“You’ve forgotten, haven’t you? I told you about the agreement Teddy and I struck up about Mount Street and Abbeywood Farm.”
“Remind me…” Henri-Antoine said and settled back and waited for Jack to oblige him, which he did, and without rancor.
“I’m to live at Abbeywood Farm as I find it, the way Teddy wants it, and she’ll live at Mount Street as she finds it, the way I like it.” Jack smiled sheepishly. “You know Teddy. Not much interest in wallpaper and fabric swatches, or paint colors for that matter. But ask her about wool yields, coppice felling for firewood, and cider rations for the hay cutters at harvest time, and she’s your man. Which is just as well because one of us has to be able to talk farm management with the steward. I’m just thankful her step-papa was open to teaching her about her ancestral estate.”
“Your ancestral estate, Jack,” Henri-Antoine stated quietly. “Never forget that when you inherited the title on the death of Teddy’s father, you also inherited Abbeywood. It matters not that she grew up there. Just as I have no claim to my boyhood home, and rightly so as a second son. Treat belongs to Roxton for his lifetime and then it will belong to Freddy. Abbeywood is yours until it passes to your son, which, God willing, Teddy will give you. What is unusual in your case, but not unheard of in our circles, is that you are marrying your predecessor’s daughter, who also happens to be your first cousin. All parties and both families can celebrate a most satisfactory union, and Teddy need never vacate her home, which is the fulfillment of her greatest wish.”
Jack stared into his coffee cup, realized it was empty, and set it aside on the silver tray holding the coffee things. He took a moment to adjust its placement, all to gather his thoughts and to assuage his annoyance. He finally met Henri-Antoine’s gaze with a lop-sided smile.
“Do you remember when you counseled me against marrying Teddy—”
“Jack, my homily on your ancestral estate wasn’t a veiled attempt to have you cry off at the eleventh hour. Far from it. You and Teddy are made for each other, and I saw the error of my ways a long time ago. And have I not told you this—numerous times?”
“But that first time, do you remember you questioned not that I was in love with Teddy, but whether she was in love with me. You said her great love was Abbeywood. That I would always come second to her love for the estate. You said that if I married her, I had to be prepared to accept that. But what you—”
“I remember, and I regret saying it. My only concern was, and has always been, your happiness. We’ve been best friends since we were nine. No one means more to me beyond my family than you, Jack. Naturally I want Teddy to be happy too. I want you both to be happy, together.”
“I do know it. And I—we—appreciate your support greatly. I doubt I could be entirely happily married to Teddy if you were against the match. But what you do not seem to fathom, or I’ve failed to convince you, is that I am perfectly at ease coming a close second to Abbeywood in Teddy’s affections. Please! Hear me out,” Jack added gruffly, which was as angry as he ever got, when Henri-Antoine went to interject. “And I am comfortable because there is room in Teddy’s heart for both Abbeywood and me. Truth is, coming second is a close-run thing, because if you throw the Cotswolds into the mix, then there’s three of us squeezed in there. But Teddy’s heart is large, and she wouldn’t be her without Abbeywood. And I do so want her to be her, if that makes sense. And the Cotswolds is in her blood, not mine. I suspect she’d never leave Gloucestershire if she had her way. I’m just glad she’s agreed to come to London with me when Parliament sits. And that may not always be so, particularly when the children come along. She wants them to grow up on the estate. Not here in London. I agree. And whether she leaves them behind to join me here during sittings, or stays with them, that’s something to talk about when the time comes.”
“Dear me. How civil and conciliatory. Roxton will make a Parliamentarian of you yet. And Teddy is indeed fortunate to be marrying such an understanding and amenable fellow.”
“Ha! She’s not having it all her own way. Which is what I most want you to grasp about Teddy and me. It is only fair I’m understanding about her love for Abbeywood, because my first love has and always will be my music. Teddy knows this and accepts it. She is perfectly content to allow me to spend my time composing and playing my viola and pianoforte, here in London when I’m not busy with my parliamentary duties, or in the wilds of the Cotswolds, while she spends her days on all matters farming-related, whether it’s with the steward, or with her parents in the next vale, or she gads about the countryside where she is happiest. She knows my heart is large like hers, large enough to accommodate her and our children, and my music. So you see, you are not to worry about me—or Teddy—or our marriage.”
Henri-Antoine frowned and pulled a face at this confessional.
“That is all very grown up. I am an infant by comparison.” He regarded Jack keenly. “And you are both happy with this pact? For that is what it is, isn’t it—a pact.” When Jack nodded and grinned, he threw up a hand. “Very well. Then so shall I be. Though,” he added irritably, because Jack was still grinning, “I have no idea why you’re staring at me like a beaming Bedlam inmate, as if I’ve failed to see there is some humor in all of this—Have I failed?”
“No. Not failed. It’s just… It’s just—I’m not like you, Harry.”
“Like me?” Henri-Antoine sat up with a frown. “Thank God for that. You’re most definitely not like me. I wouldn’t get along with me at all. Though I still do not see what there is to grin about—”
“I’m not as smart or as wise or as clever as you. Never have been. Never will be. Nor will I ever be your equal in sartorial elegance, in a ballroom, or in sword play. As for your reputation with females, I most definitely do not possess your sangfroid—”
“Spare me my blushes,” Henri-Antoine muttered with a roll of his eyes.
“But I do excel in music, and in knowing you better than anyone alive—”
“True on both counts.”
“Possibly better than you know yourself—”
“Rot!”
“You would not be happy with such a pact. You accept it because you want Teddy and me to be happy, but you do not really understand it, which is why I’m grinning. Because it amuses me that it is the musician who is the practical one when it comes to matters of the heart, while you, who profess not to be the marrying kind, are the unabashed romantic.”
Henri-Antoine glared at Jack, shocked. He went white. “Don’t be idiotic!” And because Jack continued to look at him in an odd sort of way, he uncrossed his legs and got out of the wingchair to stir the coals in the grate with a poker.
Jack joined him there, folding his arms and leaning a shoulder against the mantel.
“You want us to be happy, but that is what I want for you too,” Jack told him quietly. “You can try and convince yourself and others you don’t believe in a soul mate—”
“We had this conversation at Westby’s only last week…” Henri-Antoine replied without taking his eyes from the glowing coals.
“We were both drunk then, and we’re not now.… And I won’t bother you with this again—”
“That’s something at least.”
“—but I believe there is someone out there for you, and that she will be the great love of your life because that is what you need, Harry. And it is what you deserve. And because you are a romantic I know that when you fall in love you’ll well and truly fall, as if off a cliff. And when that happens, don’t fight it; embrace it. There! Enough said. And I give you my word I won’t say it again.”
Henri-Antoine turned to face Jack.
“You know what I believe, Jack? That impending marriage has clogged your brain with romantic pap.” When Jack laughed and shook his head, Henri-Antoine favored him with one of his rare smiles and gave his shoulder an affectionate pat. “Thank you. You are the kindest man I know. But your brain is still mush. Let us return to more immediate concerns: Choosing the wal
lpaper for Mount Street.”
Jack’s eyes lit up and he sighed his relief. “Would you? It shouldn’t take up more than an hour of your time.”
“An hour?” Henri-Antoine pulled a face. “Don’t be preposterous. If you want the house to be perfect for your bride, then you had best set aside half a day to show me what you’ve already chosen, and the other half for me to correct those choices.”
“If you say so.”
“But I’ll only do it if you give me your word not to tell Teddy I had a hand in any of it. Your bride must think readying the nest was all your work.”
“Done. Though there is one thing I need to confess I could not keep from her—Teddy knows Mount Street is your wedding gift to us.”
“Jack! You gave me your word.”
“No, I did not. I refused. You thought threatening to call me out if I told her would be enough for me to agree to your terms. Not so, my friend. I told you I know you better than you know yourself. For one thing you would never call me out, and for the other, being a romantic, you want Teddy and me to have our happily ever after. Which would not be possible if you called me out and killed me. Which you would because you are a far superior swordsman.
“Besides,” Jack continued on a shrug of finality. “I had no choice but to tell her. I could never afford to lease a house in Mount Street, and could only dream of owning such a dwelling at such an address. Teddy knows this. We will have a comfortable life at Abbeywood. The income from the farm and her dowry will mean we won’t want for anything. But we aren’t wealthy on the same scale as you. You can cater to your every extravagant whim, but we still need to think about where we spend our coin. So imagine if I’d brought her to a spacious townhouse in Mount Street, painted, papered, and furnished in the latest style, just a five-minute walk from here, and presented it to her as our London home? She’d rightly refuse to enter it because she would justifiably be concerned I had grossly over-stepped our finances and put us in debt.”
“You are both so practical it’s irksome,” Henri-Antoine drawled without heat.
“Yes. We must be.”
“I hope Teddy accepted the wedding gift without needing persuasion?”
“She did, saying your gift was over-generous and a grand romantic gesture, and that if it had come from anyone else, she would have refused it. But because it is from you, she will thank you with a kiss when next she sees you. And if you order me not to tell her, she will inform everyone at the wedding breakfast you have gifted us an urn, or a shell, or something so inferior in quality that you’ll be labeled a miser. So you had best let her thank you with a kiss, is my advice.”
“Tell Teddy I will accept her kiss, despite her threat of blackmail, but that my gift was for purely selfish reasons. I don’t want you moving too far away.”
“Ha! That’s what she said to me.”
“Did she? Well she’s right. Though I hope you assured her I will not bother you unless you wish to be bothered…?”
“You couldn’t bother us if you tried, Harry,” Jack said, suddenly so emotionally overwhelmed he felt tears in his eyes. He wondered why, after everything that had just been said between them, he should fall all to pieces now. He quickly turned away, wiping a hand across his face, then poured himself another cup of coffee. “Would tomorrow be soon enough to visit Mount Street with me?” he asked on what he hoped was a light note.
“It will have to wait until the day after,” Henri-Antoine replied, and resumed his seat with an outward flick of his frock coat skirts. When Jack held up the coffee pot, he shook his head. “The Fournier Foundation trustees meet tomorrow.”
Jack was surprised. “We do? I thought all funding applications had been vetted. Those lucky few medical establishments worthy of inspection are scheduled for the start of the autumn teaching year, aren’t they?”
“That was what was decided, but it seems Bailey has received a special request from the Foundation’s patron that cannot be ignored.”
Jack sipped at his coffee. It was lukewarm at best.
“Ah. Well, in that case, we had best honor it. What is it?”
Henri-Antoine opened the pages of Thucydides’ History of the Peloponnesian War which he had been reading when Jack came into the room, and removed a letter he was using as a place holder. This he handed to Jack. It was from Dr. Bailey, the foundation’s director.
“Bailey and the trustees are invited to dinner and to tour the facilities of Warner’s Dispensary in Gerrard Street.”
Jack looked up from perusing the short missive.
“Warner’s Dispensary? But didn’t we put aside Dr. Warner’s submission… Can’t remember why—”
“I’m not surprised. There were over a dozen submissions. He was asked to submit again next cycle.”
Jack gave a start. He hastily set down his coffee cup.
“Harry! Warner’s Dispensary. Gerrard Street. I knew there was something about that girl! Not the girl precisely, but when she mentioned Warner’s Dispensary, a cog turned in here,” he said and tapped his head. “But I couldn’t place where I’d heard of it before. And to be honest, I was more concerned about you and—Were you as surprised at the coincidence that we’re off to inspect the very dispensary where your ministering angel toils?”
“Yes. Had I received Bailey’s letter sooner, I could’ve saved myself the effort and thanked her tomorrow.”
“So you did pay her a call?”
“Several days ago.”
“And…?” Jack prompted when Henri-Antoine was not forthcoming.
Henri-Antoine looked at his friend without expression. “And what?”
“Did you see her? Did you thank her? What did you make of her?”
“To the first two questions: Yes. To the third: You can decide that for yourself tomorrow.”
“I will. But what I asked is what you made of her.”
Henri-Antoine shrugged. “I cannot answer you.”
Jack stared at him, then threw a hand up in dismissal. “Very well. Have it your way. I know when not to press you when it comes to females—”
“I cannot answer you because I do not know what to make of Miss Crisp,” Henri-Antoine enunciated coldly, and with more emotion than he intended.
And he spoke the truth. He did not know. In fact, he did not want to think of Miss Crisp at all. She stirred within him emotions that were best left unexplored, and responses that were uncharacteristic and unwanted. Both left him confused and annoyed and uneasy.
He had stormed out of the dispensary in a most ungentlemanly manner, determined that was an end to his obligation to Miss Crisp, and he need never think of her again. And yet, by some whim of lunacy, when the carriage set to, he had peered out the window and at the precise moment it slowly passed her by, so that the vision of her framed in the doorway was now burned into his brain. He saw her whenever he closed his eyes: Slender arms at right angles and hands clasped under her neat bosom. Her feet together, the scuffed toes of her half-boots just peeking out from under the hem of her plain gown. The curl of hair that had come loose from its pins tucked behind an ear out of the way and tickling her white throat. And the confusion writ large on her lovely face. But all that was minor detail compared with what came next. Her blue eyes sparked with recognition seeing him looking out of his carriage. She smiled and it lit up her whole face. She glowed. Dear God but she was lovely. He had wished at that moment those blue eyes and that smile were for him and him alone. And his wish was granted. Locked in the moment, it did not occur to him that she was looking directly at him, but she was.
What was his response? He did not give a curt nod in acknowledgement and then slowly pull the blind. Which would have been the polite thing to do, and the only response he need give her. No. He had not done that. He had reacted in a most uncharacteristic and cowardly manner. He threw himself back against the upholstery, back into the shadows of the carriage interior, back where she could not see him. Heart racing and face hot, he felt as if he’d been caught out commi
tting a heinous act; he felt peculiar and ridiculous. He forgot to breathe.
He reasoned it was not his fault, and that he owed her nothing.
She was not his concern. To calm himself he said this over and over again. There was nothing he could do to help her, not that she had asked for or wanted his help. She seemed to take pride in her efforts to help the sick poor. Yet she made him feel as if he should do something, anything, to make her situation better. She had been educated, and had all the hallmarks of a female who had a right to expect to live a life far from the one she was living now, down amongst the diseased and downtrodden. Why? Why did he feel this way? All because she had helped him? Or was there another reason? One he had no wish to acknowledge or explore. He told himself he would not be drawn in to something from which he was very certain he could not extricate himself without great personal and emotional cost. What was she to him anyway? She was not his responsibility.
And yet every night since that cowardly action of hiding himself away in the shadows of his carriage, he saw her, and wished he did not. So he was going to do something about it; something for himself. Something utterly self-centered he was certain would expunge Miss Lisa Crisp from his mind’s eye and pull his life back from the precipice of uncertainty. Something that would return his life to its natural order, where his preeminent position in society as son of a duke was never questioned, so that when next he saw Miss Lisa Crisp, as he knew he would when the Fournier Foundation trustees visited Warner’s Dispensary, he would see her as she appeared to others: A girl of no particular family, so far beneath him on the social ladder that he need not acknowledge her at all.
“YOU’RE NOT STAYING in tonight?” Jack enquired to break Henri-Antoine out of his brooding silence.
He noticed his best friend had changed out of the frock coat and waistcoat he’d been wearing when they had dined earlier that day, for an ensemble of black silk smothered in an embroidery of silver thread and sapphire spangles. It was an outfit to be worn in the public gaze, and under a blaze of candles he would look magnificent.
Satyr’s Son: A Georgian Historical Romance (Roxton Family Saga Book 5) Page 12
