Dreamspinner Press Year Five Greatest Hits

by Tinnean

  “No. Of course not. He’s my son, after all. However….” His words tapered off, and he seemed fascinated by the amber liquid.

  I thought it best to change the subject. “The weather has been a trifle inclement.”

  “Yes.”

  “If I may say so, you’re looking well, sir.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I understand you’re recovering from a bout of ague.”

  “Yes.”

  “I trust you’re recovering well?”

  “Yes.”

  I waited, but he seemed to have nothing to add to that, so I tried once more. “The drive to Surrey, you didn’t find it too taxing?”

  “Not in the least.” Again he fell silent. His gaze touched on the neat condition of my desk, on the flames that danced in the fireplace, on the space above the mantle where a portrait of Sir Eustace had once hung and which had been consigned to the attics. I’d replaced it with a painting of my concept of the Laytham Stud, done for me by Miss Petre.

  Mr. Stephenson finished his sherry. He put his glass down on the desk and met my eyes for a brief moment.

  This was getting us nowhere. “You wished to speak to me, sir?”

  “Yes.”

  I lost what little patience I had left. “Mr. Stephenson, I am not a mind reader. About what did you wish to speak to me?”

  He took his watch from his waistcoat, opened the lid, closed it without glancing at the time, then opened it and closed it again. “As you may know, I’m attached to the Secretary of State for War and the Colonies.”

  “No, I did not know that, sir,” I murmured absently, distracted by his actions. I was aware he was in the King’s service, but beyond that….

  “I’ve returned to England on convalescent leave….” Mr. Stephenson continued toying with his watch, either not hearing me or else choosing to ignore me. “But there are still things I must do. Yes. Things I must do.” He dropped his watch, letting it dangle on its chain, picked up his glass, and went to the small table that held the decanter of sherry.

  He filled the glass once more and took a more than healthy swig.

  “Things you must do, sir?” I prodded gently, hoping to get the conversation on track once more.

  “Quite. Among which are the dinner parties Aberdeen is requiring of me. The Earl is the Secretary of State.” He peered at me over the rim of his glass and frowned at my apparent confusion. I had no notion as to how affairs of State were run. “However, I’m a widower.” Obviously he expected me to understand his drift.

  “Er… yes.” I was at something of a loss. This was not the direction in which I’d expected the conversation to go.

  “Laytham.” He sounded exasperated. “Since the wives of important men will also be attending, I obviously need a lady to hostess these dinner parties. I should like that lady to be your aunt, Lady Cecily.”

  “I see. May I ask exactly how many dinner parties?”

  “Oh….” He waved his hand vaguely. “Any number of them at this point, and probably a good deal more once the Season begins.”

  “And is she expected to make the journey to Town each time you give one? She is not a young woman, Mr. Stephenson, and—”

  “Young man, your aunt is a vital woman in the prime of her life! However, a lady of her quality and sensibilities should not be required to make such repeated journeys. Therefore, it will be my pleasure to offer her the amenities of my home.”

  “I think not, sir. She is a widow still in first mourning. I cannot agree to such a plan. I would have thought, as fond of Aunt Cecily as you claim to be, you would have taken such considerations into account.”

  His face turned an unhealthy shade of red, and he slammed his glass down on my desk, causing its contents to splash over the rim. “You, Sir Ashton, are nothing more than a young puppy who—”

  “In spite of my age, I am the head of this family, Mr. Stephenson. As such, it falls to me to have a care to the ladies living under my protection.”

  “If you are, indeed, concerned for your aunt’s reputation—”

  “If? Sir, you insult me!”

  “In that case, I beg your pardon, but I assure you there is no need for you to be concerned about it. Let me offer a simple solution. Miss Arabella may join her.” He removed a small case from his inner pocket, opened it, and took out a cigarillo, then offered the case to me.

  “No, thank you.” I paced to the end of the room, turned, and paced back. “I cannot permit that, sir.”

  “Perhaps I should inform you that these dinner parties are for the most part political. For entertainment, I will offer loo for the ladies and whist for the gentlemen. There will be no dancing, and musical interludes, if any, will be suitably dolorous.” He held a match to the tip of his cigarillo and drew on it pensively. When it glowed to his satisfaction, he shook out the match and dropped it into the ashtray on my desk. “I will be frank with you. I am desirous of one day wedding your aunt. I have waited a very long time for her, and I am willing to wait a while longer. The last thing I want is to harm her in any way.”

  “I still cannot agree to her staying in your home, even if Arabella accompanies her.” I raised a hand to forestall the objection I saw coming. “However, what I can do is order a suite of rooms for them both in a respectable hotel.”

  He studied me through a cloud of smoke. “That will cost a tidy packet of money.”

  I shrugged. “I believe that is not your concern, sir.”

  “In that case, may I suggest the Apsley? It is not only the height of respectability, but it is fashionable.”

  “Very well, then.” I hoped he hadn’t noticed my flinch. “Fashionable” translated to expensive, and I could see the profits of a successful harvest draining away. “Shall we join the ladies? Aunt Cecily is most anxious to greet you, and I have no doubt she’ll be interested in your proposal.”

  “This is kind of you, Laytham. I must confess I was unsure if you would agree to this.”

  “Why?”

  Looking somewhat discomfited, he cleared his throat, stubbed out his cigarillo, straightened his coat, realizing only then that his watch still dangled from the end of its chain, and replaced it in his pocket. He cleared his throat again and met my eyes. “There was never any closeness between us.”

  “No.” He was one who remembered my first years at Laytham Hall. He never saw past that, and afterwards, once the Hoods had taken up residence here, he had been enraptured by them, most notably Robert, and any opportunity for us to form a more cordial relationship went by the wayside.

  “I apologize for that.”

  “There is no need.” I was unused to receiving apologies and felt awkward.

  “Nevertheless. I apologize.”

  “Very well. Accepted, sir.”

  “Thank you.” He fidgeted with his watch fob. Did he feel as awkward as I? “What does my son think of you, Laytham?”

  “Geo is all that is—”

  “Geo?”

  “That is how I am used to think of your son. He told me that’s what his friends call him and invited me to do so as well.”

  “I see.” His mouth tightened.

  I thought to play a trump card. “Aunt Cecily was desirous of us becoming friends, sir. Have you any objections?” After all, if he was as fond of her as he claimed….

  “No. My son is a grown man, and I assure you I have no say in who he chooses to befriend.” He looked as if he regretted that fact.

  I decided to retire from the playing field in good order. “I think we’ve kept Aunt Cecily waiting long enough, do not you?” I gestured toward the door. “After you, sir?”

  He hesitated a moment, then nodded shortly and strode out of the study. Thoughtfully, I followed him from the room. Had he any idea of the nature of my friendship with his son?

  No, that wasn’t likely. Even if he had an inkling that his son preferred those in trousers to the petticoat line, he would discount me, if only because of who I was. I was sure he still regarded m
e as Awful Ashton.

  “GEORGE!” AUNT Cecily cast aside her needlepoint as we entered the room. I could see she was on the verge of jumping up and running to greet him, but she was the daughter of a gentleman after all, and so instead she merely rose and extended her hands to him. “My very dear George! How marvelous to see you again after all this time!”

  “Cecily!” It tore at my heart to see the expression in Mr. Stephenson’s eyes as he regarded her, for that warmth was how I wished to be regarded. He bowed over her hands and brought them to his lips, placing a warm kiss upon the back of each one.

  “You’re well, George?”

  “Well enough, m’dear.”

  “I was so worried!”

  “There was no need. It would take more than a bout of shaking to keep me from England and from you.” He did not release her hands, and she seemed content to leave them in his grasp.

  I cleared my throat. They both gave a little start, having apparently forgotten they weren’t alone, and Aunt Cecily blushed.

  “Pray forgive me. Arabella, come make your curtsey to Mr. Stephenson. You’ll take tea with us, George? Or would you prefer something stronger?”

  “Tea would be fine, m’dear.”

  “Ashton, please ring for Colling.”

  The conversation remained desultory until the butler wheeled in the supper cart.

  “Thank you, Colling. Has Mrs. Walker seen to Mr. Stephenson’s chambers?”

  “Yes, m’lady.”

  “Excellent. That will be all, then.”

  He bowed himself out, and Aunt Cecily poured the tea. “What brings you to Surrey this time of year, my dear George?”

  “I’m in need of a favor from you, m’dear.” He explained his need for a hostess. “Your nephew has graciously consented to my scheme, if you’re agreeable.” I opened my mouth to correct him, that it was her husband who had been my uncle, but he continued, “And Miss Arabella will accompany you as well.”

  “We’re going to Town?” Arabella squealed her delight and danced around the room.

  “This was your idea, wasn’t it, George?” Aunt Cecily gazed at Mr. Stephenson and quietly glowed. This, I realized, was how she would have looked had she been wed to him instead of to Sir Eustace.

  I might just as well have not been in the room, but I was used to that—it was how the family had usually treated me—and at that moment it didn’t concern me. I smiled to myself. Their absence would see me alone here at Laytham Hall, save for the days when Geo joined me, and I was almost giddy with excitement over it. I envisioned quiet evenings sprawled before a fire, alone and private with the servants dismissed, nights spent in torrid embrace, and then waking the next morning with him in my arms.

  Arabella chattered away, enumerating all the dresses that needed to be packed and bemoaning the fact that none were in the latest style, while Aunt Cecily and Mr. Stephenson listened indulgently. I excused myself and retired to my room and to bed, where I enumerated all the ways and places I would make love with my lover.

  I grew rigid and warm, and I tossed off my nightshirt, spread my legs, and let the cool air wash over my overheated flesh. I licked my palm and wrapped my fingers around my prick, imagining it was Geo doing this to me, his blue eyes staring intently into mine, watching the expressions chase across my face as he brought me closer to the pinnacle of pleasure.

  It didn’t take long for me to reach the summit and tumble over. Of course, I would have enjoyed it even more if it had actually been Geo touching me.

  He had instructed me not to touch myself, but what could he do if he found out I had disobeyed him? Refuse to speak to me? Treat me coldly? I would not be precisely comfortable with that situation, but I was used to it, having been treated that way by John.

  And there was the matter of the debt. We were tied together by that, and according to his calculations, would be for the next three decades. I rather thought that no matter how displeased he was with me, unless he was willing to write off £10,000 completely, he would still come to see me for a few days each week.

  I shivered, growing chilled now the heat of sexual excitement had been assuaged. I cleaned off my palm, drew on my nightshirt once more, and settled myself to sleep.

  And possibly to dream of my lover.

  THE NEXT two days were a whirlwind of activity, planning and packing, so while Mr. Stephenson might have preferred to avoid me, there wasn’t much opportunity.

  “What did you do with George?” he demanded over breakfast, and I choked on my hot chocolate.

  “I… we…. Beg pardon?”

  He didn’t appear to notice my discomfiture. “I’ve always disliked the country in winter. Nothing to do, be damned if there is.”

  I blew out a surreptitious breath. “We fished and hunted, sir.”

  “George doesn’t fish.”

  “I taught him.”

  He stared at me as if wondering if he should believe me.

  “Why do you find that surprising, sir?” I challenged him, growing impatient that everyone seemed to think I had not two thoughts to rub together and could do nothing more than lounge about the drawing room sipping tea.

  “George is more at home in a drawing room is all I meant.”

  “Indeed.”

  He cleared his throat and reached for a slice of toast. “What else did you find to do to amuse yourselves?”

  I thought of the time we spent in bed and felt my color rise, but Mr. Stephenson was busy buttering his toast and didn’t appear to notice. “Sometimes we went riding. I have a colt I plan to—”

  “You got George on a horse?”

  “Yes.”

  “He hasn’t ridden since his return from the Levant!”

  “As to that, I’m sure I couldn’t say, but I assure you he rode with me.” Steadfastly, I pushed away the thought—he rode me. Hardly something to even think about in the presence of his father.

  Fortunately, at that moment Aunt Cecily came bustling in. “My dear George, you must come and help me decide which of my dresses….”

  “Nothing to decide, m’dear. They’re all black.”

  “And they’re all bombazine.” She looked at him with fond exasperation. “I’ll need something more fashionable if I’m to hostess your dinners, George.”

  “I’ll buy ’em for you.”

  “I. Think. Not!” Both Aunt Cecily and Mr. Stephenson started, as if they’d forgotten they weren’t alone, and she flushed.

  “No, of course not.”

  “I’ll see you have the funds for anything you need.” Every time it seemed I was able to advance, something would occur and I’d find myself routed.

  No longer hungry, I rose and left them.

  Four days after Mr. Stephenson arrived at Laytham Hall, he departed, taking with him Aunt Cecily and Arabella, while Thomas Coachman followed in the town coach, a huge, old-fashioned affair that had belonged to my grandparents, carrying Flowers and Mollie and all their trunks.

  After they left, I went to Mrs. Nye’s shed and took the chestnut colt out. I knew that I would be unable to work with the colt during the time Geo was with me, and he would be arriving later that same day.

  I LINGERED in the Great Hall as the afternoon faded into evening.

  David entered, carrying a taper. One of his tasks was to see to the lighting of the lamps. Only then did I realize how late it had grown.

  “I… er… I imagine there must have been something to keep Mr. Stephenson in London. And Mr. Kincaid also.” David flushed and stared past my shoulder, apparently fascinated by the suit of armor standing on the landing. His eyes slid toward mine, noted my raised eyebrow, and flushed deeper. “Mr. Kincaid has been teaching me to play chess.”

  “I see. Well, you’re no doubt correct. After all, Mr. Stephenson will wish to spend time with his father.”

  “Yes, sir. I’m sure that must be it. Have you heard if we are to expect them at all this week’s end, Sir Ash?”

  I was so startled by his calling me by that name
I didn’t take him to task for his impertinent question.

  His cheeks even more aflame, he stammered. “I b… beg your p… pardon, sir. I m… meant….” He swallowed so heavily that his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “Shall I tell Cook to put dinner back?”

  “Please do.”

  “Yes, sir.” He snuffed the taper and hurried from the Hall, and I stared after him. What in the world had got into him? And then I wondered if it might not be a “what” but a “who.” Had my lover’s man made a conquest there?

  I brushed that thought aside. What mattered to me was that the hour was growing late, and Geo had yet to arrive.

  GEO DIDN’T arrive that week, nor the week after. Could something have happened to him on the road?

  I chewed my nails to the quick worrying about it, until Aunt Cecily sent a chatty letter that mentioned Geo dining with them the evening before and making quite an impression on Sir Robert Peel, our Prime Minister.

  Of course. Geo was busy. He was seeing his father, and he was… busy.

  I began to worry that perhaps he’d met someone at that dinner party, someone who could play chess, who understood politics, who had drawn his attention. I was the one who’d had to promise not to welcome another man into my bed, after all; although, come to think of it, that showed remarkable trust on Geo’s part.

  Well, his birthday was still to come. I had no doubt he would join me that day. Or the day after.

  Or surely the day after that.

  IT WAS five weeks since I’d last seen Geo, and in spite of all the servants in the house, I felt more alone than I ever had in my life.

  His birthday had arrived, but he hadn’t, and I’d reminded myself that he never joined me at Laytham Hall earlier than Friday, and it was only Wednesday.

  Again the worry that he might have found someone else with whom to dally niggled at the edges of my mind, but I reminded myself of the debt, which most assuredly bound us together.

  IT WAS Friday now. Surely he would come this day?