“You’re several leaps ahead of the situation,” Lucas said, “but that’s the basic idea.”
“And the lady . . . ?” Digby pressed.
“Does not feel at all the same.”
Digby glanced at Kes.
“Our friend speaks the truth, I am afraid,” Kes said.
“This marriage of yours is proving monstrously complicated.” Digby sighed. “And we have only half the Gents here to sort it out.”
“Without Aldric, I’m not certain we can manage it,” Kes said.
“Not without scuffing my new shoes.” Digby motioned to his high-polished shoes with their silver-and-paste buckles. “I refuse to earn the wrath of my cordwainer, even for you.”
Bless the heavens for Digby. His ridiculousness lightened even the heaviest moments. Lucas could even smile a little.
He turned to Kes. “Do you have a grand plan, Grumpy Uncle?” That was the moniker assigned to Kes, a fitting one.
“I do, in fact,” he said. “A two-fold one.”
They walked side by side away from the wall. It wasn’t too terribly far from Brier Hill but a long enough walk for formulating some kind of strategy.
“I suggest you hand over your Make Julia Your Friend Again campaign to Digby and me. We’ll tell her flattering things about you, try to improve her impression of the gentleman she married.”
“Are you in such bad bread as all that?” Digby asked.
“Yes,” Lucas and Kes answered in unison.
“Well, then.” Digby made a quick adjustment to his curled and powdered hair, not that his always-perfect coiffure ever needed attention. “I will begin thinking of very flattering things to say about you.”
“Lies?” Lucas guessed.
“Naturally.”
He looked back to Kes. “And what will I be doing while the two of you are weaving your tales?”
“Courting your wife.”
“Courting her?” Lucas barely managed not to sputter. “Flirting proved humiliatingly ineffective yesterday.”
“Nothing addresses a lack of talent quite like practice.” Digby had taken to making grandiose declarations during their university days. He could still be counted on for the occasional royal edict or two.
“So, our brilliant strategy is the two of you try to convince Julia that she and I should be friends, while I try to win her more tender regard, all the while hoping for a miracle?”
Kes nodded solemnly.
“Gads, man. Have a spot of faith.” Digby tossed him a deeply pained look, one Lucas didn’t believe for a moment. “When have any of the Gents’ plans gone awry?”
Lud, they were in trouble.
“By the by, you two”—Digby motioned vaguely in their direction—“welcome back from the Continent.”
The Gents had such a strong and natural friendship that being in company with each other was easy. They sometimes forgot how long they’d been apart. Lucas hadn’t seen any of the group, other than Kes, in more than a year. The realization startled him.
“It’s good to be back,” Kes said.
Lucas offered his view. “It’ll be good to be back if we can sort out the mess my parents made of my life.”
Digby shook his head, his expression one of regal disapproval. “For a jester, you’re remarkably unfunny.”
The remainder of the walk back to Brier Hill was punctuated by laughter and commentary on people they knew and things they’d written to each other.
“When are you hosting another Gents house party?” Digby asked. “We had some legendary ones here.”
“I’m no longer the only one with an estate. Perhaps one of you should host the next gathering.”
“Why not ask Aldric?” Digby asked solemnly. “He might manage to borrow an estate with enough warning.”
“Best get that jesting out of your system before you see him, Your Majesty,” Kes said. “Being an estate-less younger son is a sore topic for the General.”
Lucas pointed to Kes but spoke to Digby. “Quite the rain cloud, isn’t he? Can’t you ‘off with his head’ or something?”
The King sniffed and pursed his lips. “I am soon to make the acquaintance of an impressively strong-willed and, I hope, very witty lady. I wish to be in fine form when I do, and executions are unbearably tiring.”
“The two of you together are unbearably tiring,” Kes muttered in true Grumpy Uncle fashion.
“Does this mean you won’t be joining us on our Gents journey to Portugal?” Lucas asked.
“And give you two the satisfaction?” Kes shook his head.
They passed through the front door of Brier Hill. The footman spied them, his eyes settling on Digby, in particular. He dropped a bow so deep even King George would have approved.
“Very good, my man.” Digby motioned him up.
“I see you’ve been here already this morning,” Kes said. “And made the expected impression.”
Digby shrugged regally. “How do you suppose I knew where to find you two?”
Lucas had wondered about that. “Mrs. Parks betrayed us, didn’t she?”
“She likes me.” Digby handed his coat to the footman with a flourish. “Now, where is the new Lady Jonquil?”
“That, I don’t know.”
“Begging your pardon, Your Majesty.” The footman dipped another bow. “Lady Jonquil is in the front sitting room.”
Digby gave a single quick nod. “Very good, man.” He looked to Lucas. “Shall we toss you in with your lady love?”
“I thought you said executions were exhausting.”
He waved that off. “This one, I will enjoy.”
Lucas dipped a dramatic bow, bending over one leg. “What does a jester live for but to entertain his king?”
“Onward!” Digby declared.
A surge of nervousness slowed Lucas’s steps as he approached the sitting room. He did not, however, seize the coward’s escape. He ushered his friends inside.
Julia stood across the room, gazing out the window. She turned as they approached, and her eyes found him first.
“Good morning, Lucas.” Such awkwardness. He hadn’t, then, imagined her discomfort when he’d attempted to be charming and flirtatious.
“We have another guest,” he said. “An old friend of mine.”
“Bah,” Digby said. “There is nothing old about me.” He pushed past Lucas and crossed directly to Julia.
Her lips parted in an involuntary O. Digby bowed over her hand. Julia blushed more deeply than Lucas had ever seen.
“I forget sometimes how blasted handsome he is,” Kes said. “It’s rather nauseating.”
Nauseating wasn’t precisely the word that came to Lucas’s mind. Seeing the spell Digby so quickly cast over Julia, the apropos descriptor was something far closer to exasperating.
Kes elbowed Lucas, then nodded subtly toward Julia. What was he trying to communicate? Yes, they’d found Julia. Yes, Digby was being a bit too . . . Digby. Yes, Julia was still less than enthusiastic about Lucas’s company.
The King treated them all to a dazzling smile. “Since the necessary introductions do not seem to be forthcoming, I will move forward with the assumption that this stunning lady is the new Lady Jonquil and will casually mention that I am Mr. Digby Layton of Yorkshire, a longtime friend of these socially inept gentlemen.”
Julia dipped a curtsy, her pale-blue eyes sparkling with pleasure. “A very great pleasure to meet you, Mr. Layton. What has brought you to Brier Hill?”
“An intriguing letter from Mr. Barrington.” He offered Julia his arm, which she accepted without the slightest qualm.
“What did Mr. Barrington write to you?”
Digby led her to the nearby seating area. “He sent me word of a wedding.”
Julia looked at Lucas as she sat. “You did not tell your
friends that you were getting married?”
“I did.”
“Set your heart at ease, my dear Lady Jonquil.” Digby used his “isn’t my empathy charming” tone that the Gents knew all too well—he’d utilized it often enough over the years. “I received word from Lucas, and I am certain the rest of the Gents did as well.”
“And was the tone of Lucas’s announcement one of—?” Julia’s question ended abruptly, her lips pressing together.
“Had his tone communicated anything less than pleasure, all of us would have descended upon Nottinghamshire with all possible haste,” Digby said. “That I, alone, have made an appearance, ought to set your mind at ease.”
“Your visit is not setting my mind at ease,” Lucas muttered.
“You are not the only one of our group in attendance,” Kes said, moving to join Julia and Digby. “I am usually counted in the number.”
Digby arched an eyebrow and tossed Julia yet another winning smile, deepening her blush once more. “Have you enjoyed the company of our Grumpy Uncle?”
“Grumpy Uncle?” Julia looked from one of them to the other.
“All of the Gents have our little titles,” Digby said with a characteristic wave of his hand. “You do know of the Gents, do you not?”
Julia nodded. “But my information is minimal.”
“Huzzah,” Digby said with a mischievous grin. “I get to share a tale. I am quite adept at it, I will have you know.”
“I haven’t the least doubt on that score.” Julia smiled at Digby in a way she never did at Lucas. She was at ease and engrossed and . . . charmed, he was quite certain.
“A group of us formed something of an exclusive club while we were at University,” Digby said. “Six of us, known to one another as the Gents. Though our University days are long behind us, we remain the very best of friends and look out for each other. We belong to the same club in London, gather at one another’s homes throughout the year, travel together.”
“And Mr. Barrington’s name among you is Grumpy Uncle?” Julia sounded as though she weren’t certain if she ought to laugh or offer Kes a bit of sympathy.
Digby gestured to Kes. “If the dancing slipper fits.”
Julia pressed her hands together and rested her fingers against her lower lip. “What are the other titles among you?”
Lucas paced behind the sofa she sat on. It was good to see Julia stepping out from behind her reserve and self-imposed distance, yet he felt upended by her obvious enjoyment of Digby’s company.
“We have the General, the King, Puppy, the Jester, Archbishop, and, of course, Grumpy Uncle.”
Julia covered her mouth with her hand for just a moment, laughter dancing in her eyes. “You are certainly not Archbishop, Mr. Layton.”
“Certainly not.” He smoothed the lace at his cuffs. “You have known Lucas longer than any of us. Can you guess which moniker belongs to him?”
Julia twisted enough to look over the back of the sofa at him. He was being evaluated. The experience was not an overly comfortable one. He tucked his nervousness behind a rather daft pose.
With a smile, she turned back to Digby. “The Jester.”
“Quite right.” Digby leaned back, somehow looking simultaneously casual and refined. “And which do you suppose I am?”
“You could be none other than the King.” Lucas couldn’t see Julia’s face, but he suspected she was smiling. Still. He had worked for every smile he’d received from her the past weeks, yet Digby inspired endless, effortless expressions of delight. Perhaps Kes’s scheme wasn’t such a good one after all. What a time for Aldric to not be among them. They could have used the General’s flair for strategy. Further, Aldric was rather austere and unlikely to steal Julia’s affection right out from under Lucas’s nose.
Lucas shook that thought off. Digby was a flirt and oftentimes ridiculous, but he wasn’t a cad. And the man could hardly help that he was an Adonis. It also wasn’t his fault Lucas and Julia were in this predicament.
While Digby regaled Julia with an entertaining and blessedly appropriate tale of their time at Cambridge, Lucas slipped out of the room. Kes and Digby would sing his praises—eventually—but he didn’t particularly want to be there while they did.
Chapter Twenty
Brier Hill began to take on a little of the feeling of home for Julia. Though Mr. Barrington had been visiting for a few days already, Julia had felt like the guest. Mr. Layton had changed all of that. He deferred to her on matters of schedules and activities, complimented her on the menu at every meal, dipped what appeared to be very sincere bows when they crossed paths. He treated her like a hostess, one worthy of admiration. That was making such a difference.
She was no longer startled by how handsome he was, but she didn’t think she would ever grow entirely accustomed to it. That any man could be that beautiful, for lack of a better word, boggled the mind. Yet, he put a person immediately at ease with his charm and amusing arrogance. Julia was grateful for him; he eased the sting of Lucas’s continued aloofness.
The gentlemen were spending the afternoon in the circular sitting room, as they had the last two days. She’d spent those same afternoons in the book room. Her studies hadn’t been disrupted by the arrival of another of Lucas’s friends. She’d finished the mathematics book she’d brought from Farland Meadows, the concepts that had been eluding her finally settling into place in her mind.
Lucas had said she was welcome to any book in the house. Perhaps if she asked him to recommend one, they could have another pleasant conversation like they’d had on the mountain and during their picnic. She longed for that. She had for years.
“Lady Jonquil.”
She turned at the sound of Mr. Layton’s voice. “Your Majesty.”
He made an elegant dip of his head. “Your presence is requested by the Jester and Grumpy Uncle.”
“Does royalty often deliver messages for the peasantry?”
“Constantly,” he answered dryly. “They have no respect for my position of importance.”
She rose, grateful for his lightheartedness, and moved toward the door. “I will spare your dignity and simply ask where those two louts are waiting for me.”
“In the round sitting room, my lady,” he said with a flourishing bow.
That stopped her on the spot. She turned back and looked at him. “I am specifically barred from that room.”
“Pish, my lady. You are mistress of this house. You cannot be forbidden to enter a room within it.”
“I can be if the one doing the forbidding is the master of the house.”
Mr. Layton slipped her arm through his and walked with her out of the book room. “I don’t know if you have noticed this about our mutual friend, but Lucas has a tendency to be an idiot.”
“He can also be sweet, tender, kind, thoughtful . . .” She let the pent-up air out of her lungs. “And frustrating and distant and impossible and utterly confusing.”
“Hence his name among us,” Mr. Layton said.
“The Jester? I assumed you call him that because he’s funny.”
“He is,” Mr. Layton acknowledged. “But that’s not the reason for his name.”
“Then why?” Her curiosity grew tenfold as they walked down the corridor.
He shook his head. “I believe, Lady Jonquil, I will leave the solving of that mystery to you.”
They stepped through the door into the antechamber connecting Julia’s bedchamber with Lucas’s and, to her surprise, turned toward his. Mr. Layton choosing that path made sense when she truly thought about it, but she had never been in Lucas’s room. She was not only about to breach the threshold of the circular sitting room but was also traversing his private room.
She kept her gaze decidedly forward as they stepped inside. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see that the room was not terribly unlike hers:
the same stark white walls and heavy drapes, furniture as sparse and utilitarian. Perhaps the simplicity of her room hadn’t been a reflection of her unwanted status but, rather, an indication of the estate’s small coffers.
“Did the Jester and Grumpy Uncle say why they wished for my company?” she asked quietly as they approached the door she felt certain led to the round room.
“They wish for you to settle a dispute.”
That was unexpected. Mr. Layton paused and released her arm, indicating she should precede him. She stepped through the door, heart lodged uncomfortably in her neck. Mr. Barrington rose from the sofa at her entrance. Lucas, who had been leaning against the mantel above the small fireplace, stood up straight. He didn’t look entirely happy to see her, but neither did he appear displeased. She never knew what to think of his unpredictable moods and unreadable expressions.
She was, however, mistress of this house and hostess of this impromptu gathering. She would fill her role despite her uncertainty. “The King informs me that I am to cast a deciding vote in a disagreement the two of you are having.”
“Indeed.” Mr. Barrington dipped his head a little.
Mr. Layton led her to the empty armchair and saw her seated before sitting as well on the sofa beside Mr. Barrington, flicking his coattails out of the way as he did.
“What is the topic of your dispute?” Julia asked.
“Dancing,” Mr. Barrington said quite matter-of-factly.
Julia looked over at Lucas. “Dancing?”
He nodded. “We found ourselves in a disagreement about which was the best dance. One of us said the minuet, another the allemande, and the last of us said the best dance was whichever one he was dancing.”
Julia turned to Mr. Layton with a smile. “That last one was you, I have no doubt.”
He smiled quite pompously. “I was speaking only the truth.”
“Which of you preferred the minuet and which the allemande?” she asked the others.
“No,” Mr. Layton said. “We want your opinion without undue influence.”
“Why are you debating the merits of dances? Is this a usual topic of conversation for gentlemen?”
“It is when those gentlemen are anticipating a very significant ball,” Lucas said.
Forget Me Not (The Gents Book #1) Page 15
