“My lord.” Steen bowed to him at the front door. “You have a visitor in the library. He, um…” Steen found something worth examining on the earl’s sweaty riding gloves. “He arrived with luggage, my lord.”
“Did he leave a card?” Luggage?
“He said he was family.” Steen’s entire bald head suffused with pink.
“Ah.” For Steen to have asked exactly how this fellow was family would have been rude, of course, and one couldn’t be rude to the earl’s family. “I will see him; send along some refreshment—lemonade, sandwiches, a sweet or two.”
His father, having suffered a heart seizure just weeks previously, would not have journeyed north. His brother Gayle, having just married, would not have journeyed two feet from his bride, left to his own devices. It had to be his youngest brother, Valentine.
“So, Val,” the earl strode into the library then stopped dead. “Amery?” The man before him was not tall, green-eyed with wavy dark hair, as each of the surviving Windham sons were. He was tall, blond, blue-eyed, and the most poker-faced individual St. Just had ever met, for all that his features had the austere beauty of a disappointed angel. “To what, in all of God’s creation, do I owe the honor of a visit from my niece’s stepfather?”
“Pleased to see you, as well, St. Just.” Viscount Amery put down the book he’d been perusing and turned his gaze on his host. “Or should I say, Rosecroft?”
“You should not.” The earl frowned, advancing into the room. “What have I done to be graced with your presence?” He didn’t mean to sound so unwelcoming, but he was surprised. No cavalry officer liked surprises.
“I am here at the request of the Duchess of Moreland and at the request of my viscountess, both of whom are fretting over you—and with some grounds, I’d say.”
“Good of them, though I am well enough.”
“You are thinner, you appear fatigued to me, and your fences, St. Just, are sagging.”
“Ever the charmer, eh, Amery?” The earl arched an eyebrow, and Amery arched his in response. Douglas Allen was the most unflappable, steady, serious person St. Just had encountered. The man had had the balls to stop a wedding between St. Just’s brother Gayle Windham, the Earl of Westhaven, and Douglas’s present wife, Guinevere, mother to Rose, the only Moreland grandchild. The wedding had badly needed to be stopped in the opinion of all save the Duke of Moreland, whose conniving had brought it about in the first place.
“I do try.” Douglas picked his book back up and put it in its proper place on the library shelves. “Rose is with your parents, and Welbourne is between planting and harvest, as most of the country is, so my lady could spare me. She suggested Rosecroft might be a bit of a challenge after three years in Helmsley’s care. I see she did not exaggerate.”
“She did not,” the earl said, grateful for plain speaking. He was also grateful when a knock on the door, heralding the tray of refreshments, gave him a moment to collect his thoughts and get him and his guest seated.
“So how bad is it?” Douglas asked as he took a long swallow of cold lemonade.
“Bad enough.” The earl passed Douglas a sandwich. “The fences are indicative of the situation as a whole: sagging but still functional.”
“You’ve established priorities?”
“Haying, the roof on the manor, the stables, the tenant farms, a dock on the Ouse.”
“What of your home farm?” Douglas reached for his lemonade and paused. “Assuming you have a home farm?”
“I do. For some reason, my steward hasn’t seen fit to tour it with me.”
“Best remedy that.” Douglas met his eyes. “You don’t want to be buying your eggs and cheese when you’ve all this land. What of a home wood?”
“There is plenty of wood on the property, but again, it isn’t something my steward has put on our agenda.”
“This far north, you’ll need as much firewood as you can harvest without depleting your wood. If you see to it now, the deadfall you cut will be seasoned by the new year.”
“Good point. But before we descend further into the catalog of my oversights and my steward’s shortcomings, how fares your wife and your stepdaughter? And you have your heir now, if I remember aright.”
Relief flashed briefly in his guest’s eyes, as if Douglas hadn’t been sure his host was to be trusted to manage the burden of interfamilial civilities.
“My wife thrives,” Douglas replied, “as does our son, though he keeps his mother up at all hours with demands for sustenance and comfort.”
St. Just grinned. “Typical male, or so Her Grace would say.”
“And so his mother says.”
St. Just chewed his own sandwich, thinking the chicken could have done with some seasoning and the bread with some mustard, or butter, or even pot cheese, but it was filling, and the journey had no doubt left his guest hungry.
“Your niece has specifically told me to warn you she will hop on her pony and come introduce herself should you fail to remedy the oversight in the near future.” Douglas eyed the tray as if considering a second sandwich.
“My apologies to Miss Rose. I assume her Uncle Valentine calls upon her regularly?”
“As does her Uncle Gayle, with her newly acquired Aunt Anna, but you are her father’s oldest brother, and she wants to meet you.”
“I am her father’s illegitimate half brother. She can have a happy and meaningful life without making my acquaintance, though for the record, it isn’t that I haven’t wanted to meet her.”
“She’s a little girl, St. Just,” Douglas said gently. “Little children forgive anything, even things they should not. You put this off much longer, and you will hurt her feelings, and as the current holder in her eyes of the title Papa, I cannot allow that.”
“You came all this way to scold me for not meeting my niece?”
“In part.” Douglas nodded, apparently finding that a more than adequate justification for a two-hundred-mile journey in high summer. “But also because the ladies were concerned. Moreover, it is beastly hot in the south, and I have never seen this part of the world.”
“You would have me think you’re rambling the countryside for your own pleasure?” The earl stood, cocking an eyebrow.
Douglas stood, as well. “It pleases your family to be concerned for you, but your brothers could not come north. No matter whether you are a half brother, one-eighth brother, or less, you are a brother to them. I would not whine too loudly, were I you.”
The earl had the grace to keep silent, knowing Douglas had arrived to his title after the death of his older brother, then lost his younger brother shortly thereafter under miserable circumstances.
“Point taken. Well, I am glad you are here, despite appearances to the contrary. Let’s get you settled in upstairs, and perhaps you’d like a bath before supper?”
“A bath.” The viscount closed his eyes. “Please God, a bath.”
“We’ve bathing chambers upstairs,” the earl assured him as they gained the front hallway. “The water is piped from the roof cistern and one of the few luxuries to be had here. Did you come by horseback or by coach?”
“Horseback. My great and good friend, Sir Regis, is enjoying the hospitality of your stables as we speak.”
“Your room will be in here.” St. Just opened a door and led Douglas into a sunny, pleasant back bedroom. A soft leather satchel and a pair of saddlebags sat on the bed, the water pitcher was full, and the windows had been left open to admit a soft breeze.
“Lovely, and that bed looks like it will serve for a much-needed nap while my bathwater is heating.”
“I’ll leave you to it, then.” The earl glanced around the room, hoping it was adequately prepared. “We keep country hours here, and it will be just the three of us at dinner.”
It wasn’t until Douglas was soaking in a lavender scented bath that it occurred to him to wonder just who the three of us at dinner might be.
***
Leaving his guest, the earl struggled wi
th a sudden, irrational temper. He liked Amery as well as he liked any man of his acquaintance, save his brothers, of course, but he did not like having the peace and privacy of his new home destroyed. He did not like unannounced visits from distant relations by marriage. He did not like having his routine upended; he did not like…
He wasn’t in the kitchen, where he’d intended to go. He’d been so lost in controlling a seething, disproportionate irritability, he’d taken himself to the stables, where all three geldings, along with Amery’s bay, were lounging in their stalls to avoid the worst heat of the day. He stepped into Caesar’s stall and rested his head against the horse’s muscular neck.
“Steady on,” he reminded himself, taking a deep breath. God above, if his men could only see him now. Raging over nothing and going two years without so much as thinking of bedding a woman. The malaise in him included his poor sleeping, too, he supposed. In active service, he’d slept in trees, on church benches, and frequently on his horse. Now he couldn’t find sleep in a damned canopied featherbed. And when he did sleep, the nightmares came.
But it was getting better, he assured himself, stroking the gelding’s neck. The rages weren’t so frequent, and they were more swiftly over. There was an occasional decent night’s rest, and just this afternoon, at the pond…
It was definitely getting better. He never expected to be quite the man he was, or the man he’d thought he’d been, but Fairly, who served more or less as the family physician, had been right: He wasn’t going mad. He was recovering slowly from years of serving his nation.
On that reassuring thought, he turned his steps to the kitchen, there to inform Cook they would be three for dinner for the foreseeable future.
Three
“Of course I can’t make you go to services.” Douglas glared at his host over what passed for Sunday breakfast. “But you are a grown man who should at least be on nodding terms with his Creator, for pity’s sake.”
The earl marshaled his patience while he subdued a stale scone with more butter, then forced himself to consider Douglas’s “advice.”
“You will tell Her Grace I am not going to services. Not very sporting of you, Amery.”
“I will not tell your mother you are acting like a petulant eight-year-old boy,” Douglas shot back. “But can’t you consider this in the way of reconnaissance? Your neighbors won’t call on you until you make the first move, so services are a simple way to get the lay of the land.”
“I’ll go, but I will be damned if I’m dragging Winnie along with us, so don’t even try. She has the lay of the land, thank you very much.”
“I would not dream of imposing on Miss Winnie’s time.” Douglas sat back, but then his eyes narrowed. “You don’t want to bring Winnie along because you don’t know if the good folk of Rosecroft will accept her.”
The earl dragged a hand over his face. “In deference to the Lord’s Day, Amery, and your august presence, I have not yet ridden on this fine summer morning. You try my patience with your insights, well intended though they are. Perhaps you could wait until I’ve graced the back of at least one horse before you start peering into my soul?”
“My apologies.” Douglas poured them both another cup of tea. “I do not mean to pry, but rather to commend your caution. For the first five years of her life, Rose had not one playmate. She was not taken to services, she did not attend family functions, she existed only in the confines of the Oak Hall estate and within the ambit of her mother’s love. Winnie hasn’t even had that much. You are right not to let the world get an open shot at her just yet.”
“The world will never get an open shot at Winnie, if it’s left to me.”
“Nor at Rose. When do we depart for church?”
St. Just glanced at the wall clock. “About thirty minutes, which gives us time to finish dressing and tack up.”
“I’ll see you in the stables, then.” Douglas withdrew, leaving the earl to frown at his tea.
A raging cockstand yesterday, church today, the earl thought with a pained grin. Somehow both were related to fixing what was wrong with him, but he’d be damned if he could figure out how.
***
“I am off to compose an epistle to my wife,” Douglas announced as the horses were led back to their stalls two hours later. “Also one to my daughter. Might I enclose something from you, as well?”
“Don’t seal your missive.” St. Just sighed, knowing Douglas would wear him down. “I’ll dash something off tonight for my niece.” The words “my niece” felt odd on his tongue. Not bad, just odd. “But how does one write to a little girl?”
“One writes clearly and sincerely. She’ll never enjoy correspondence if you don’t make it an honest exchange, and I can assure you, you will receive a reply.”
“I have never aspired to correspond with the ladies,” the earl said as they wound through the neglected gardens. “My sisters received some efforts from me, but Bart was a better correspondent.”
“According to your brothers, you have all but given up doing anything with the ladies.” Douglas paused to sniff at a lone rose. “I could do something with these gardens, if you like. Rose and I share an interest in ornamental horticulture. Miss Winnie might like to join me, as poking at the dirt has ever fascinated most children.”
“As the tweeny no doubt believes in the requirement to rest on the Sabbath, you are welcome to entertain Winnie any way you like. She wanders though, so keep a close eye on her.”
“I have been trained by the best.” Douglas’s eyes warmed with humor. “But it is a nice day to wander.”
“I’m going to wander off to that stone wall behind the stables and see what progress I can make. I’ll see you at tea.”
Behind the stables, the earl—stripped to his waist and wrestling with sizeable rocks—was pleased Amery hadn’t wanted to join him. While it had been a pleasure to ride back from church with the man, and church had been a worthwhile sortie—despite the number of young ladies he’d seen casting him looks there—that much socializing created a need for solitude. Then, too, Douglas had the habit of somehow being a very quiet, undemanding guest, and yet hard as hell on the nerves anyway.
The earl had just heaved a rock to waist height, intending to position it at the top of the wall, when Miss Farnum came striding into sight around the end of the barn wall.
“My lands!”
So unexpected was the sight of the lady in a soft green walking dress, he barely managed to put the rock on the wall and not on his booted foot. Her hair was neatly gathered at her nape, and she looked in every way tidily turned out, but rough leather work gloves graced her hands.
“You’re not going to help me with this wall, are you?” The earl reached for his shirt, but slowly, knowing it was naughty of him in the extreme. He took his time deciding where the armholes went and figuring out just how a man managed to don such a piece of attire, all the while watching from the corner of his eye while Miss Farnum gazed at him wide-eyed.
“Ye gods. You need more meat on such a gloriously healthy frame, my lord.”
“I need more meat?” No coy pretenses from Miss Farnum. She stared at him shamelessly as he shrugged into his shirt, leaving it unbuttoned in deference to the… heat.
“You most assuredly do need a bit more flesh. Perhaps I can remedy the situation while I am in your kitchen.”
“Sit with me?” The earl gestured to the stone wall, knowing it was a graceless offer. Ladies did not sit on rocks with half-naked, sweaty men, title be damned. Miss Farnum, however, plopped down on the wide, flat surface of the wall the earl had finished putting to rights.
“Have you and Cook parlayed regarding your shared territory?” the earl asked, noting again the work gloves on Miss Farnum’s hands. They were so incongruous with the graceful, smiling rest of her, but they somehow made her look… dear.
“Cook is not pleased with the state of your household, my lord. You lack a housekeeper, and so Cook is constantly having to intervene with the maids
, and with Steen, and among other domestics outside the kitchen.”
“Would she rather be a housekeeper? Or something like it?” He appropriated the place beside her, sitting closely enough that their thighs touched. His entire attention wanted to focus on the sensation of her leg brushing against his, while she seemed unaware of the contact.
Miss Farnum frowned. “Cook might be receptive to such a notion. A cook is an authority only in the kitchen itself, whereas the housekeeper’s authority is much broader. She would probably consider it a promotion.”
“Were I at all impressed with her culinary efforts, I would hesitate to propose any changes, but as a cook, she is pedestrian at best.” He picked up a skin of water and frowned at it. “I am compelled by manners to offer you a drink, but I have only the one skin.”
“A drink?” she asked, her gaze raking his face and no doubt taking in the results of his exertions. And as she watched, St. Just tilted his head back and held the skin out at arm’s length, aiming a cool, clear stream of water directly into his open mouth.
“I’ve never seen such a thing! Did you come across this while on the Peninsula?”
“I did. Would you like to try it?” Oh, yes, he was feeling naughty indeed, and worse still, he was enjoying himself.
She looked intrigued but dubious. “What if I miss?”
“I’ll do the aiming. Open your mouth.”
“This isn’t dignified,” she muttered but obediently tilted her head back and opened her mouth. He held the skin out to arm’s length again and shot a stream of water directly on target.
“My goodness!” Miss Farnum laughed, looking pleased with herself and just, perhaps, with him. “I’ve done something new today. My thanks, my lord.”
“You are welcome.” He casually took another drink, trying to blot from his mind the picture of Emmaline Farnum, mouth open, eyes laughing as she gazed at him expectantly. Other very erotic contexts in which she might have assumed that same pose had come instantly into his mind’s eye, and his system had begun to hum with the possibilities. Emmie Farnum, naked and laughing up at him; Emmie peeking at him as her mouth…
The Duke’s Obsession Bundle Page 41