Page 19

Olivia was full of news about the estate’s tenants.

Vanessa talked about how well the bootmakers were doing.

Jasper talked politics. Words swirled around the table, along with a good deal of laughter.

Crispin was grateful to Jasper for not bringing up their earlier discussion.

Then he realized the whole table was carefully avoiding asking him about his plans.

Maybe they were afraid of chasing him away.

After supper, Benjamin and Olivia said they had to return to their cottage.

Hannah, their adopted sprite, would not go to sleep without a kiss goodnight.

Crispin, Jasper, and Vanessa adjourned to the parlor.

The windows were open to let in a breeze.

Jasper sat in a green upholstered armchair whose arms were unevenly worn, right more than left, from the way that Father had always leaned.

Crispin joined Vanessa on a floral-print couch.

It should have been cozy, but the atmosphere felt strained.

“So, when do you expect the rest of the Taverstons?” Crispin asked.

“Next week, I think,” Jasper said. He glanced at Vanessa, then away.

Vanessa said, “It probably depends upon whether Georgiana feels up to traveling.”

“Ah.” Crispin hesitated. Was Vanessa comfortable discussing this? He barreled ahead. “Is she not well?”

“She is with child,” Vanessa said. “And I am envious, but not upset, so you needn’t tiptoe around me.”

Jasper put in, “We are not upset, but we are concerned.” His face reddened. “You see…ah…we thought you might have a talk with Reg.”

“A talk?” What the devil? The only thing to say to Reg was congratulations.

Vanessa said, “You were not here for this bit of drama, but Georgiana was nursing Arthur herself.”

Odd for a duke’s daughter, but Crispin didn’t see why that would cause drama. Or, God forbid, why he should talk to Reg about it. “And?”

Jasper said, “I thought it was because they are so absurdly frugal. But when they came to London for Livvy’s wedding, they had a wet nurse.”

“And Georgiana showed every sign of being with child again.”

“I’m not following,” Crispin said. “This is not in my bailiwick.”

Vanessa signed impatiently. “It is a common belief that nursing mothers cannot conceive.”

“Is that true?” Crispin asked.

“Obviously not.”

“The point is,” Jasper said, “Vanessa thinks they were hoping to spread out their children more.”

“It would be safer for Georgiana. A baby every year takes a toll.”

“All right. I can see that. But what does this have to do with me?”

After a pause, Jasper said in an embarrassed rush, “I don’t think Reg knows about French letters. Someone needs to tell him. And I don’t think it should be me.”

“ What? ” This had grown awkward fast.

“Think, Crispin. It will look like I’m telling him to stop having children until Vanessa and I manage to have one.”

He almost said, no it won’t. That’s absurd. But they both were red-faced and looking at the floor.

Bloody hell. He’d thought he was done with solving his brothers’ problems for them.

He was happy to play the sage when he could.

But, to his embarrassment, he didn’t know much about French letters.

He knew what they were: “cock armor.” But he had never used one.

Whores had their own tricks to prevent babies, a fact for which he was infinitely grateful.

“I don’t know…” But their whole supposition was based on shaky evidence.

So Reg and Georgiana had hired a wet nurse.

Maybe they did so because they wanted another child right away.

How idiotic it would be to take Reg aside and lecture him if there was no need.

Then he felt a whoosh of relief. “If Georgiana is increasing, it’s too late.

If this is still a concern after Arthur’s sibling appears, I’ll talk to Reg. ”

“Unless you’re in Paris,” Jasper said.

Crispin sighed. “Then you will have to talk to him.” Dread of that discussion was enough to send him to Paris. He stood. “Now, if you’ll permit me, Vanessa, I’m going to go raid your kitchen.”

*

Mother returned two days later. Reg and Georgiana did not. Mother explained that Arthur had a cough, and they did not want to subject him to travel until he was better. Crispin watched Jasper and Vanessa exchange significant glances. He just shook his head.

Yet August rolled on, and still, they did not come. Four weeks, and Crispin grew restless.

He couldn’t explain his dissatisfaction.

After all, he’d spent those weeks doing all of his favorite Chaumbers things.

He rode Mercury around the property. He raced Olivia, the best horsewoman he knew.

She had a splendid new mare, a gift from Jasper, that she’d named Winner.

Crispin called her Second Place. Olivia pretended to be furious.

It should have been more fun than it was.

He spent time lazing about the folly, a simulated medieval abbey. He enjoyed it more when Olivia brought Hannah to play among the ruins. Hannah still called him “Major,” but she also called Jasper “Milord” and Mother “Lady,” so he didn’t feel singled out as a stranger, even though he was one.

He went swimming and rowing at the lake. There was a new boathouse. That shouldn’t have made him feel melancholy. He wasn’t such an old man that he should grow moody over change. But he was moody.

He thought he was hiding his discontent, but Vanessa cornered him one afternoon while he was desultorily practicing billiards, and asked what was wrong. Not if something was wrong, but what was.

“Nothing.”

“You don’t know what to do with yourself, do you?”

He shrugged, then bent over the table. “I’m a gentleman who doesn’t drink or gamble. What else does a gentleman do?” He sent a ball careening into a corner pocket.

“I’m serious, Crispin. You went from a headlong gallop chasing Napoleon to a full stop when he was caught. That’s a difficult adjustment. Jasper is afraid, we’re all afraid, that you’ll go back to the army just for something to do and be sent God-knows-where.”

“Returning to service is only one option.”

“And gathering information?”

Good of her not to call him a spy. “Another option.” She gave him a wary look, so he said, “I’m not eager to go back.

I have a conscience, Vanessa. I ignored it for so long I thought it was gone.

But it’s still there. And I’d like to listen to it for a while, to see if it has anything worthwhile to say.

I think it might be telling me I’ve… killed more than my quota.

” He wouldn’t admit that to anyone else.

Vanessa put a hand on his arm. She started to say something, but shook her head. Then she said, “Sell your commission.”

He said only, “I might.”

He wouldn’t yet. But he finally sent a letter to Wellington, saying he that he was unable to be in France by September, and therefore, he must regretfully decline the opportunity.

For several days he’d wallowed in concern that he’d made the wrong choice, before coming to terms with the fact that what was done was done.

In truth, while the position intrigued him, the French food would kill him, and that was not how he wanted to die.

So, he played billiards. He played the pianoforte. He played cards. He bothered Jasper and bothered Benjamin.

Only a month, and he was heartily bored. Too often, he found himself wondering what Miss Harrington was doing. The colonel and Miss Harrington. Far too often. Even in the bosom of his beloved family, he needed better distraction.

Therefore, one morning, he packed his valise, went into the breakfast parlor, and announced to Jasper and Vanessa, “I’m going to Binnings.”

“Now?” Jasper said, eying the valise. His face wrinkled with annoyance. “Crispin—”

“I’ve put it off for too long. You’ve all been telling me the place is a ruin. It’s my inheritance. I have to see to it.”

“Yes, but you should talk to Benjamin first—”

“Benjamin is not my steward. And I am perfectly capable of assessing my own property and hiring my own workers.” He hoped he was. He’d never done so before.

Jasper grumbled. “And I imagine our grandfather thought himself capable of hiring his own architect.”

Crispin laughed. “Tell everyone I said goodbye.”

“For God’s sake, say your goodbyes yourself. They’ll all be angry at me for letting you go!”

Crispin walked out of the room, waving his hand over his shoulder. He should have sneaked out before dawn.

*

The lakeside cottage needed a top-to-bottom cleaning. Crispin thought the structure was sound. He hoped so. A few windowpanes were cracked. Some of the woodwork was rotten. The drapery and rugs smelled of mold. Crispin wandered throughout the house and swam through a river of memories.

The family had gathered here for weeks at a time in the summer.

Halcyon days. Here, the children had been allowed to run free and misbehave.

Crispin and Jasper thrashed one another regularly, just for the fun of it.

They didn’t fight with Reg. He was too little.

It wouldn’t have been sporting. Instead, they taunted the hell out of him, until Reg almost drowned them by drilling holes in their fishing boat.

Mother was furious. Father laughed himself sick.

Both parents thought Reg was too young and innocent to understand what he’d done, but Jasper and Crispin knew he’d been calculating.

Thereafter, they’d accorded him the respect he deserved.

There had been berries to gather, picnics to go on, dogs to train, arrows to shoot, tents to set up and sleep in. Olivia toddled after them, frighteningly determined to do everything they did.

Even in their college years, they’d come to the lake house to throw off their cares. They’d brought Benjamin with them after befriending him at Oxford. Seeing it through Benjamin’s grateful eyes had made Crispin appreciate what they had all the more.

Everyone seemed to know that he had claimed the cottage as “his.” He believed it meant more to him than it did to anyone else. Perhaps because he had never fallen sick there. Never once.

He received the deed to the house on his twenty-first birthday.

Then furiously sold it for less than its worth before his twenty-second.

He’d had to buy his own commission after Father refused to do so.

Upon his father’s death, he’d learned that the house had been repurchased and deeded to him again.

He’d felt gratitude, comfort, and an overwhelming sense of loss.

His father had understood him in a way he had not even understood himself.

And yet, he’d allowed the place to fall into disrepair.

The caretakers, Badge and Mrs. Badge were ancient.

Jasper had hired a local woman, Mrs. Peele, to help out, mainly to take care of the caretakers.

As Crispin stood in the doorway of the one decently refurbished bedchamber, Mrs. Peele came up from behind.

She was of an indeterminate age, with steel-gray eyes and the bearing of an Amazon. Jasper had chosen well.

“Where would you like to start, Major?”

“Ha! Where would you suggest?

“Throw out everything moldy. Then scrub all the walls, ceilings, and floors. Patch the holes. Replace the skirtings. Then plaster and paint. To start.”

“Yes, that sounds reasonable.” She’d evidently been giving this some thought.

But she’d left out mention of the garden, now overrun with weeds.

He wouldn’t mind seeing to that himself.

Although a garden might be melancholy without a certain black-haired gardener.

Damn it! This had to stop. He’d never before been chased from place to place by thoughts of a woman.

“But I don’t know any laborers around here. ”

“Well, you wouldn’t. You’ve been off fighting Boney.” She hesitated a moment, then said. “I do.”

“You do what?”

“I know who you should hire to do what.” She frowned. “Mr. Carroll, when he was here with Mrs. Carroll, he made a list. But he said you’d have to approve it when you came.”

He laughed. Even on his honeymoon, Benjamin was incapable of enjoying his leisure. Crispin could sympathize. “Bring me the list.”

He hoped overhauling the cottage would be an all-consuming project. He needed a challenge. Or else he was just treading water until he drowned.