Page 2 of Hastings (Brothers in Arms #15)
CHAPTER 2
S tephen was buttering his toast when Hastings came shambling into the dining room. He had donned pants and a shirt, which was hanging open, revealing the dark hair on his broad chest that matched the unruly curls on his head. This had been his morning attire since Stephen had found some clothes for him. He knew his housekeeper, Mrs. Tulane, would be appearing momentarily, as she’d taken quite a shine to Hastings and his lack of decorum and clothing.
“Good morning,” Stephen said pleasantly. “And how are you this fine day?”
“People who are pleasant in the morning should get the pox,” Hastings growled.
“That good, eh?” Stephen asked, highly amused by Hastings’s displeasure. “Perhaps something to eat?”
Hastings grunted wordlessly as he dropped into the seat to Stephen’s right. He put his forehead in his hands and rolled it from side to side, as if massaging it.
“Steak? Eggs? Toast?” Stephen goaded. Experience had taught him Hastings was green around the gills in the morning after indulging too much.
“I will kill you,” Hastings mumbled. “No one here to stop me. I have the skills.”
“I’m sure you do,” Stephen said with exaggerated compassion. “Poor thing.”
“People actually fear me,” Hastings said, raising his head and sitting up straight. His dark brown eyes were red-rimmed. He tipped his head from side to side and Stephen heard his neck crack.
“If you have to tell someone that, it loses some of its impact,” Stephen said reasonably.
Mrs. Tulane came bustling in with a glass on a tray. “Here’s your morning remedy, Mr. Hastings,” she said demurely. The fact that his aging, judgmental housekeeper adored Hastings bemused Stephen. He attributed it to misplaced compassion or grandmotherly concern, but she ogled Hastings’s chest too much for Stephen to actually believe it.
“Thank you,” Hastings said with real gratitude. He took the glass and drank it all down without stopping for air. Stephen wasn’t sure what was in it, but it smelled noxious and was a sickly reddish green. Mrs. Tulane claimed it had cured the late and not much-lamented Mr. Tulane on many an occasion, and it did seem to help Hastings. Once he’d finished, he took a deep breath and miraculously seemed better, if not cured.
“I have sent for the duchess,” Stephen told him without preamble. He figured it was best that way.
“What?” Hastings asked, suddenly alert and understandably incredulous. “Why would you do a fool thing like that?”
“As we discussed last night, it is time you did something besides get drunk and run around naked.”
“I don’t run around,” Hastings argued. “That indicates a lack of forethought, and indecision. I very deliberately get drunk and walk with purpose around the parsonage naked. That is completely different.”
“We shall agree to disagree,” Stephen conceded. “Be that as it may,” he continued, holding his hand up to stop Hastings’s retort in its tracks, “there is no one better than Her Grace to help us determine what that something should be.”
“She insulted me,” Hastings said, glowering at Stephen.
“She did not. She merely pointed out that you were drunk, and that she hadn’t seen you sober yet. Both were points of fact.” Stephen wiped his mouth with his napkin. “When she arrives, you will be courteous.”
“I will not.” Hastings crossed his arms and looked very much like a recalcitrant schoolboy, which for some reason endeared him to Stephen. Hastings was mad at the world, and how awful that must be for him.
“You will.” Stephen stood up. “She also happens to be one of my dearest friends, so I would appreciate your consideration in this matter.”
“I will simply make myself scarce,” Hastings said, pushing away from the table.
“Then your future in Ashton on the Green will be decided without you,” Stephen told him. Stephen was trying very hard to be stern. It did not come naturally to him.
“Fine,” Hastings ground out. “But I don’t have to like it, or her.”
“No, you do not,” Stephen agreed. “But I think you’ll find her rather pleasant actually, and a grand person to have on your side.”
“She’s a busybody,” Hastings said, heading toward the door. “People who stick their noses into other people’s business often find their noses cut off.”
“Well, that’s a gruesome thought,” Stephen said to his back. “In Ashton on the Green they simply feel free to offer their opinion on everyone’s business. That is what it is like in the country.”
“That is why I prefer London. No one cares what you’re doing or who you’re doing it with.”
“You, sir, are familiar with a London that most people do not know even exists,” Stephen told him. “My London friends can’t sneeze without the entire ton commenting on it.”
“I’m familiar with what your London friends are doing, and it isn’t sneezing,” Hastings said, and Stephen actually heard amusement in his voice.
“You’ve made my case for me,” Stephen said with satisfaction. Hastings spun around and Stephen could see the dismay in his face that he’d lost the argument. “Anne, Her Grace, will be here any moment. Go put on some more clothes.”
Without another word Hastings spun on his heel and retreated. Stephen was impressed that he could apparently do what he was told on occasion.