Lord Sebastian's Secret

by Jane Ashford

  “There’s no need for you to—”

  “What I don’t understand is why you eloped,” said his brother with one raised brow.

  “We did not elope!” Sebastian felt like tearing his hair at the repetition of this word. “I wrote Mama the whole story. None of this was my fault.”

  “I’ve been on the road. I haven’t received any letters. Tell me all.” Randolph spread his arms as if to embrace the thought of a good tale.

  And so Sebastian had to repeat the rigmarole, interrupted by questions and reservations until he thought he would explode. It was all he could do to prevent the details from becoming incomprehensible.

  “Hmmm,” said Randolph when Sebastian had finished. He wasn’t smiling, but he rather sounded as though he was. “This Hilda seems to be quite an…inventive young lady… Still, couldn’t you simply have waited for her return the next morning?”

  Sebastian liked the simply. Nothing about the mishap had felt simple. And he’d already explained this. Or thought he had. He gritted his teeth at the difficulty of translating what was in his mind into words. It was worse than beating his way through the thicket in the ravine.

  “I couldn’t keep Georgina standing all night in cold mud, with an injured leg. There was no place to wait, where she fell.” He did not add that had he tried, he would have missed two of the most glorious days of his life. That secret was his and Georgina’s, a memory to be kept close, and relished, for the rest of their lives.

  “Ah.” Randolph nodded. “Yes, I see. Well, it is certainly quite an upheaval.”

  “Only because Hilda was back here spouting a pack of nonsense!” replied Sebastian. “Or…mostly.”

  “What’s become of her?” his brother asked.

  Randolph certainly was far from a conventional parson, Sebastian thought. There was a smile somehow hovering behind his expression. “She’s been confined to quarters except under escort of her governess. And she considers living at Stane a punishment in itself.” Sebastian frowned at the hearthrug. “Some days, can’t say I blame her,” he muttered.

  Randolph examined him. “But you do wish to salvage the situation?”

  “There’s nothing to salvage. I’ll get married as planned, and all this will be forgotten.”

  “That was not the impression I got from the marquess.”

  It was true that Georgina’s father seemed to be brooding on the subject of their unwitting adventure. As if he was sure Sebastian could have handled it far better. If only he could fly, Sebastian thought morosely, all would have been well.

  “But I shall talk him ’round,” added his brother. “Have no fear.”

  Sebastian could easily imagine Randolph talking their host’s ear off. But the discussion would more than likely meander into the far reaches of philosophy and end up having nothing to do with him or Georgina. “Robert would have been much better at charming people,” he complained. He was sorry as soon as the sentence escaped him because Randolph looked hurt.

  “Robert has gone to a house party, as he always does at this season.” Randolph sounded a bit wistful. “And what with James haring off on some quest…”

  “A what?”

  Randolph waved a hand. “Robert called it that. His exact phrase was a quixotic quest. Rather good, eh? A neat alliteration…” Under Sebastian’s uncomprehending gaze, he added, “There’s a girl involved.”

  Wasn’t there always? Sebastian thought. “That’s quick work. James has only been home a few weeks.”

  “She apparently followed him here from an island in the antipodes. Tried to shoot him at a garden party of Alan’s.” Sebastian stared. His brother grinned at him, not above enjoying his astonishment. “She missed. It seems she thought he’d stolen something from her home.”

  “Stolen?”

  “All a misunderstanding, I believe.”

  “And they’re at me about a few days away,” Sebastian muttered.

  “Only to help.” Randolph leaned back as if signaling the end of the conversation, then dropped a bombshell. “Mama thought of coming up here herself, you know. She and Papa, that is.”

  Sebastian froze in place at the idea. He could almost hear his father’s kindly, ironic comments on his conduct, feel his mother’s lovingly questioning gaze. He wanted everything perfectly arranged before they arrived at Stane, so all that occurred was a wedding as smooth as Nathaniel’s. Without the wolf skin, he noted to himself. How could he ensure that his brothers had no scope for pranks?

  “But then they discovered that Nathaniel is driving in some mad carriage race. They went to Brighton to see about that instead.”

  “A race? Nathaniel?” This didn’t sound like his eldest brother. Their father’s heir was levelheaded and decorous and a model for them all.

  “Odd, isn’t it? They don’t seem to think he’s run mad, however.” Randolph shook his head dubiously. “Even though I told them that he wrote to ask if bishops are distinguished by their markings, like waterfowl. All I did was mention that he’d found me quite the wrong sort of bishop.”

  “What?” Sebastian gaped at him. “Did you say waterfowl?”

  “That is ridiculous, isn’t it?”

  “What sort of bishop did you want? What for?” It occurred to Sebastian that a clergyman might have some arcane use for a bishop. Now and then, he forgot—for a moment—that Randolph was a man of the cloth. He’d been just a brother for so much longer.

  “Never mind,” said Randolph. “Perhaps it’s the effect of marriage. Nathaniel seems to have been altered. Having been altared.” He smiled, enjoying the sound of his own words. “Do you think tying the knot makes you quite a different person?”

  “No.” Sebastian expected his wedding to solve all his current problems. He didn’t foresee new ones.

  His brother shrugged. “At any rate, my point is that you might want to be grateful it’s me who came.” He smiled.

  It was a warm, affectionate smile. It reminded Sebastian of countless summer afternoon expeditions at Langford. Of Randolph helping him as he struggled to memorize Latin tags. Of their mingled tears at the death of an aged dog who had joined the household when they were five and three. He was suddenly filled with fondness for his brother, even his overenthusiastic bits.

  Then Randolph diverted him by adding, “And I understand religion is involved.”

  “No, it isn’t,” said Sebastian, certain he was on firm ground there.

  “I thought there was a Hindu gentleman in residence.”

  “There is, but…”

  “A very interesting twist,” Randolph said.

  “It isn’t a twist. He’s just another guest here. Nothing to do with my affairs.”

  “An interesting opportunity, then. I haven’t had the chance to learn anything of Hindu theology.”

  Sebastian sighed. There was no doubt that the after-dinner conversations at Stane were destined to become longer and more confusing. At least the marquess would be pleased. Georgina’s father preferred an attentive audience.

  Randolph stood and went over to open his case, exposing neatly packed clothes. “I haven’t brought a servant. Perhaps Sykes could help me out now and then?”

  “Of course.” Sebastian rose as well. “You should tell him about the bishops.” The curious linking of churchmen and waterfowl was just the sort of oddity Sykes relished. He’d probably even understand it.

  “Tell your valet?”

  “Never mind.” He sometimes slipped and forgot that no one else knew about Sykes’s true nature.

  Randolph clapped him on the shoulder as he headed for the door. “It’s good to see you, Sebastian. We scarcely had time to talk at Nathaniel’s wedding. Have no fear, we’ll soon set everything straight.”

  Sebastian wanted to believe him. But so far, everything had shown a distressing propensity to go wrong.

  The St
ane family and their guests gathered in the great hall before dinner that evening, as was their invariable custom. “Randolph’s even handsomer than Sebastian,” Emma whispered to Georgina as the brothers descended the stairs together.

  Georgina had to admit that Emma was right. All the sons of the Duke of Langford were attractive men, but in Randolph all the elements that characterized them—tall athletic frame, auburn hair, classic features—had combined with particular harmony. Standing beside his brother, he looked a bit like a finished portrait next to a preliminary study.

  Immediately, Georgina was indignant at her own thought. Sebastian was nothing of the kind. He was perfect and complete in himself.

  Sebastian met her eyes, and a bolt of desire rushed through her. Her comparison sizzled into nothing. Sebastian was so alive, so compelling, while Randolph inspired no more emotion than she might have felt looking at an actual painting. Or, no, that wasn’t true. His arrival had roused apprehension and defiance, an uneasy mixture.

  Seeming to feel her attention, Randolph strolled over. “Good evening, Lady Georgina, Lady Emma.”

  Emma giggled. “No one calls us that here. Mama says titles are a waste of words, except to impress odious, encroaching mushrooms.”

  “Emma!”

  “Does she indeed?” Randolph gazed at their mother, who was bent over Drustan, explaining to the dog that it was time for him to move off the train of her evening dress. He lay sprawled on the cloth, tongue lolling in what looked very much like a laugh.

  “You must call me Emma, and I shall call you Randolph because you are practically my brother already,” added her feckless younger sister. Emma was so relieved at having been released from her bedchamber exile, and thus in her mind forgiven for recent transgressions, that she was chattering like a magpie.

  Georgina wondered if Randolph was a high stickler. He rather looked like one, with his conservative attire. She’d had no opportunity to become acquainted with him; he lived on his parish in the far north. Perhaps just knowing he was a clergyman was enough to answer the question.

  “How funny to go from just one brother to having seven,” Emma trilled.

  Georgina had thought it a blessing that Hilda was still in disgrace, doomed to take meals in her room. But Emma seemed bent on making up for their unpredictable youngest sister’s absence.

  “You may find it a few too many,” Randolph replied. “I know we sometimes did. When it was a matter of taking turns, for example.”

  “Oh no, why would I?” said Emma. “You will all have to dance with me when I go up to London for the season. I shall have a host of ready-made partners.”

  Randolph smiled down at her, and Georgina felt a measure of relief. “I hadn’t thought of that,” he said. “Although I must tell you I am hardly ever in London.”

  “Why not?” said Emma. “You’re grown up and can go where you like.”

  “I have duties in my parish in Northumberland.”

  “Oh. I almost forgot you’re a vicar.” Emma cocked her head at him. “You don’t seem like one. You’re not all frumpy and pious.”

  Georgina nearly groaned, but Randolph merely thanked her.

  “Can’t you get somebody else to manage all that? A curate or something?”

  “I could.”

  He looked thoughtful. Georgina was impressed by the attention he gave a young girl’s careless query.

  “But I don’t wish to,” Randolph went on. “I get a good deal of satisfaction from my pastoral work. Helping people, you know. I would like a post nearer town. And someday, I shall have one.”

  He said it with such conviction that Georgina had no doubt he would. Feeling under observation, she turned her head and found Sebastian staring at her. He raised his brows and mouthed something. She thought it was “All right?” She nodded and smiled. The smile she got in return sent a wave of heat from her toes to her suddenly flushed cheeks.

  Movement caught in the corner of her eye. Georgina turned and found that Drustan had left her mother’s skirts. He was trotting toward her group, his bulging brown gaze fixed on Randolph. Her heart sank. It would be just like the wretched dog to apply himself to Randolph’s leg before everyone. She sometimes imagined, in her most fanciful moments, that Drustan viewed his vulgar attentions as a rite of passage for newcomers to the castle. Could she intercept him?

  Before Georgina could try to intervene, Sebastian stepped into the pug’s path and touched the pocket of his coat. Georgina glimpsed a bit of cloth peeking out. She couldn’t tell what it was. It looked rather dirty.

  To her astonishment, Drustan cringed. He stopped and pressed his plump little belly to the floor, head down. Sebastian was still, staring at him. Drustan edged away, crawling. When he was a few feet off, the dog rose and slunk back to her mother. Georgina watched him go, amazed. He hid behind his mistress.

  “Drustan has developed a considerable respect for Sebastian,” said her mother. She smiled as if this development was her doing, or her plan.

  Sebastian didn’t acknowledge the dumbfounded looks this triumph earned him, though Georgina could tell he noticed them. Mr. Mitra offered one of his characteristic obeisances, palms pressed together. Randolph looked bewildered.

  Fergus came in to announce dinner. Randolph offered Georgina his arm before noticing the household’s lack of ceremony. As they walked into the dining room behind the jostling crowd, she wondered if he would think this unconventional environment made her prone to other lapses, like elopement. “I assume Sebastian told you the story of our…mishap,” she said, keeping her tone light.

  “He did.”

  “My sister has far too vivid an imagination.”

  “Indeed, I look forward to meeting her,” Randolph replied.

  Unsure exactly what this meant, Georgina said nothing. Hilda was indefensible anyway.

  Randolph saw her to her seat and then went to his own place at her mother’s right. Mama had placed Sebastian on her other side, perhaps to allow the brothers to converse. Reflecting the incident just past, Mama beamed at her betrothed while Drustan placed himself on the opposite side of her chair.

  Her father was flanked by Mr. Mitra and Joanna Byngham, as usual when there were no prominent female guests. That left Emma and Georgina facing each other in the middle of the table. With no necessity to talk to a dinner partner, Georgina was free to eavesdrop. The party was small enough that she could hear what was said at either end of the table.

  “This is a delicious ragout,” said Randolph.

  “Thank you,” said her mother.

  “‘Good words are worth much, and cost little,’” he replied, his tone indicating it was a quote.

  “That’s Shakespeare, isn’t it?” Sebastian asked. “My brother is very fond of poetry, ma’am. He has a deal of it by heart.”

  “Not Shakespeare in this case,” Randolph said. “Though the bard very often has just the phrase you want. No, that was George Herbert, a favorite of mine. And a poet with far finer sensibilities, I believe.”

  “You don’t often hear people say something like that,” Georgina’s mother responded. “Shakespeare is usually held up as a writer without peer.”

  “Such people need to delve deeper into our English literary traditions,” said Randolph.

  Georgina noticed that Sebastian was looking anxious. She wasn’t sure why.

  “A delver, are you?” replied her mother.

  Randolph noticed the sarcasm. Anybody would, Georgina thought. Fortunately he seemed more surprised than angry. She caught Sebastian’s eye and smiled at him reassuringly, trying to remind him that Mama spoke that way to everyone. She got quite enough “informative discourse” from Papa. Silent communications passed between them. They gazed at one another until Georgina was startled by her father’s offer of a slice of beef.

  “I have found some interesting references in an unpublished me
moir,” said Joanna Byngham. “An Irish gentleman who lived in India for twenty years during the last century.”

  Georgina wondered if the governess had locked Hilda in her room. Probably not. Joanna wasn’t stupid enough to tempt her charge that way. She calculated the likelihood that Hilda was listening outside the door right now. And put it very high.

  “Have you any interest in Hindu practices?” her father asked Randolph, speaking down the length of the table with a serene disregard for convention. “Being a man of the cloth yourself?”

  Randolph nodded. “I appreciate learning about all sorts of philosophies.”

  Georgina couldn’t tell if he was being polite, or was genuinely intrigued. She checked Sebastian’s expression. He looked hunted.

  “We’ll have quite a lot to tell you then,” said her father with satisfaction. He turned to Mr. Mitra and resumed their discussion more quietly.

  The remainder of the meal passed in the clink of forks and exchange of pleasantries. Georgina had begun to relax by the time her mother signaled and the ladies rose to leave the dining room. Randolph was not an ogre after all, she concluded. He seemed amiable and unthreatening. He was also clearly fond of word play, in contrast to Sebastian, who had shown over his visit that he had no inclination in that direction at all.

  “This is the stupidest custom,” said Joanna Byngham when Georgina came up to her in the doorway. Not for the first time, or the twentieth. Joanna always longed to remain in the dining room for the ongoing discussion. “I do not understand why your father keeps it up.”

  Because he wishes to, Georgina wanted to tell her. After her experience of other household arrangements in London, she’d lately realized that her father was a kind of artist of convention. He embraced the rules that aided his ends and discarded those that thwarted him with a very fine discrimination, until he had just the social landscape he preferred here in his castle.

  People who thought he simply threw propriety to the winds were quite mistaken. Which made it easy for strangers to put a foot wrong with him. She wondered if her mother was aware of this selection process and concluded that of course she was. Didn’t she do the same herself? It was another thing her parents had in common, indeed a kind of conspiratorial collaboration. It went along with the fact that where their daughters were concerned, they made no concessions at all.