“For enduring you?” His Grace tossed back. “That, Lampton, ought to earn him sainthood. Everyone in this household ought to.”
“Your Grace, that brings us to my reason for coming to this corner of the room,” Lady Lampton said, her dignity palpable.
Arabella glanced at Philip, knowing his goal was to rally his wife from her recent doldrums by earning the duke’s ire. Philip did not let his mask slip even a moment.
The duke clearly expected a complaint of some kind and felt himself equal to enduring it. He was the Dangerous Duke, after all.
“While I applaud your willingness to defend those you feel are being mistreated,” Lady Lampton said, “I want it made perfectly clear that no one is permitted to question my happiness in my marriage. Not you.” She pointed a finger directly at the duke, then turned and pointed at Philip. “And not you. And if I ever hear that either of you have cast yourselves once more in the role of ‘declarer of my happiness,’ I swear, I will make the thrashing you gave one another at the river look like a child’s quarrel.”
A look of such deep relief crossed Philip’s features that it nearly broke Arabella’s heart. He kept his worries so carefully hidden, but his current expression spoke of a deeper pain than she had realized lingered there.
Philip held his hand out to her. “Will you join me for the next set?”
“I may walk better than I once did, but you know perfectly well that I cannot dance.” Her feelings had been injured, that much was obvious.
His expression softened. “I hadn’t meant for you to dance with me, dearest, only to be with me.”
Some of her fight fled. She wove one arm through his, the other utilizing her ever-present walking stick. They walked slowly away from the small gathering of chairs.
“I like her,” the duke said.
“She is a little frightening,” Arabella admitted.
The duke nodded crisply. “That’s why I like her.”
And Arabella was finding she very nearly liked the duke.
“Have you been enjoying yourself, Miss Hampton?” Dr. Scorseby asked upon reaching the gathering of chairs where she had sat all evening.
“I have, actually.”
He sat beside her. “Why ‘actually’? Were you not expecting to be pleased this evening?”
“I wasn’t certain if I had recovered enough of my energy to enjoy myself this evening,” she said. “I am simply grateful to be feeling equal to the undertaking.”
“Are you recovered enough to stand up with me for the next set?”
She was at a ball being asked to dance. Such a thing would have seemed impossible a few short weeks earlier. She had imagined it the evening of her aunt and uncle’s attendance, when the other guests had undertaken a few impromptu sets. Her hopes had soared every time Linus had passed anywhere near her. He, however, had never asked. And when whispers had begun linking their names together, he’d grown distant. She understood the necessity, but it had still hurt.
Did he miss her, as a friend at least? Had he regretted his departure as much as she had?
“I can see that you are still fatigued,” Dr. Scorseby said. “I will sit beside you instead and allow you to continue to rest.”
He didn’t have Linus’s sense of humor nor his ability to lighten her worries with his presence, and he did not make her heart flip about whenever he was nearby, but Dr. Scorseby was an amiable gentleman. She appreciated that about him.
“Have you been terribly busy?” she asked. “I know the fever we’ve had here has been running the gamut of the neighborhood.”
“I have hardly slept the past five days. While the illness is not a dangerous one, it is tenacious. I think the only person busier than I of late is the apothecary.”
He did look tired.
“I hope you are taking care of yourself as well,” she said.
“That is a difficult thing for a man alone. But I am making every effort.”
“You will be pleased to know the dowager is taking her powders,” she said.
“Excellent.”
“And though Lady Lampton has not shared with me the particulars of her visit to your home, she does seem in better spirits.”
He nodded firmly. “I hope she will choose to speak to her husband about the things that concern her. There can be such strength in a marriage.” He looked at her then, his gaze warm and intent.
He was not making a general observation, not with such a pointed expression as he wore just then. With all the attention he showed her, it was only a matter of time before the whispers Linus had worked so hard to silence began to speculate about Dr. Scorseby. He, however, would likely not object.
A woman of her status, of her situation, had few options. She ought to have been elated, encouraged. Her hopes ought to have been soaring. In reality, she simply felt . . . disappointed.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Charlie proved to be one of the hardest-working people Linus had ever known, which was a feat considering he’d spent more than half his life in the navy. There was no task too menial or too exhausting for Charlie to willingly undertake. He’d helped clear out a ditch, repair a wall, even rebuild a tenant cottage destroyed by fire. It was an aspect of his character that had never had a chance to shine at his brother’s precisely run estate. Charlie was not needed there, so he’d learned to not do anything.
Perhaps Lampton had a minor estate that needed looking after that he might place in Charlie’s keeping. The young gentleman would flourish if given responsibilities and a bit of independence.
Linus had originally concocted the idea of setting them both to the exhausting manual labor usually reserved for groundskeepers and tenants as a means of giving Charlie an opportunity to work out a bit of his frustration and boredom. He had found, however, that the unusual approach to managing the estate suited him quite well. He, after all, was accustomed to the grueling work of a ship.
They’d been in Shropshire a full week, and both were exhausted but pleased. They sat down to their evening meal after having spent the day checking the drainage on the back acres. Theirs was a satisfied sort of tired.
“If I had realized you were bringing me here to serve as brute labor, I might not have come,” Charlie said, tucking into the hearty stew Cook had prepared. “You are quite the demanding host, you know.”
“I’ve got to get the work around here done one way or another, and I’m not going to do it by myself.”
“Because you’re so old, right?” Charlie smirked.
“I’m only barely your senior. Show a little respect.”
“Yes, the old and infirm do demand some degree of reverence, like ancient stands of trees or those giant pyramids in Giza.”
Here was another part of his personality that had blossomed away from the pressures of home. Charlie Jonquil was funny.
“I’ve half a mind to follow you back to Cambridge to see to it you’re a little miserable.” Linus’s jest missed its mark.
Charlie grew more solemn, picking at his stew rather than devouring it as he had been. That had happened more than once over the past days. When Linus brought up the topic of university, Charlie pulled into himself once more.
“Do you want to return to Cambridge?” Linus finally asked the question he’d been holding back.
“Yes,” Charlie answered, then quickly said, “No.” He pushed out a breath. “Both.”
“Are you unhappy there?”
He shook his head. “Not really.”
“Charlie.”
He shrugged and pushed his bowl away. “A little, I suppose.”
Linus suspected it was more than “a little.” When no further explanation was forthcoming, he pressed on. “I do not know much about a university education. I didn’t even go to Harrow or Eton. I was at sea far too young. I can’t begin to guess what might be amiss there for
you.”
“The dons have known nearly all of my brothers,” Charlie said. “They are forever telling me what good students they were and how well they did in all their courses and how wise they were in what they chose to devote themselves to, that they understood how to prepare themselves for their futures.”
“They do not say the same about you?” Linus asked.
“No, and it’s not fair.” Charlie leaned back, folding his arms across his chest, not in a petulant display but one far closer to self-protection. “My brothers all knew precisely what their futures were. It’s easy to choose your studies when you know what your aim is.”
“And you don’t have an aim.”
A tense breath whooshed from the younger man. “All the targets are taken.”
One of the difficulties of having a great many older brothers. “You told me you have enjoyed your study of mathematics.”
“It is fascinating.” Charlie launched into a dizzying explanation involving a great many Greek names and a long list of various mathematical theories.
“The deeper we delve into the properties and relationships of numbers, the more we can learn about the world around us,” Charlie said, growing ever more animated. “With mathematics, we can expand our scientific discoveries and our intellectual foundations. It is important and exciting and—”
“Exactly what you ought to be studying,” Linus said. “Clearly, it captures your interest more than anything else.”
Again, Charlie’s enthusiasm waned. “But what would I do after my time at Cambridge? There are no pursuits in the field of mathematics beyond the academic.”
Linus pushed his own bowl aside, knowing his young friend needed his full attention.
“Why do you dismiss the possibility of an academic career so wholly?”
Charlie shook his head, his gaze downcast. “Were I to become a don, I could not marry or have a family of my own. It would not be a matter of not being able to afford it, which is hindrance enough. A don is not permitted to marry.”
“I know,” Linus said. “My father was a don before he met my mother. He gave that up because he fell in love with her.”
“She married him still? Even knowing he would have no income?”
“She loved him as well,” Linus explained. “They both knew they would not live a lavish life, but they trusted their ability to make do. He had a bit of income from his father’s estate, and his grandfather gave him this unentailed property.”
Charlie appeared to be pondering that but not in a way that brought him reassurance. “I have some income from the Lampton estate but no property I might live on and no prospect of one suddenly materializing.”
That was unfortunate for many reasons.
“Could you be happy in rented rooms or a small house near university? You could continue your study of mathematics. You could fully embrace the academics you enjoy. You would likely be given ample opportunity for presenting lectures and papers and such.”
A little smile lit his face. “I would like that part of it.”
“Perhaps it is not your long-term answer,” Linus said, “but it does give you a target, one no one else in your vast family has claimed.”
“That borders on the miraculous.”
Linus could only imagine the struggle that constituted. His difficulty was quite the opposite. He had been given a target he had never intended to shoot for, one he was trying to find a way of appreciating.
“When you return to Cambridge, let that be your focus. Prepare yourself for the possibility of choosing a career down that path. You might change your mind. But I think you will be less miserable if you have a goal.”
“I think you are probably right.”
Linus tugged at his cuffs in a show of self-importance. “I usually am.”
Charlie laughed once more. Linus had quickly come to appreciate that. This house had, even in the Lancaster family’s leanest years, been a happy one. They’d found reason to laugh through their poverty, through their want. And when he and Evander had gone to sea, Linus had taken it upon himself to make certain his brother continued to be joyful when life aboard ship grew painful and difficult and, at times, soul crushing.
“Your father still pursued his academics even after leaving Cambridge and his donship, did he not?” Charlie asked, returning to his meal once more.
“He did. He published papers and returned to the university on several occasions to present them.” At least while his mind had been whole. “He had a room here that he devoted to his studies. I imagine it resembled very closely the work spaces of the dons he’d left behind.”
“He had the best of both worlds, then.” Charlie seemed encouraged by the possibility.
Not wanting to lose that precious thread of hope, Linus rose. “I’ll show it to you,” he said. “It’s not been changed or touched in many years.”
“You do not mind?” Charlie asked. “I imagine it is important to you, having belonged to your father.”
“I know how much you will appreciate it. And as you are here to be my brute-labor force, I suppose I can offer you a moment’s happiness before sending you to work again.”
Charlie laughed and rose as well. “You are a very magnanimous task master.”
“Indeed.”
They climbed the stairs. Father’s study had been placed on the same floor as the family bedchambers. Persephone had once said Father chose the unusual arrangement because he had not wanted the conflicting pull of his family and his work to create a rift. If only he had recovered from his grief before senility had begun taking him away from them. The rift he’d tried so hard to prevent had torn open despite his efforts.
Reaching the study required passing his and Evander’s bedchamber. Linus kept his gaze forward, not so much as glancing at the door. Though he was finding some degree of contentment and even pleasure in his role as master of the estate, he pushed thoughts of Evander from his mind, focusing instead on the study at the end of the corridor. Upon reaching it, he took hold of the handle and looked back at Charlie.
“Prepare yourself. This is very impressive.” He rolled his eyes a little, knowing full well that to the casual observer, the space beyond looked like nothing but chaos.
“I will do my best to endure the splendor.”
Linus pushed the door open. He had not adequately prepared himself for the rush of emotions that slid over him. Father had been gone for two years, longer if one considered how long ago his mind had rendered them strangers. Yet the pain was so fresh and new.
He hung back by the door as Charlie stepped inside, apparently mesmerized.
“He had so many books.”
That was most certainly true. “He read them often. Studied them. Pored over them.” Father was forever reading and digging for more ideas and insights.
“He specialized in myths, if I remember.”
“Greek, in particular.”
Charlie peered at the shelves, reading the spines, running his fingers along them. “What aspects of them did he focus on?”
“He attempted to reconcile the many different versions of the myths. And he was never more excited about his work than when he discovered a new insight, a way of viewing and interpreting them that no one else had thought of or seen.” Linus had always found his father’s interpretations fascinating, though he’d not always agreed with them. “It was the pursuit of new ideas that drove him.”
Charlie nodded emphatically. “Mathematics is like that as well. There are so many possibilities, so many things to be discovered if only people would work at it and pursue it with passion.”
Passion. That was the best word Linus could think of to describe his father’s approach to his studies. It drove him and pushed him. In the end, though, it had consumed him.
“One must also find a balance,” Linus warned. “To lose oneself in the theoretic
al and miss what is real is a tragedy indeed.”
Charlie did not comment. Linus didn’t know if he’d even heard. The young man was studying the space, perhaps imagining a similar one of his own but filled with numbers instead of Greek names, books on mathematics instead of mythology.
Father would have appreciated meeting another person pursuing an academic field of endeavor. When Evander had told Father that he and Linus were bound for the navy, that was the regret he expressed most vehemently: that they would be denied the opportunity to pursue knowledge. He felt certain his father had also mourned the loss of their company and had worried over their safety, but he hadn’t expressed it in the same way.
For Evander, loss of education had not proven the ultimate tragedy.
For Linus, it was still a part of what he mourned about going away. He shared his father’s love of the myths and the myriad things they taught about human nature and experiences. He would have liked to have studied it further, to have searched for his own interpretations and meanings.
He stepped farther inside and ran a hand along the top of the desk chair. The room had no permanent occupant now. Perhaps when Charlie left to continue his education, Linus might devote himself to pursuing his own.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Arabella took two daily walks now: one long one traversing the neighborhood to clear her thoughts and one with Mater around the walled lawn surrounding the dower house. She was not overly familiar with this part of the estate. Her childhood romps with the Jonquil brothers had not included the area surrounding the dower house.
“It is very quiet here,” Arabella observed.
“It’s ghastly.”
Arabella turned shocked eyes on Mater and received something of a smile in return.
“I confess I’m being a touch dramatic,” Mater said. “I simply feel a little too much like an old workhorse sent to the back acres to live out its life in peace because no one has any use for it any longer.”
Arabella nodded sagely. “That would explain the delivery of oats we received this morning.”
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