On the way down the hill, Phillip spoke to Jamie about what he referred to as “the trouble with our eyes.”
“Mr. Sedgwick and Ned are always saying I’m not stupid, but that’s what they would say. You’re not stupid, though,” Jamie said, as if that settled the matter.
They talked about letters that did not behave as they ought, and instead crawled around the page, and in general both seemed quite delighted to have someone to talk to about their predicament. Ben tried to fall back, to give them some privacy, but each time he was beckoned closer, either by Phillip or Jamie or both.
Once, Phillip slid his hand through Ben’s arm, and they walked that way for several minutes, side by side, along a path Ben had walked hundreds of times. The setting sun filtered through leaf-heavy treetops, casting glinting, dappled light over everything before them.
There was a general air of rejoicing at Jamie’s safe return, and the prodigal son recounted the rather tame tale of his afternoon adventure. Peggy was quite put out, Ned exasperated, and Phillip rather too softhearted to send them all to bed at the proper hour. Even after Hartley had driven Alice back to the village, even after Mr. Walsh and Mrs. Howard had gone to bed, the children were treated with warm milk and anise biscuits in the nursery.
“Even odds Peggy turns up at your father’s house within the fortnight demanding her own jar of jam,” Phillip whispered.
They were sitting on the floor outside the nursery door, partly in an attempt to foil any attempted escapes, and partly because they had both more or less collapsed from exhaustion.
“Once rumor gets out that he has sweets and doesn’t make one do lessons, I daresay he’ll be overrun with urchins,” Ben said dryly. “The only question is whether he’ll even notice.”
“I’d venture Mrs. Winston will.” Phillip nudged Ben’s shoulder with his own.
After his initial surprise, Ben decided that the most remarkable aspect of his father’s connection with Mrs. Winston was the fact that he was bothering to marry her at all. But he knew that was unfair—his father had married his mother, and the only reason he hadn’t married Will’s mother was that it wouldn’t have been possible. Now that Ben knew something of love that didn’t align with other people’s expectations, he felt less inclined to judge his father. “I wish them happy. Mrs. Winston is practical and won’t let him spend all his money on brandy and calf-bound volumes of Greek poetry. And however negligent a father he was to me and my brothers, Mrs. Winston must be past the age where one has to worry about that.”
Phillip moved his hand so it rested on top of Ben’s. “You must have thought me a thoroughgoing bastard to leave my children the way I did.”
Honestly, yes. He had, at first. But not anymore. “I think you’re a fine father and a fine man. And I’m very glad you’re not leaving.”
Phillip laced his fingers through Ben’s. “Will you stay? Here, with me? With us?”
“In what capacity? A tutor?” That wasn’t what he wanted to do with his life. Ben couldn’t sit idly in a comfortable house while there was work do be done, people to be helped.
“In any capacity you want.”
“I can’t do that. I can’t live off your money and not have any vocation or purpose. Don’t you see? That’s almost exactly how I grew up. Only even my father has a purpose.”
“You have a purpose. Money doesn’t need to enter into it. I’m suggesting that you live here, or in one of the cottages nearby, because you very shortly will have no income and no house and I have a bit of extra space and the means to help. And I want to keep you near.”
Ben wanted to say yes. It would be so easy to say yes. “It’s not that simple.”
“It’s exactly that simple. My God, how often in life do you actually get what you want? Not bloody often. And don’t even try to tell me that you don’t want to stay with me. I can tell you do.”
“I do. Of course I do,” Ben said quickly. But over the last few weeks he had let go of everything he had set store by: vocation, marriage, family. The ability to stand on his own two feet was the only thing he had left. All these years he had thought he was earning his own living, but it turned out he only had that living because of Hartley. He couldn’t erase that, but he could make sure that in the future he only took what he had earned. “But I can’t.”
“I want to be with you, and I don’t care how. The details don’t matter to me.”
“They matter to me, Phillip. All I’ve ever wanted is something like a normal life. A house. A family. A way to put food on the table and clothes on my back.”
“I’m offering you a house and a family. Don’t you see?”
Ben didn’t know how to go about explaining to Phillip, a man who had always had a place that was his, even if he chose to stay far away from it. “You’re offering to let me be a permanent guest in your house. That’s different.”
“That’s not—” Phillip broke off in a sigh.
“If I married Mrs. Howard, you wouldn’t look down on her for moving into my house and eating my bread and cheese. If you had married Miss Crawford, you would have provided for her as a matter of course. Why can’t you let me do the same for you? It’s the only way I can think of for us to be together.”
Ben buried his head in his hands. “I don’t know.”
“I love you, damn it, and why can’t that be reason enough to let me do this for you?”
Ben turned his head to face Phillip, his cheek resting on his knee. “I love you. Of course I do.” Phillip brushed a strand of hair off Ben’s forehead.
They sat in silence. There had long since stopped being any sounds from the nursery. The children were out, and the summer sun was finally setting.
“What are you going to do, then?” Phillip asked.
“The bishop will have gotten my letter of resignation by now. So, I suppose I’ll pack my trunk and . . . Well, I suppose I will have to stay here a while.” He hadn’t anywhere else to go. Drifting. Coasting. Hanging on the coattails of wealthier people who had taken a fancy to him. He was no better than his father, and all his work to secure his place in the world had come to naught.
“As long as you like. As long as you need.”
They went to Phillip’s room by unspoken agreement.
“I wake at first light,” Ben said as he stripped off his shirt. “I’ll be gone before the servants come.” His skin was warm under Phillip’s touch, as if he still carried the day’s sunlight with him.
Phillip murmured something that was meant to be thanks. But he had a niggling sense of disquiet at having Ben skulk through the corridors. Surely Ben deserved better. He deserved love as honest and open as he was himself. Was that part of why Ben wouldn’t stay? The fact that he’d be keeping a secret from the world? Was he ashamed?
But looking at Ben standing naked before him, tugging Phillip’s shirt off as they tumbled into bed, it was hard to see any sense of shame. No, there wasn’t a trace of it.
“Come here,” Ben said, pulling Phillip on top of him.
They came together almost languidly, kissing and whispering and stroking. Phillip hadn’t known lovemaking could be like this, hadn’t known he wanted it to be. Their erections rubbing together, Ben’s hands everywhere, Ben’s mouth on his own—it was quiet and gentle, and when he came it was almost peaceful.
Later, they slept tangled together. Phillip, for whom the experience of sharing a bed was startlingly unfamiliar, woke so often he could have charted the moon’s progress against the sky. Finally, the first light of dawn crept into the sky and Ben opened a sleepy eye.
“Hullo,” Ben said, his voice muffled by the pillow. “I’ll get up and rumple my sheets.”
Like hell he’d lounge in bed while Ben got up. He didn’t know how long he’d have before Ben left for good, and he’d be damned if he’d waste a single hour.
“I’ll get up, too, and maybe you’ll help me write a damned awkward letter to the admiralty?”
Ben raised his eyebrows. Even if Phillip could
have managed the letter on his own, he wanted Ben to see with his own eyes that Phillip meant what he had said about not going back to sea.
When they reached the study, Phillip rang for tea. Ben stationed himself at the desk while Phillip perched on the edge, dictating a letter in which he gave up the only life he had ever known. They had the letter ready for the post before a housemaid appeared with a tray of tea.
“So that’s that,” Phillip said, after the maid had left with the letter. “We’re both rather at loose ends.” Phillip felt that he was standing at a dizzying height, looking at the world beneath him.
Ben smiled at him from behind his teacup.
It wasn’t long before Ned appeared at the French doors, already dressed in his riding kit. “The ducks have laid fourteen eggs. Cook was right about the bone meal, dash it. I’m going for a ride but I’ll be back by tea.” He waved over his shoulder and strode away.
“I’ll swear he was four inches shorter a fortnight ago,” Phillip said. “And a good three years younger.”
Was this what normal family life could be like? Drinking tea and making commonplace observations? Wondering whether fourteen eggs was a good outlay or a poor one? Catching glimpses of your beloved as he read the morning paper?
“I’ve been thinking about what I can do,” Ben said, resting the paper on his knees. “I need to have a job, and as much as I love caring for your children, that isn’t enough. It’s what I’d do anyway, you see. But I thought that maybe you could help me arrange something.”
“Yes,” Phillip said immediately. “Of course.”
“I was thinking there might be other children who aren’t suited to a typical school and perhaps I could oversee their education.”
“Are you talking about starting a school?”
Ben blushed. “That sounds preposterous, doesn’t it?”
“Not at all.”
“I don’t have a head for business, but I think we’d need capital.”
“I can help with that.” Phillip rested his teacup on the table and leaned forward.
“And I think some of my father’s set would be interested in throwing money at a school that seems modern, especially if it had the Sedgwick name attached to it.”
“Where would you do this?” Barton Hall wasn’t big enough for a school.
“I’m not certain. I haven’t worked out any of the details.”
“Will you let me help? The plain fact of the matter is that I need something to do with myself too. Smythe doesn’t need me, and Ned is learning everything Smythe has to teach. But I’m—Ben, I don’t have a lot of talents, but I’m good at telling people what to do and having them obey me. Let me do that in your service.”
Ben looked at him with wide eyes. “Yes. Thank you.” His voice cracked on the last word. “There’s nothing I’d want more.”
There was more Phillip wanted to hear from Ben, but this was a start, and for now that would be enough.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Ben found Alice on the small terrace beside the Crawfords’ house, Walsh kneeling on the ground beside her to adjust the angle of her easel. Alice spotted him first, greeting him with a wave of her paintbrush that caused a spray of green watercolor to land on Walsh.
“Oh, drat, sorry about that, Peter,” she said, dabbing Walsh’s collar with her handkerchief.
“It’ll match the blue on my cuffs. Good morning, Sedgwick,” he said cheerfully, getting to his feet and gathering his hat and coat.
“Don’t leave on my account,” Ben said. “I can come back later.”
“Or you could both stay. For heaven’s sake.”
Ben watched with dawning comprehension as Walsh and Alice exchanged a long glance. Apart from the picnic, Walsh had been noticeably absent from Barton Hall these past few days, and Ben had wondered where he had gotten to. Now he gathered he had the answer. He sat on the low wall that edged the garden.
“I’ll be back for supper.” Walsh kissed Alice’s hand, tipped his hat at Sedgwick, and strode out of the garden.
When he was out of earshot, Ben cleared his throat. “Peter, eh?”
Alice shot him a quelling glance. “Don’t make too much of it.” She made a great show of rinsing off a paintbrush and making herself busy. “Yet,” she added, not meeting his eyes.
“You’re fond of him?” he asked. “I’m asking as your friend, not as your former betrothed.”
“I’m very fond of him. And he seems to be fond of me. Now, why am I being coy? He’s dreadfully fond of me, which is so gratifying, Ben, I can’t even tell you. But I’m just as fond of him, which seems impossible, but there you have it. In any event, he asked me if I’d mind his speaking to Father, and of course I said I didn’t mind. And Father will likely faint with relief to have me off his hands, so I suppose I’ll be getting married. Wish me happy!”
He kissed her cheek. “I wish you all the happiness.” His voice was thick and his eyes were prickling with tears. “I hope you don’t mind me telling you that I’m quite sickeningly jealous.”
“Of Peter?”
“No, no, nothing like that. Of both of you.”
She eyed him shrewdly, but not without compassion. “You, Benedict Sedgwick, are a mess.”
“I can’t argue with you there.”
“Find a nice girl who you actually want to kiss behind hedgerows—”
“Dare I even ask what Walsh has been doing to you behind hedgerows?”
She waved a dismissive hand. “Find this nice girl, and then get over whatever ethical scruples are bothering you. You can’t possibly believe that God wants you to spend your life alone.”
“Some people are very happy on their own,” Ben ventured.
“Of course they are. But you’re not one of them.”
He didn’t know how to answer that, so he stayed silent and let her words seep into his mind.
“When you go back to Barton Hall, will you take this to your captain?” She handed him a sketch of Phillip, Peggy, and the dog on a picnic blanket. Phillip had an arm around Peggy, who was feeding tidbits of cold meat to the dog. On the surface it was a sweet domestic scene. But Phillip’s gaze was directed at an object just off the edge of the paper. “I thought he might like to have it when he returns to his ship.”
“That’s very thoughtful. He’s selling his commission, though, and staying on at Barton Hall.” His mouth could barely form the words, and he could hardly tear his gaze from the drawing of Phillip’s face, which had an expression of almost painful tenderness and devotion. It had been Ben himself that Phillip was looking at. Ben had been on the edge of that same blanket. If he hadn’t already realized that Phillip’s feelings for him were a mirror of Ben’s own toward Phillip, he would have known it then. It struck him that if Phillip was in want of money or a house, Ben would give him whatever he could, and gladly. And there would be no shame in Phillip accepting it, because that was what it meant to have a life together. It meant holding hands and jumping together into an unknown future.
Phillip was half asleep on the library sofa when he was roused by the sound of hoofbeats on the gravel drive. It couldn’t have been Ned, because he would have ridden out from the stables, and Ben walked everywhere. At the sound of hasty, booted footsteps in the hall, Phillip got to his feet.
Sir Martin Easterbrook appeared in the doorway, glowering and carrying what looked like a bag of rags.
“I tried to stop him, Captain,” said a flustered housemaid who was barely visible behind the visitor.
“Quite all right,” Phillip said evenly. “Shut the door, Mary, please,” he added, gathering from Easterbrook’s stormy expression that there was about to be a scene. But then he noticed that the oddly-shaped bundle under the man’s arm appeared to be wriggling.
“This,” Easterbrook said, placing the bundle on the ground, “is the last time I return any of the inmates of this house.” Out of the sack emerged the twins’ dog.
“Oh,” said Phillip. “That’s . . . kind of you, Easter
brook.” He tried to keep the astonishment out of his voice. “I’m in your debt.”
“Damned right you are.” Easterbrook made a noise of frustration. “Every blasted day this mongrel is sniffing around my kennels. I gather he must have been carrying on a romance with one of my hounds.” A look of shame and regret passed over the young man’s face. “But they’re all sold off and this idiot hasn’t caught on.” The idiot in question was dancing happy circles around the baronet’s feet.
“I didn’t realize he was missing,” Phillip said. “The twins had a bit of a late night so they’re still asleep.”
Easterbrook snorted. “I found one of them roaming the hills yesterday. Looked like he was off to take the king’s shilling or join up with a traveling circus.”
“You were the man who sent him to Alton Sedgwick,” Phillip said.
“Figured even Fellside Grange is better than falling into a gorge,” the baronet said, looking both annoyed and bashful.
“I’m very grateful you did that. Truly. Why don’t you sit, Easterbrook?”
Easterbrook sat, and the dog promptly leapt into his lap. “Reminded me so much of that time Will Sedgwick ran off,” he said, holding the dog at arm’s length to dodge a kiss. “There was always a Sedgwick on the loose, making mischief and having adventures while I was stuck in the schoolroom.”
“I believe the vicar mentioned something of the kind,” Phillip said.
“The whole thing,” Easterbrook said, gesturing around him vaguely, “reminds me of when we were children. Chaos. I don’t like it. But I see that Ben Sedgwick is trying to make sense of it. Trying to make it less of a catastrophe. Anyway. I’ll be going.”
“No. Wait,” Phillip said. “Don’t leave yet.”
“If this is about Hartley, save your breath. Tell your vicar that I’m not going to drag his brother to court to contest my father’s will. I can’t afford the fees, and I can’t figure out how to do the thing without exposing my father for what he was, even though I have the letters to prove it. And that would quite ruin me, as well as getting Hartley put in the pillory, which would make me look a proper arse. Everyone would know I was ruined, to have kicked up such a fuss over so small a matter. My problems are greater than one London townhouse.”
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