dalinda had done well for herself. She had written to him of their father’s scheme to wed her off to a much older man and how the Duke of Gilford, a complete stranger, had come to her rescue. Her letters seemed to show she was happy in the match although the duke’s health had suffered in recent years.
“Allow me to escort you to the drawing room, my lord,” the butler said.
Dez was led to the destination, taking in all the magnificent art and sculptures in the corridor before they even reached the drawing room.
“I will let Her Grace know you are here, my lord. Might you be staying the night—or longer?”
It was already mid-afternoon. Remaining at Gillingham overnight would make sense.
“Yes, I will stay this evening and leave early tomorrow morning.”
“Very well, my lord. I will let Mrs. Paul, our housekeeper, know. And I am Bellows. If you need anything, I will tend to it.”
“Thank you, Bellows.”
The butler left and Dez began idly roaming the room. He caught movement from the corners of his eyes as the door swung open quietly and two shapes scurried in, hiding behind a settee. It had to be his nephews, boys whom he had never met and yet knew so much about, thanks to his twin’s letters over the years.
A giggle sounded and one boy shushed the other.
He bit back a smile and said, “I have been in the military since I was eighteen years of age. I know when someone tries to sneak up on me, be they friend or foe.”
Two heads popped up and the taller boy, who must be Arthur, punched Harry, his younger brother, in the shoulder.
“I told you to be quiet,” he chided.
“Harry didn’t give you away,” Dez revealed. “I noticed you come in.”
“How?” Arthur demanded.
“I told you. My experience in the military.”
“Who are you?” Harry asked. “How do you know my name?”
He smiled. “I know quite about the two of you from your mother.”
Harry’s face lit in a smile. “You’re Uncle Dez.”
He nodded and the boy raced from behind the settee, flinging himself at Dez. He caught up his nephew and gave him a sound kiss on the cheek.
Harry frowned and wiped his face with the back of his hand. “I don’t want to be kissed,” he announced.
Dalinda had written that of the two, Harry was still affectionate with her, while Arthur stretched the boundaries of independence. It seemed the younger boy might be taking his cues from the older one.
Dez released Harry and said, “Come and greet your old uncle, Arthur.”
Arthur stepped toward him and bowed. Offering his hand, Dez shook it—and then grabbed him and kissed him as he had Harry. Arthur squirmed and wriggled from his grasp.
“Are you really our uncle Dez?” he demanded.
“The very one.”
Arthur turned to Harry. “He’s the brother Mama likes. It’s the other one who was mean to her.”
He wondered at Dalinda’s indiscretion, revealing old family secrets to her sons.
Harry nodded. “I remember. Mama told Papa about the mean one that time in the garden.” He looked to Dez. “We aren’t supposed to listen in when others are talking but sometimes that’s the only way Arthur and I learn anything.”
Dez couldn’t help but laugh. “That is called eavesdropping. It’s rude—but something your mama and I did when we were your age. It is a good way to find out the interesting things adults try to keep from children.”
“That uncle is dead. Ham, Mama calls him,” Arthur said. “Though why anyone would want to be named after meat is ridiculous.”
“It was our nickname for him. Which he hated.”
The boys giggled.
“His name was Hamilton. My name is Desmond but I have always gone by Dez.”
“Do you like us, Uncle Dez?” Harry asked.
“Of course, I do. You are family.”
“But why didn’t Ham like you and Mama?” the boy pressed.
He took a deep breath. “Sometimes, a person is not very nice.”
“Uncle Ham was an earl,” Arthur said helpfully.
Dez nodded in agreement. “Even then, not all earls are good. Just because a man holds a title doesn’t mean he is good.”
“Papa is very good,” Harry said. “He’s a duke. But Arthur and I won’t have titles. Mama says that Reid is the next duke.”
“Title or no title, I hope you are the best boys you can be and grow into the best men you can be.”
The pair exchanged a guilty glance.
Before Dez could ask what was wrong, Dalinda sailed into the room. “Dez!”
As he went to meet her, he couldn’t help but think what a beauty his sister had grown into. She had always been a pretty girl but now she had a maturity and air of authority about her. Being a duchess and giving birth must have added to her bearing. He embraced her, inhaling the scent of roses.
“You look wonderful,” he told her as he released her but took her hands in his, happy they had finally reunited after so many years apart.
Dez didn’t want to reveal in front of his impressionable nephews that he had thrown it in a garbage bin.
“Now that I have left the army, I had to leave my uniform behind. I bought these clothes.”
Dalinda eyed him, frowning, and then he saw she realized the truth. “Well, you must certainly see a tailor soon. No one would guess you are an earl.”
The door opened and a servant rushed in, the color high on her cheeks. “Oh, Your Grace, I am so sorry. I lost track of the little lords.”
“That’s quite all right. My boys have just met their uncle.” She looked at her sons. “It is time for your riding lesson.”
“Can Uncle Dez come with us?” Harry asked hopefully.
“Not this time,” she said. “You have gotten to visit with him. It is my turn now.”
“You won’t leave without saying goodbye, will you?” Arthur demanded.
“No. I promise to see you after your ride. I will depart for Torville Manor after breakfast tomorrow. Perhaps we could share that meal together.”
“In the schoolroom?” Harry asked, his eyes growing wide. “That’s where we eat each morning.”
“Then I will join you there,” he assured them.
“Go along,” Dalinda urged.
Harry gave Dez another hug while Arthur merely nodded at him. After they left, Dalinda said, “They are a whirlwind.”
“Shouldn’t they be in school?” he asked.
“They are . . . between schools at the moment,” she said. “We have so much to talk about. And you are staying overnight?”
“Yes, Bellows suggested it.”
“Bellows is most efficient,” she said. “For now, I would like you to come and meet Gilford.”
“Is he up to it? I know you have mentioned he has been in ill health.”
Dalinda slipped her arm through his and led him from the room. “He will never be strong again. He has had two heart attacks. The doctor said a third would kill him. Because of that, he spends most of his time in his rooms. That’s where I was when you arrived. He is eager to meet you, though.”
As they went down the corridor, Dez asked, “Have you been happy with him?”
“Gilford saved me,” she said. “Plain and simple. He was a good husband to me in our first years together. He taught me so much, about art and politics and farming. He was a good father to the boys, as well. Those years will always be special to me.
“Now, though, is my time to take care of him as he did me. We live a quiet life at Gillingham. We read together. Sit in our garden. I play the pianoforte for him.” She sighed. “I am content, Dez. I live a peaceful life. One of my own choosing.”
“Not the man Father would have bound you to.”
“Exactly.”
“Did you go to Ham’s funeral? And when did he wed?”
“No, I didn’t go. I received word of his death in a terse note from a Mr. Capshaw.”
“He was brief with me, as well. Said Lord and Lady Torrington had drowned but gave no context as to the circumstances.”
Dalinda halted. “I know what happened. Do you remember our housekeeper at Torville Manor? Mrs. Abbott and I correspond monthly. I tell her about Arthur and Harry and she writes to me of news regarding the estate. Ham wed his wife last September, at the end of the Season. His bride had just made her come-out. I suppose at thirty-four, he had finally decided he should take a wife. Not that Mrs. Abbott ever said anything, but from what I glean from the gossip columns in the London newspapers that we receive at times, Ham was a terrible rake. Chasing married and unmarried women alike. Drinking. Gambling. Supposedly, his bride brought an enormous dowry with her.”
“I wonder if any of it is left,” he mused.
“I would think so.” She hesitated and then said, “As for their deaths, they drown . . . in the lake between our property and Viscount Shelton’s land.”
A fresh stab of pain hit him. How ironic to have lost Anna and his brother in the same place.
“Do you know anything about how it occurred? Especially with both of them.”
“From what Mrs. Abbott revealed, Lady Torrington was fearful of water. Ham—who was already deep in his cups by early afternoon—insisted he take her rowing on the lake. Apparently, the boat capsized. Though the water isn’t terribly deep, Ham would have been too drunk to swim to shore and his wife did not know how to swim at all.”
Dez shook his head. “What a tragedy. That poor young woman.”
Dalinda pulled him along again. “There is nothing we can do about it. They are gone—and you are now Torrington. Oh, I am so glad you stopped at Gillingham before you traveled home.”
“I had to see you. I wanted to meet your boys and the duke. If you don’t mind, I would like Arthur and Harry to come spend a couple of weeks with me each summer. I’d like to get to know them better.”
He thought especially if Arthur were to be his heir, it would be good for the boy to be familiar with the estate.
“That would be marvelous, Dez.”
She paused. “These are Gilford’s rooms.” Opening the door, she motioned him in and followed. They entered a sitting room and he spied a tall, gaunt man gazing out the window, gripping a chair. He wore a silk banyan and had dark brown hair peppered with gray.
He turned and smiled. Dez could see the kindness in the duke’s eyes.
Stepping forward, he bowed and said, “Good afternoon, Your Grace. I am Lord Torrington, Dalinda’s brother.”
Gilford took his hand and Dez thought the handshake stronger than he would have imagined from one so frail.
“I am delighted to meet you, Torrington,” the duke said, his eyes twinkling. “My wife speaks very highly of you. She reads your letters aloud to me.”
Dez understood why Dalinda had an immediate kinship with the duke. “She has praised you as well, Your Grace.”
“Why don’t we sit?” Dalinda suggested and helped ease her husband into the chair.
They spoke several minutes, the duke reminiscing about how he and Dalinda had met, and then she suggested the two men play a game of chess.
“I’ll fetch the board,” she offered and crossed the room, bringing it back.
He saw the pieces already in place. “I haven’t played in a good number of years.”
Gilford’s eyes lit up. “All the better for me to beat you.”
They played for half an hour and seemed evenly matched. Then Dez saw the duke tiring and decided to make an ill-advised move. Gilford pounced upon him and, five minutes later, the duke emerged as the game’s victor.
“You are out of practice to make such a novice mistake,” Gilford said as Dalinda swept the board away.
Dez realized the duke knew exactly what he had done. “Perhaps I will win the next time we play, Your Grace.”
“I’ll hold you to a rematch,” Gilford said, wincing.
“You are tired,” Dalinda proclaimed. “You need to get some rest.”
He helped his sister escort the duke into his bedchamber and the two of them got Gilford settled. He was fast asleep before they even left the room.
“Thank you for playing with him—and letting him win,” she said gratefully. “I have longed for you to meet one another for many years.”
“I see why you like him. He’s very sharp. Kind.”
“And a bit impulsive,” she said, laughing. “After all, he offered for me only minutes after we met.”
They enjoyed tea together, their conversation never ceasing. He talked a bit about the army and his relief that the war was behind him. He mentioned Rhys and regretting that he left his dear friend behind.
“I think you would like him, Dalinda.”
“If he is your friend, of course I would. It is interesting that he had a benefactor purchase his commission and that he might one day become an earl, the same as you.”
“We will have to see what the future holds.”
Da
linda went to read with the boys afterward while Dez took a much-needed bath. The twins dined together and talked until midnight before parting for the evening.
The next morning, Dez joined his nephews for breakfast.
“Good morning, boys,” he called cheerfully as he entered the breakfast room, finding Dalinda had yet to arrive.
They both murmured a greeting but Harry kept his eyes on his plate, his lips twitching in amusement. Arthur boldly looked Dez in the eyes. Dez could tell from their behavior that something was afoot. His sister had written about the trouble these two could get in to and Dez sensed he was about to be the victim of some boyhood prank. Arthur had to be the mastermind, acting cool and confident, while Harry wriggled in his seat, toying with his food, surreptitiously eyeing Dez.
“Do you like to drink tea or coffee with your breakfast, Uncle Dez?” Arthur asked innocently.
“I generally like both.” He paused. “Perhaps I should drink a cup of milk this morning as you boys are doing.”
Harry’s head popped up, his jaw falling open. Arthur took his uncle’s words in stride, however, and was obviously the instigator of what was to come.
“You don’t have to do that, Uncle Dez,” Arthur said. “Why, I cannot wait to be old enough to be allowed to drink coffee.”
“Then coffee it is,” Dez proclaimed. “For both of us,” he told the footman, who approached with a coffeepot. “Bring a cup and saucer for my older nephew,” he instructed the footman, who poured the hot brew into Dez’s cup. “It’s about time he tried some.”
“Really?” Arthur asked, intrigued by the thought of drinking coffee. “Mama wouldn’t approve. She’s says a man shouldn’t drink coffee until he is old enough to shave.”
“Then you better finish it before she arrives,” Dez advised sagely.
A cup was placed before Arthur and he sat up straighter. The footman poured coffee into it, the rich smell inviting. Coffee, real coffee, was something Dez had missed during his time at war.
“Coffee is better with a bit of sugar and cream in it,” he advised.
Harry’s hand went to his mouth, trying to hide a smile, letting Dez know that something had been placed in the sugar or cream—or both.
