“It’s good to see you, Father.” He eyed the older man warily.
“And you, my boy. It’s been far too long.” The earl’s smile was wide. “We have a great deal to talk about. I was just saying as much to Mr. Freeman. I will snatch a few minutes with you both, if I may, after dinner.”
Lysander was plainly as discombobulated by this suggestion as Adam, but he agreed amicably enough.
“Of course, Father. I look forward to it.”
“Excellent!” the earl said. “All right. I’d better get washed up myself. I’m quite filthy from travelling.” The earl snapped his fingers at his valet in a rude manner that Adam didn’t care for. At the earl’s gesture, the valet moved forward, lifting a final small trunk that had not yet been removed by the footmen who’d taken the rest of the earl’s luggage away.
The earl mounted the west staircase, his valet treading in his wake. “I’ll see you at dinner, gentlemen,” he said in farewell, disappearing around the corner of the winding steps.
Alone, Adam and Lysander stared at one another. Lysander smiled suddenly.
“I had an idea on the walk home. Come with me.” He started up the east staircase.
“Where are we going?” Adam asked, even as he followed.
“Somewhere we should be able to get some privacy.” Lysander grinned at Adam over his shoulder. “The nursery.”
They took the stairs quickly, climbing flight after flight till they reached the top floor where the nursery was tucked away.
“The servants’ quarters are on this floor too,” Lysander explained, as they approached a pair of double doors. “But they’re in the east and west wings, and the nearest servants’ bedchambers are a good way off. The nursery sits in between, over the main part of the house.”
Lysander glanced around quickly before reaching for the door handle and opening it, sticking his head inside for a peek before entering.
Satisfied they were alone, he opened the door fully, walking in and allowing Adam to follow him inside, closing the door behind them with a soft click.
The main part of the nursery was spacious and bright. Being on the top floor of the Abbey, the ceiling was quite low and the windows were small and high, but there were lots of them and with no drapes on them, the winter sunlight shone through. The few pieces of furniture in the room were huddled under sheets and there were no rugs on the wooden floor. The nursery was plainly not currently in use.
“This main room was where we played, and had our lessons with our governess, Miss Crichton—till we boys went to school, at any rate.” Lysander made for a door on the left of the room. “This was the boys’ bedchamber.”
Adam followed him inside. There were three narrow beds, all bare, a few wooden boxes and a shrouded bit of furniture, the shape of which puzzled him. Approaching it, he lifted the sheet, smiling to find a sizeable rocking horse underneath. Pulling the sheet off, he saw it was a splendid one, with a large white, broad-backed horse and huge green rockers. The paint was badly chipped, indicating this had been a well-used toy.
“I always loved horses.” Lysander chuckled behind him. “So did Perry. We used to fight over that horse all day long when he came to play.” He paused, then added in a different tone. “God, Perry.”
Adam turned at that. “Is something wrong?”
Lysander’s expression was pained and he gave a strange laugh. “Perry saw us earlier—kissing in the snow.”
“What?” Adam’s heart pounded with sudden panic
“Don’t worry,” Lysander soothed, taking hold of Adam’s shoulders and moving closer. “He wasn’t as shocked as you might imagine—it turns out, he’s like us. Mostly he was annoyed I never told him before.”
The immediate panic receded, but a different, more insidious fear snaked into the space it left behind. “Because he wants you,” Adam guessed.
Lysander flushed. “I don’t think he knows what he wants,” he said, which was no answer at all, but then he added, “But I know who I want—and he’s standing right in front of me.”
Adam’s mouth went dry at those words. God, Lysander. Now that it was winter, his fair hair had darkened to old-gold, gleaming dully in the sunlight streaming through the windows. Adam lifted a hand and brushed that ever-wayward lock from his lover’s forehead with gentle fingers. Lysander’s bright blue eyes glinted with amusement and affection. Such a sunny lad, this one. How he’d lightened Adam’s life. Adam who was, he knew, sometimes too serious, too driven by work and obligation.
Lysander leaned in, his gaze changing from humorous to dreamy as he moved closer. Adam gave a rumble of pleasure, a deep growl of satisfaction that made Lysander give a soft breathy chuckle, just as their lips touched.
“Have you missed me, Mr. Freeman?” he murmured, the minute movement of his lips a burst of featherlight kisses against Adam’s mouth.
“God, yes,” Adam said hoarsely, taking hold of Lysander’s hips and yanking him close. “Come here.” He pressed their mouths together in a hot, perfect kiss.
Lysander’s tongue slid against his own, making Adam moan and his cock thicken in his breeches. Christ, but he wanted to throw Lysander down onto one of those narrow cots and tear off his clothes. Swallow his cock and ride him hard. Hear all those helpless and wonderful noises Lysander made when he made love to him.
Love.
Adam’s heart felt full and hot and he wanted to say those words—I love you. Wanted to lay them on Lysander’s skin between kisses, wanted to shout them to the rafters as they came together. And really, why was he not saying them? What did he have to lose but a bit of pride?
“Lysander,” he murmured against his lover’s mouth. “Lysander I—”
The door opened.
Not, thankfully, the door to the boys’ bedchamber, but the door to the main nursery. Footsteps followed and murmuring voices.
Adam groaned as they broke apart. “I don’t believe this. This house is enormous but I can’t get you alone for as much as a minute.”
With an exasperated sigh, Lysander made for the door that led to the main room of the nursery. He opened it to reveal two ladies. One held a sheet, and the other was on her knees beside an enormous dolls’ house. They both turned at the noise, twin expressions of surprise on their faces.
It was Lysander’s sister, Mrs. Rodney, on her knees, and Miss Greenhill with the sheet in her hand.
“Lysander,” his sister squeaked. “What are you doing up here?”
“I asked for a full tour of the Abbey,” Adam said smoothly. He turned to Lysander. “So, this is where all you Winterbourne children played?”
“Yes, all of us. Our friends too, and their siblings sometimes,” Lysander replied. He glanced at his sister, “Didn’t Bella Cavendish knock over that dollhouse one time?”
Mrs. Rodney laughed. “Yes, she did, the little horror. Althea and I were playing with it and we wouldn’t let her join in—she was very little and prone to breaking everything—so she turned around and shoved it with all her might and everything went flying!”
Adam stepped forward to peer inside the dollhouse. “It really is a splendid one, isn’t it?” The house was designed like a modern townhouse and had five floors, each one crammed with little figures and furniture and even tiny domestic items, from pots and pans hanging in the kitchen to a silver hairbrush and handheld mirror sitting on the armoire in the master bedroom.
Mrs. Rodney smiled wistfully. “It was a present from Father—we spent hours playing with it, didn’t we, Anne?”
Miss Greenhill chuckled. “We did, though I seem to recall I spent an awful lot of time badgering your brothers to let me play on the rocking horse instead.”
“That’s right,” Mrs. Rodney said, grinning. “You just wouldn’t take no for an answer, would you?”
Miss Greenhill’s lips twisted in a smile that was oddly self-mocking. “I always knew what I wanted.”
Mrs. Rodney seemed to consider that for a moment, but she didn’t answer. Merely rose to her fe
et and began brushing down her skirts.
“We should go back down,” she said briskly. “Althea said she’d arrange for tea and cake to be served in the drawing room, and I for one am starved after that walk.”
She looked up, giving them all a bright smile. “Shall we?”
Chapter 10 - Lysander
Lysander examined the fall of his cravat in the mirror. Considering he’d elected for a simple mailcoach style, it ought to look rather better, but he’d let his sartorial standards slip this past year and was rather out of practice with the more complicated knots.
Lifting his chin, he tweaked the folds of linen a few times, but all he managed to do was wilt the fabric further. With a sigh, he gave up. It would have to do. If he didn’t go now, he’d be late for dinner and find himself in his mother’s bad books.
As he straightened the sleeves of his evening coat and gave himself a final look over in the mirror, Lysander couldn’t help but think longingly of dinners at Edgeley Park. No ceremony there, just him and Adam, talking and laughing and discussing their days, not minding their table manners too much. And then afterwards, retiring to the cosy sitting room off Adam’s bedchamber to drink a little wine and relax before bed.
Everything was so easy at Edgeley Park. Coming back to Winterbourne Abbey was like a being doused with cold water, or woken suddenly from an impossibly happy dream. It was a stark reminder that the real world didn’t tolerate men like them. Adam’s wealth insulated them from that reality at Edgeley Park, but it couldn’t insulate them here.
He just wished he could be himself here, the way he was at home. Wished he could show his affection for Adam in front of his family. Wished he could idly touch him without always having to worry what others thought.
He wished...he could go home.
Lysander sighed and turned from the mirror. He had at least three more days of this to tolerate, and in truth his mother would be wounded at him leaving even that soon. She had already made it clear she expected him to stay a fortnight and he hadn’t had the fortitude to contradict her.
Well, he’d tell her tonight.
He couldn’t manage two full weeks of this.
LYSANDER WAS SEATED between Bella and Mrs. Griffiths at dinner.
Bella had been reclining on his mother’s chaise longue when he’d entered the drawing room earlier, her injured ankle elevated. When it was time to go in to dinner, he and Perry had each given her an arm. She’d limped into the dining room rather dramatically between them, though Lysander privately wondered how hurt she really was—he was fairly sure that at one point she favoured the wrong foot.
“Poor Lady Arabella,” Mrs. Griffiths said as Perry and Lysander settled Bella into her chair “I’m surprised you came down, my dear. You should have asked for a tray in your room and rested that ankle properly.”
“Oh, but I couldn’t!” Bella exclaimed. “Thinking of you all down here, having a lovely time—no, I’d’ve been eaten up with envy, ma’am! Especially knowing that Mr. Winterbourne was to be my table companion! I couldn’t miss out on that.” She laughed merrily.
Mrs. Griffiths chuckled too. “Yes, we are lucky, are we not? Having the handsomest man in the room as our captive audience?” With a sudden movement, she lifted her fan, spread it wide with a sharp flick of her wrist, and peeped coquettishly at Lysander over the brim.
Good lord, Lysander thought, amused. Sixty if she’s a day and still flirting with her fan.
Bella giggled. “Very true,” she said and winked at Lysander.
Adam was once again seated too far from Lysander to allow them to converse, though at least Lysander had amusing table companions this evening. Bella was a minx, to be sure, but entertaining with it, and Mrs. Griffiths was very amiable, even if she was a horror with her fan. She kept rapping Lysander over the knuckles with it whenever he made a joke. It was meant to be flirtatious, he was sure, but it hurt like the devil.
They were about half way through dinner when Lysander heard the unmistakable sound of silver cutlery tapping against crystal.
Ting, ting, ting.
Lysander glanced up to see his father standing at the head of the table, glass and spoon in hand.
Having got his guests’ attention, he smiled at them. “Before I say another word, allow me to welcome you all—properly—to Winterbourne Abbey. It is always a pleasure to share our home with dear friends, especially at this time of year. My wife and I are greatly looking forward to spending Christmas day with all of you tomorrow.”
Murmurs of pleasure and agreement rippled up and down the table.
The earl held up his glass. “I therefore wish to begin by proposing a toast to all of you. Thank you for accepting our invitation to join us during this Christmas holiday.” He lifted his glass and smiled. “To you all.”
Everyone raised their glasses and drank, but when the glasses were set back down, the earl did not, as Lysander had expected, return to his seat.
“I should also like to say a special welcome,” he continued, “to our dear friend, Sir Edmund Hunt.”
Sir Edmund, who was seated between Gwen and Mrs. Gould, appeared mildly startled at that, a small frown tugging his brows together.
The earl smiled at him ingratiatingly. “We—our family, that is—have seen a great deal of Sir Edmund over these last few months.” He darted a coy glance at Gwen, which left no one at the table in any doubt as to why the Winterbournes had seen so much of Sir Edmund. “And we hope to...deepen that friendship in more meaningful ways in future.” He raised his glass. “To Sir Edmund.”
Poor Gwen’s face flamed scarlet at her father’s intemperate words. Nor did Sir Edmund appear pleased. His lips, which usually curled in a wry, sleepy smile, were pressed into a hard line.
“Bloody hell,” Bella muttered beside Lysander. He sent her a warning look, even as he bit his lip against laughter.
The guests all obediently drank again, and still his father didn’t sit down. Good lord, what next?
“I have one last toast,” the earl announced. “But before I propose it, I have to tell you all a little story.”
The earl looked straight at Lysander—Lysander’s stomach sank.
“A year and a half ago,” the earl began, “our son, Lysander, came to me and told me he wanted to run this estate. He told me he loved the land on which he had grown up and that he wanted to learn the care and stewardship needed to make it thrive. To work alongside myself, and his older brother who will inherit the earldom, to make that happen.”
Lysander stared warily at his father, wondering what was to come.
The earl sighed heavily. “I said no. I told Lysander that I would not agree to his request. His mother and I had already decided that a career in the Church would be best for him and I told him that that was the path we expected him to follow.”
The guests’ gazes shifted between the earl, standing at the top of the table, and Lysander, sitting near the bottom. Lysander felt his face heat and stared down at his plate.
There was a long pause, then the earl said, “That was a mistake.”
Lysander’s gaze snapped back up and he stared at his father in disbelief.
“It was quite wrong of us—of me—to stifle Lysander’s ambitions, and to try to force him down another path for which he had no calling. In any event, it did no good.” His smile as he gazed round the table was self-deprecating. “Lysander was offered another position as a steward by our dear friend, Mr. Freeman—and of course he took it.”
Dear friend? Lysander thought hysterically. He glanced at Adam, hoping to catch his eye. To share a moment’s amusement with him. But Adam was staring grimly at the table, while the rest of the guests were all raptly gazing at the earl.
The earl continued. “I am more grateful than I can say that Mr. Freeman gave my son the opportunity that I—to my eternal shame—refused him.” He sighed, then went on, “Over the last year and a half, Lysander has proved me wrong in every objection I had to his chosen path in life. He has
been persistent, hard-working and successful. He has proved beyond doubt his aptitude and commitment and I could not be prouder of him.”
Although a lingering suspicion as to his father’s motives dogged him, those words could not but warm Lysander’s heart. He had always longed for his father’s approval as a boy.
“And so,” the earl said, smiling, “having admitted that I was thoroughly wrong in every particular”— a ripple amusement ran around the table—“there is only one thing left to do.” He turned his gaze on Lysander again. “And that is to ask you, Lysander, to take up the position I refused to give you eighteen months ago. To use your new skills to benefit the Winterbourne estate—which I know you love with all your heart—and the people who live here.”
There was a round of gasps and exclamations around the table at the earl’s words.
Lysander just stared, first at his father, who was gazing at him with the proud certainty of man who has offered a gift that will not be refused. Then at his mother, who was watching him with tears of happiness in her eyes, her hands pressed to her chest.
And finally, at Adam. Who was still staring at the table, his expression quite blank.
Lysander’s heart twisted painfully.
A year and a half ago, Lysander would have given his right arm for this. He did love the Winterbourne estate with all his heart and he’d wanted nothing more than to work on it, with the people who lived here and with whom he’d spent a happy, carefree childhood.
But he didn’t want that anymore. Not if it meant losing Adam.
“Speech!” someone cried. It was Simon, Lysander realised, grinning at him and looking pleased. Lysander felt suddenly sure that Simon had had a hand in this, speaking up for Lysander with his father. “Come on, Lysander, speech!”
Lysander managed a creditable chuckle. “Absolutely not. One orator in the family is plenty.” He glanced at the earl then. “Father and I can speak privately about this later.”
“Yes, of course,” the earl said indulgently. “We’ll talk through all the details then. There’s great deal to discuss, after all. For now, let me simply propose one further toast.” He lifted his glass again and smiled around the table. “To my son. To Lysander.”
Mr Winterbourne's Christmas Page 7
