Page 19 of Hastings (Brothers in Arms #15)
CHAPTER 19
D id she think this was how he lived his life? She and Hastings came from the same place. Didn’t she realize this was as temporary for him as it was for her? She’d already ruined it for him. She’d brought the reality of his life and who he was and what he did roaring back just when he’d begun to feel like this was where he belonged.
She was right about one thing—people like them did not belong in places like this. With people like Stephen. Not even people like the duke, who was so worried all the time about protecting everyone in his little kingdom here in Ashton on the Green, and up at the Park. Hastings belonged back in London, with the murderers and thieves and generally low people he normally associated with, and he was including Sir Barnabas and some of his agents in that description. People like Essie, who understood that this was not her place and never would be and would never let herself want it.
Hastings could see on her face that Madelyn wanted it, just as much as he did. In that moment he knew that if he had to kill for her, he would do it gladly. No one—not Hastings, not some faceless bastard out to get her—would take this away from her.
“Essie will never learn,” Hastings said, not answering her plea directly. “We should probably just call the bet a draw already. Neither of us is going to win.”
“We…we can try,” Madelyn said, a catch in her voice. “I’m going to try. Essie deserves that. The trying, I mean.”
“Yes, she deserves that,” Hastings agreed, but he was talking about something and someone else.
Madelyn wiped her cheek off with her right hand. “I think my posture lessons were a dismal failure,” she said with a watery laugh.
“Yes,” Hastings agreed with a weak smile, glad she’d changed the subject before he said something, anything, that he’d regret later. “And I don’t think her posture is terrible, honestly. You can’t throw a straight knife with a hunched back or get a good hold around someone’s neck.”
“No, that’s true,” Madelyn agreed, as if she knew what she was talking about. “It was just that posture is so very easy to teach.” She met his gaze with a rueful look. “I’m not sure how to teach her anything else.”
“I’m going to make her read me a book,” Hastings told her. He could have bitten his tongue off right after he said it. Madelyn suddenly looked very keen and interested.
“What book? Why?” she asked, taking a step closer to him.
Something inside him relaxed when she moved nearer. He hadn’t liked the way she’d distanced herself, as if she feared him, or being near him.
“We’re trying to find The Modern Prometheus ,” he told her. “It’s a gothic tale about a doctor and the monster he creates.”
Madelyn’s eyes went wide. “It sounds positively ghastly.” She paused and quirked her head to the side with a puzzled frown. “How is that going to teach her to be a lady?”
“It’s not,” Hastings said with a shrug. “It’s going to teach her to think, and she’s going to pick up words and phrases from the reading. I just started with this book because it sounded like something she’d enjoy reading. After this one, we’ll read something else.”
It was how he’d learned so much. Sir Barnabas had put a pile of books in front of him and told him, “Read.” And he had, everything he could get his hands on. He’d learned how to fish, how to build a sturdy barn, the mathematics of the constellations, the philosophy of Thomas Paine, a history of the English church, and so much more. He’d learned how to talk like an educated man, how to carry himself properly in society, and his value as a man and an individual. He’d learned why he should even care to keep England safe. And he knew that the same method was the way to teach Essie all she needed to know. She was older than he’d been when Sir Barnabas had taken him under his wing, but not too old to learn new tricks.
“I’m reading Marmion ,” she said. “It’s a romantic poem by Sir Walter Scott.” She bit that tempting lower lip nervously. “Mr. Matthews told me about it. ‘What a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive!’” she quoted triumphantly.
“I’ve never heard of that one,” Hastings said, trying not to look skeptical. “Poetry really isn’t my favorite.”
“Oh.” She looked a little crestfallen. “I quite like it. What I’ve read so far, I mean.” She paused again, and she looked like she was thinking. “I may have seen the book you’re looking for,” she finally said. She headed toward the bookcase again and began slowly running one index finger across the spines on one of the shelves. “Are you sure Essie can read?” she asked almost absentmindedly.
Hastings froze. “I hadn’t even considered that.”
Madelyn looked over at him curiously. “Well, I’m sure she must be able to, if only a little bit. We all pick it up here and there, don’t we? And the more she reads the better she’ll get. Here it is!” She pulled a slim volume off the shelf. “It was written by a woman?” she asked, surprise in her voice.
“So Miss Marleston tells us,” Hastings said, reaching for the book. “She recommended it. I’ve never read it.”
Madelyn handed the book over and their fingers touched. They both jerked back as if they’d been burned, and the book fell to the floor with a loud bang.
“Good heavens,” Stephen said as he walked in. “Have you started throwing my books around now?”
Essie was standing behind him, her arms crossed and a smug look on her face. It was clear she’d tattled on their argument. Miss Marleston was peeking around the parlor door. Kurt Schillig was with them. Hastings felt like a bug pinned to a board as they all stared at him and Madelyn.
“I can certainly throw better than that,” Madelyn said. “I was just trying to hand Hastings the book he was looking for and it slipped out of my hand.”
“And I fumbled it,” Hastings said with a smile of apology. “I wasn’t fast enough to catch it.” He bent over and picked it up, then inspected it carefully. “No damage done.”
“That’s good,” Stephen said slowly. “I knew I still had my copy somewhere in here.” He walked over and took it from Hastings, flipping through the pages. “It was quite good. I think you’ll like it. All of you.” He turned and smiled at Miss Marleston. “Although, Esme, I know you’ve read it already.”
“She recommended it,” Hastings said, taking the book back. He deliberately slid one hand under Stephen’s as he did so, cupping his hand as he used the other to lift the book away. Stephen just looked at him, a question on his face at the intimate gesture. The contact made him vividly recall the dream he’d had the last few nights, of laying in Stephen’s bed, their naked bodies pressed together as they kissed ravenously. He awoke every time with the ghost of Stephen’s hand on his arse, so real he could almost feel it. He dropped Stephen’s hand and opened the book, flipping through it as Stephen had to curb the arousal caused by the memory of the dream.
“Did she?” Stephen said. “Then I second that.” He looked around. “Madelyn, are you going to read with them? I think you should. You’ll like it, too.”
“Do you have more books by female authors?” Madelyn asked.
“Of course,” Stephen told her. “I have Miss Austen’s work, and The Mysteries of Udolpho by Mrs. Radcliffe, of course, and Mary Wollstonecraft’s A Vindication of the Rights of Women , but that might be too dry. Hmm.” He went over and looked over the bookshelves. “ Evelina by Frances Burney, and Clara Reeve,” he said. He had pulled the books out from the shelves just a bit, so they stood out and were easy to find. “Not many, I’m afraid, although I do have all of Miss Austen’s.” He smiled ruefully. “I’m sure the duke has many more than I do.”
“I had no idea so many women wrote novels,” Madelyn exclaimed. “How wonderful!”
“I’ve read them all,” Miss Marleston said. “I can recommend the better ones.”
“Oh, yes, do,” Madelyn said eagerly, and Hastings couldn’t help but smile.
“Esme always has her nose in a book,” Schillig said proudly. “She is very well-read.”
Hastings caught Stephen looking at him, but he couldn’t decipher what he was feeling. Glad Madelyn and he weren’t fighting anymore, most likely.
“I have to go and finish my correspondence,” Stephen said, turning way away abruptly. “But I shall join you later for supper.” He stopped by Miss Marleston. “Esme, my dear, Kurt, you’re welcome to join us if you’d like.”
Schillig shook his head. “We are expected at home for dinner.” He smiled at them all. “I am to invite you to dinner this coming Wednesday, Mrs. Higgs, Miss Waters. My darling Leah instructed me to extend the invitation. As a matter of fact, we hope you will all come.”
Miss Marleston clapped her hands. “Splendid!” she said. She turned to Essie. “I didn’t even have to ask. Oh, say you’ll come. Please?”
“I…” Essie looked like a rabbit about to run from the hounds.
“She’ll be there,” Hastings said. “We’ll make sure of it.” Essie glared at him, but he was undaunted. Miss Marleston wasn’t a threat, and Madelyn would enjoy getting out of the house and playing lady somewhere else. But he didn’t want to take her out without Essie there with them for added protection, just in case.
“Wonderful news,” Schillig said. “Come along, Esme. Let us leave them to their reading. Mama will be cross if she is forced to hold dinner for us.”
“Oh, dear,” Stephen said. “Run along then. As a matter of fact, let me write a note for Leah accepting the invitation. Come along.” He ushered them out ahead of him, not looking back.
“Let’s begin your book, Essie,” Madelyn said, the same eagerness in her voice he’d heard a moment ago. “I still can’t believe a woman wrote it!” She plucked the book out of Hastings’s hands and then dragged Essie over to the sofa and sat down next her, handing her the book. “You start. When you get tired, Hastings or I will take over.”
Hastings briefly thought about taking Bronny for a ride, but wandered over and sat in the chair next to Essie instead. He leaned back and closed his eyes, crossing his ankles and clasping his hands across his stomach as he prepared to listen to a good book.