by Lee Rowan
And Amelia was right. The Honorable Lord Arthur Wilton Archer, Earl of Grenbrook, Viscount Archer, a man well endowed with worldly means and secure in the affection of his devoted wife, a man whom his son had never seen as anything less than formidable… had indeed altered. David’s father was no longer the paterfamilias that he remembered. He was still tall and broad in proportion; his iron-gray hair had lightened a shade closer to silver—but what startled David was the vacancy in his father’s lined and weary face. It was like watching a painting of a fire, instead of the fire itself. The familiar image was there, without warmth or movement. Even his frown seemed more habitual than an expression of real feeling.
“So you’ve come home at last, have you?” was the Earl’s paternal growl as they gathered before dinner.
David inclined his head. “As you see, Father. But you may rest assured I’ll not be here for long. Like the Army, we are waiting to be called back to duty when needed. May I present my friend, Commander William Marshall….” He observed the proper form, and Will expressed the appropriate pleasure in the meeting and was accorded a shake of the hand.
With a little of his usual energy, the Earl said, “Pleased to meet you, sir. Though I must say you’d have done better to finish the job! This country cannot get back to normal until that damned Corsican has been put in his place.”
“I agree, my lord,” Will said. “And there is not a man in the Navy who would argue with you. It’s quite clear that Bonaparte only signed the treaty to give himself time to regroup—a capital mistake, and one that will cost us dearly.”
“Indeed,” the Earl said, with a rare nod of approval.
That hurdle cleared, David allowed himself to breathe again as they proceeded in to the table and took their seats, an uneven arrangement as the ladies outnumbered the gentlemen. Under the circumstances, everyone except for Will being family, it hardly mattered. Will, poor fellow, had Genie at his right hand, but that difficulty was balanced by Amelia at his left. David found himself next to his cousin Jane, with an empty place between himself and Anne.
They might as well have each been dining alone, for all the conversation that took place. Every time someone spoke—Amelia addressing some harmless pleasantry to Will, David attempting to converse with Jane—the Earl glowered at the one who had broken the silence that he maintained from start to finish. It was not inappropriate for a family in mourning to be somewhat subdued, David thought, but this was positively moribund. Surely some consideration should have been due a guest.
Not that he could blame the Earl for his low spirits. From what Amelia had said, Ronald had been making a career of disaster—or, more accurately, doing his best to make a disaster of his military career. There had been two near-scandals that she had not wished to trust to the mail, one of them some dispute over a matter in which Ronald had challenged, shot, and wounded a man whose grievance was never explained but probably had some connection to gambling.
The other issue was far more serious, and as yet unexplained. Ronald’s wife had died abroad, but the family had not been informed of that fact until months after the event, and as far as Amelia knew, no one had any idea what had caused her death. David suspected the prospect of handing the family’s future over to Ronald under these circumstances must be almost as appalling to his father as it was to David himself.
Whatever the cause, a pall hung over the table. Anne eventually seemed to resign herself to the situation and rose; the ladies adjourned with her to the drawing room.
A footman brought the port around. The Earl pondered his glass for a few moments. “God save the King,” he said finally. “That’s what you say in the Navy, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir,” Will answered.
“Well, God save him, then.” He took a drink, stared down into his glass, then said, “You must excuse me,” and simply walked out.
David watched him go in disbelief. He had not expected any particular courtesy for himself, but such a snub to a guest was beyond his experience.
“Now what?” Will asked. “Shall we join your sisters?”
“Yes, of course, though it’s my guess this merry gathering has set the tone for the evening.” He sipped at his port, unable to find any solace in the drink. “This is not like my father at all. He has always been so strong. Amelia was right, Will. This has altered him, and not for the better.”
“I was very young when my mother died,” Will said, “along with the baby she’d just borne, but I remember something my father said then. He told me that losing a child was the worst blow that could befall a man.”
“My mother said something very similar this afternoon. Mark should have buried her, she said, not the other way around.”
Will pushed his glass away, barely touched. “It almost makes me glad I shall never have children.”
Rather than point out that it was never wise to challenge Fate, David changed the subject. “Come, we may as well join the ladies in the drawing room. Anne is very fond of whist and Amelia despises it, so perhaps we can brighten both their lives by allowing Anne to prove her skill against us. I’ll even take Genie as partner, as a kindness to you. She enjoys the status of sitting down to cards with the adults, but she plays the worst game of whist I have ever seen.”
“Worse than your own?” Will shook his head. “Is that possible?”
“For that remark, I leave you to find out for yourself, the hard way.” David finished his drink. “But you have been warned, Captain Marshall. When she is fluttering her lashes in your direction and forgetting the cards in her hand, you’ll have only your wit to blame.”
He led Will off to the drawing room, but the only ladies remaining there were Amelia and Jane. David gave his sister an inquiring look.
“Anne begs your pardon,” she said. “She has been suffering from a miserable headache for some hours, and wished to retire early.”
“And Genie?”
“Anne advised her in the strongest terms to do the same,” Amelia said with a half-smile. “I think she meant it for the best.”
Jane spoke up. “I think she did not believe you could keep your sister’s enthusiasm within the bounds of propriety.”
“Now, that, I can believe,” David said. “Anne takes propriety very seriously. And in this case, that may not be a bad thing. I admit I have found it difficult to grieve—I am still stunned, and some part of me cannot believe that Mark is really dead. But I would have expected Genie to be more affected.”
“It is still new to you,” Amelia said, “and you have only the report of the accident, whereas our experience was much more immediate. The first shock has passed for the rest of us now, and we are trying to adjust to the change in our lives. I assure you, poor Genie wept for days without ceasing. I do appreciate Anne’s wish to help, but I wish she would be more understanding. Genie is such a lively girl—she finds this solemnity hard to bear. She adored Mark, but I think she seeks distraction to ease the pain of our loss.”
Wishing he could seek such a distraction himself, David suggested, “Perhaps we might go for a walk tomorrow, if the weather is fair. Solemnly, if necessary, but I think it would do us all good to get out of the house.”
“Or a ride,” Amelia said. “The ground is too damp for a stroll, but if we drove, we might show Captain Marshall some of the local sights.”
“At this time of year? Not much to—” David broke off, hearing a carriage rattle by the window facing the drive. He almost asked who it might be, but a look at Amelia’s face showed the same apprehension he felt. “Ladies, we have had a long journey, and started quite early this morning. Would you be offended if we all make an early night of it and start fresh tomorrow?”
“Not at all,” she said, rising swiftly. “Jane, shall we go?”
They made a strategic retreat of it rather than a rout, the ladies hurrying down the hall to the left while the men went right. As he followed Will through the door to their rooms, David heard the sound of boots in the hall below, and a clatter,
as if a walking stick had been thrown angrily to the floor.
“Your brother?” Will asked.
“Yes,” David said, turning the key to his room with no concern at all for the possible discourtesy of such an action. “And you may call me a coward if you like, but I would prefer to let that reunion wait until tomorrow.”
DAMN THEIR insolence! Granted, the fatted calf might have been a bit much to expect under the circumstances, but a certain amount of common courtesy was not too much for a man to expect here in the home that would one day be his own. It was probably her fault, Daddy’s little petted darling, too sure of herself by half. Well, that was going to change, and soon, and she had better learn which way the wind was blowing. A woman’s duty was obedience, and if she would not conform herself to that ideal, she could be disposed of. That was easy, disposing of women. And strangely enjoyable.
Chapter 5
WILL WOKE to utter darkness, in a bed that was far too large and was not swinging with a ship’s movement. There was no Davy beside him either, which he would normally expect when sleeping ashore. He lay quiet for a moment as memory supplied the reason for these deficiencies, then sat up and reached out to where he believed the bed-curtains to be. The room was dark as well, but a little moonlight seeped in through the drapes at the window, and his eyes were used to making do with starlight. It felt late—somewhere in the middle watch, with hours left till dawn. What had wakened him?
A sound came again, a faint hint of movement from the direction of Davy’s room. Uneasy at his lover’s peculiar mood, he had not closed the dressing-room door, though it seemed absurd to behave as though they were in enemy territory.
He got out of bed, pulling on the dressing-gown that had been left on a nearby chair, and gratefully donning slippers that some unseen servant had provided while the family was at dinner. With as little noise as possible, Will slipped through the small room and hesitated. In all likelihood, Davy had only turned over in his sleep. He could simply look in and assure himself all was well.
But Davy was not sleeping. He stood at the window, bathed in silver light, gazing out into the predawn darkness. “Hello, Will,” he said, very quietly. “Sorry I woke you—I was trying to find my watch, to see what time it was. It’s nearly six bells.”
That was three in the morning, landlubber’s time. Will had become accustomed to ordinary timekeeping in his months ashore, but he had quickly reverted to sleeping in four-hour watches aboard the Mermaid. At this moment, especially in the night chill, he did not feel inclined to go back to bed. He joined Davy at the window, standing close but restraining the impulse to put an arm around him. “When will we be awakened in the morning?” he asked. “That is, I assume someone will do so?”
“Yes, one of the maids will bring chocolate at eight,” Davy said. “I remember you enjoyed that in Kingston and asked them to bring chocolate instead of coffee.”
“Thank you.” They had gone immediately to bed after Ronald’s arrival to discourage any late-night visitation, and Will had been left with several unanswered questions. But Davy seemed to be in a sober mood, and Will did not want to burden him with chatter.
After a moment, Davy let the curtain fall back. “I wish we had stayed away,” he said, then shook his head. “No, that’s not true. I must be here. But from what Amelia has told me….” He glanced at the door. “Will, I shall have to ask you to trust me.”
Why did he have to ask? “I do, Davy. You know that!”
Davy’s face was shadowed. “To trust me, no matter what the future brings. I fear that within a few days’ time, you may think I’m going mad. I wonder myself, for I have suspicions but no proof. Come with me.”
Moving noiselessly, he led Will back to the small chamber between their apartments, a space that might be occupied by a lady’s maid or a nurse to an invalid. It was close and dark, and Will was mightily tempted. “Davy….”
“There’s no chance anyone might overhear us now,” Davy said, and pulled Will down into a kiss, sweet but brief. Only a single kiss, and a lingering embrace that held more tension than passion.
“What is troubling you?” Will asked. “Is there anything I might do to help?”
Davy’s breath was warm against his neck. “No, not yet. This is something so serious I dare not suggest it, even to you, until I have some basis for my suspicions. But, Will, I thank God you’re here with me, because there is no one else I could trust to guard my back.”
They stood there for a while, enjoying the closeness even though they dared attempt no more. Finally Davy drew back with a strained laugh. “I daresay I’ll tell you to forget this in the morning,” he said. “My mother would say I need a good night’s sleep, and no doubt she’d be correct. Pleasant dreams, Will.”
After one more chaste kiss, they returned to their separate beds.
THE ACTUAL meeting with Ronald, the following morning, was put off once again. Davy came into Will’s chamber with his own cup of chocolate, and they dawdled through their morning toilette, glad of the hot water but dismissing the offer of a shave from the late Viscount’s valet, James. Davy made no mention of his worries of the night before, instead chatting lightly of what they might do during the day, which had dawned chilly but fair. Will expressed a strong preference for a walk rather than a ride, but they agreed to let the ladies have the last word on that matter.
At last, wearing their everyday uniforms, they made their way down to the dining room, where Lady Amelia and Miss Winston were enjoying a cup of tea following their meal. The footman minding the buffet invited Lieutenant Archer and his guest to sample baked eggs with a new cheese sauce Cook had concocted.
“Have you tried it yourself, Gavin?” Davy demanded of the footman.
“Oh, certainly, sir. You know she would never feed anything to the Family until she’d got it just so.”
“Of course,” he said with a smile. “I’d forgotten. I see you survived in fine fettle too. Game, Will?”
“Certainly, thank you.” Will was fond of eggs in almost any form and perfectly willing to eat whatever was set before him. He was pleased to see the dish was accompanied not only by cheese sauce, but ham, sausage, warm poppy-seed cake, and three kinds of jam.
They settled down beside the ladies, and Will applied himself to the eggs, which were surpassingly delicious, while Davy divided his attention between his relatives and his breakfast.
“How are the parents?” he asked. “And where are our sisters?”
“Mother is still asleep, and Anne has not come down as yet. Poor Genie awoke with a sore throat, and Nurse decreed she must spend the day in bed. But Father was up early. He summoned Ronald to break his fast with him, and then took him out to see Thomas Legge.”
“The estate manager,” Davy explained to Will. “My father employs one, of course, though he generally keeps poor Legge on a short leash. In practice he’s more an overseer than a manager—Father himself makes all but the most minor decisions.”
“That had begun to change,” Lady Amelia said. “Father gave over the Four-acre Field to Mark, to try some experimental planting.”
Davy set down his fork. “He gave over control? You cannot mean that!”
Both ladies nodded. “It’s true, Cousin,” Jane said. “Hard as it was for him to stand back, he said that if Mark meant to be head of the family one day, he would have to make his own mistakes. And he was very proud to see the progress your brother made.”
“You know his way,” Lady Amelia added. “Never to say a kind word to our faces, but heap praise upon us when others are in earshot.”
“Or not, as the case may be,” Davy said dryly. “I suppose I should pity poor Ronald. He’ll be happy to be called Viscount, but the only thing that interests him about the land is knowing what game it provides him for hunting.”
“Truly, you should have a little sympathy,” Jane said, assuming a look of piety. “Most men hereabouts prefer hunting to farming.”
Davy shook his head in mock sorrow. �
�Alas, I cannot. Most men prefer play to work, but they also know which is a necessity and which a luxury.” He polished off his toast and jam, and looked across to Will. “We spoke of an outing today. Would that suit you, O Honored Guest?”
“Whatever pleases the ladies,” Will said diplomatically. “But I must warn you all, if we are on horseback and come to a hedge, you will have to wait for me to ride around it. I can hand, reef, and steer a ship, but I cannot steer a horse very well, much less stay aboard when it jumps, and I doubt I should fall gracefully.”
“It’s cruel of you to deprive of us of the chance for such a sight. Amelia?”
“Jane is too polite to say she would like to ride,” Lady Amelia said with a sidelong look at her cousin, “but I can handle the gig, if you would ride with her.”
For the first time since they’d arrived, Davy brightened. “I will, with pleasure,” he said. “How is Dancer? He must be nearly nine now, but—” He caught a look that passed between the ladies, and his face fell. “What happened?”
“He is alive and well,” Lady Amelia said. “And he is at Patterson Hall.”
“Why?”
She sighed and signaled to Gavin, still on duty at the sideboard in case one of them should require another morsel. After asking him to have a fresh pot of coffee brought for the gentlemen and waiting until he’d gone, she said, “Ronald, of course. He was home on leave, visiting at the Hall, and there was a card game. He was losing heavily, and he… bet the horse he’d ridden over on.”
“My horse,” Davy said shortly. “Not father’s, but mine, the only animal here that was my own.” He glanced at Will. “It seems petty, I suppose, but Dancer was born here; he was a birthday gift from my parents. I trained him myself, and I had my father’s word that he would not be sold without my permission.”
