by Tinnean
I took the greatest pleasure in his company.
I learned through various ways that Geo’s birthday fell on February 25th.
Over the years, birthdays had become less than memorable for me. Of course I was given gifts—after all, I was not like that girl in the fairy tales who sat by the fire and raked out the cinders—but they were the utmost in practicality, things like handkerchiefs or neckcloths, not the puppy I’d always wanted and which was given to John instead, until Sir Eustace came home and learned of it, and insisted it be kept with his small hunting pack, or the fancy waistcoat that Robert was given, or the penknife that William received.
This year, however, I had already been given something better than puppies or waistcoats or penknives, and I could barely contain my anticipation of celebrating Geo’s with him.
It was unlikely he would spend the day with me, for it fell in the middle of the week. However, I was certain he would be here at Laytham Hall at the week’s end, and I had something very special waiting for him.
In the stable was the chestnut colt I’d had from Colonel Whittemore.
“The colt’ll not be up to m’weight,” the man had grumbled. “Can’t think why I shelled out the blunt for a two-year-old.”
I rather thought I could. Word had it that he had an eye to wed one of the Petre sisters. No doubt he imagined the handsome colt would give him the added dash he would need to win the lady.
“Why bring him to me?”
“Lord Hasbrouck thought you might be interested. Should tell you the colt ain’t been under saddle yet.”
“Indeed.” I was more than interested, although I concealed that fact. The colt had the dish face of an Arabian. His eyes were bright and inquisitive, and there was a spring in his step. “What’s his temperament like, Colonel? The last thing I need in my stables is a troublesome animal.” The last thing I wanted was an animal who would throw my lover, further injuring his leg.
“The colt’s mettlesome, but I swear he ain’t got an ounce of vice in him.”
“Hmmm. Mr. Ruston?”
Mr. Ruston examined the colt’s mouth and feet, studied him in motion, and then gave a slight nod. “He’s sound enough, and he’s a smooth, easy gait.”
“How much were you thinking of asking?”
“I paid a hundred guineas.”
I shook my head. “I’m sorry, that’s too rich for me.”
“Don’t be so hasty, Sir Ashton. He’s got excellent bloodlines!”
“But he hasn’t been broken to saddle, and it will be some time before he can be ridden.”
“Well, yes. But—”
“And he’s also eating his head off in your stables,” Mr. Ruston murmured, earning himself a glare from the Colonel.
By the time the deal was completed, the Colonel had grudgingly dropped his price by almost half, and had agreed to buy a dappled mare he’d seen me take over some fences during the previous fox hunting season. I was reluctant to part with her, but realized I’d need to sell a horse from time to time if I hoped to make a name for the stud.
“Well done, Sir Ash.”
“I didn’t come across as a cent per center, did I?”
“Not at all, although you squeezed the Colonel good and proper. What do you plan to call this handsome lad?”
“I think I’ll wait and see.”
“Good notion, sir. If one but waits, an animal will often name himself.”
The chestnut bobbed his head as if in agreement. In fact, I rather thought that Geo might want to name him.
Mr. Ruston rubbed a palm over his muzzle. “I’ll put him up then, shall I?”
“In the shed behind Mrs. Nye’s cottage, if you please? I’ve… I’ve a mind to gift Mr. Stephenson with this colt, and I want to surprise him.”
“Ah. A very handsome gift, if I may say so. You like him then, do you, Sir Ash?”
“I… yes.” I was reluctant to speak of my lover, lest I give away my deepening feelings for him.
Mr. Ruston nodded. “You’ve been needing a friend of your own class, sir, and he seems a good man.” The colt began to dance, impatient at being in one place for such a while. “You’ll want to get this lad gradually used to a man’s weight on his back.”
My thoughts went to how I bore Geo’s weight on my back, and my prick twitched. Fortunately, Mr. Ruston didn’t notice, since he was fussing over the colt. I cleared my throat. “Yes. I’d like to see him ready for Mr. Stephenson to ride when he comes down the last week in February.”
“If the ground isn’t too hard and it doesn’t snow. Wouldn’t want this lad to stumble and break his knees.” Mr. Ruston grinned around the pipe stem in his mouth. He tugged on the colt’s halter rope. “Come along, my handsome lad.”
It lacked little more than a fortnight until the end of February. Geo had left for London earlier in the day, the temperature had dipped, and it was too cold to do anything of an evening but sit by a fire.
We were in the rose sitting room, Arabella at the piano, stroking the ivory keys. I recognized the tune as something she was wont to play while William turned the pages of the music.
“It’s been six months since….” Her lower lip trembled. No matter how she might protest the suggestion that she was missing William, it was obvious to any who knew her that she was.
“I know, dear child.” Aunt Cecily paused in setting stitches into her needlepoint. She, as well, appeared melancholy at times, and I knew she was grieving not her widowhood, but the absence of the Hoods.
I, on the other hand, found I thought of them, even John, only in the odd moment. There was too much to do, and on those rare occasions when I had some leisure, Geo kept me pleasurably occupied, and not always in bed. We had discovered a jigsaw puzzle of the Battle of Waterloo in the attic one Sunday after church and had taken to working on it.
As I studied the odd piece—was that smoke or a lowering cloud?—I wondered once again if Geo would spend his birthday here at Laytham Hall. However, he never disrupted his schedule.
And word was his father was also once again in England. Perhaps he would rather spend the day with him than with me?
“Ashton?” Aunt Cecily’s voice drew me out of my musings.
“Hmm? Yes, Aunt?”
“I was going to ask if….”
The door to the sitting room opened, and I looked around to see the butler enter.
“Yes, Colling?”
“Begging your pardon, Sir Ashton. Mr. Stephenson is here.”
“Geo?” But he had just left! Could it be that he’d been missing me as much as I missed him? Had he turned around to come back to me?
“No, sir. Mr. Stephenson, senior.”
My stomach curled into a knot.
“Oh!” Aunt Cecily’s cheeks pinked, and her hands clasped under her chin, and she appeared the lovely girl she had once been. “Where is he, Colling?”
“In the study, m’lady.”
“Why did you not bring him here?”
“As to that, m’lady, Mr. Stephenson said he was desirous of having a word in private with Sir Ashton.”
“Oh?”
“Oh, Aunt Cecy!” Arabella jumped up, knocking the sheet music to the floor. “How absolutely wizard! He’s going to offer for you!”
“We really don’t know that, dear child.” But the sparkle in her eyes made it evident that that was her belief also. “You mustn’t keep Mr. Stephenson waiting, Ashton!”
“Of course not.” I didn’t remind her that in light of her recent bereavement such enthusiasm was not seemly. After all, I missed Sir Eustace as little as she did.
“And you’re to come back and tell us his exact words as soon as may be!” Arabella’s order followed me down the hall.
I made my way to the opposite side of the house to the study. This was what I had been dreading that day shortly after Sir Eustace’s death, that I must needs tell a gentleman old enough to be my father I had to deny his suit, at least at this time. The family was still in first mourn
ing, although Arabella had declared she couldn’t fathom why Aunt Cecily was required to remain in black bombazine for more than a year, while if the situation had been reversed, Sir Eustace would have left off after three months. Aunt Cecily had simply told her to hush; that was the way of society.
I entered the study. “Good evening, Mr. Stephenson.”
“Sir Ashton.” The man standing before the fireplace was my lover’s height, but a good deal stockier. His brown hair was peppered with grey, and his eyes were a cool blue. Geo must have got his eye color from him. “I apologize for my untimely visit.”
“Not at all, sir. You must know Aunt Cecily is always pleased to see you.” He actually appeared uncomfortable. “That is to say, we keep country hours, and so your visit doesn’t discommode us in the least. Have you dined?”
“Yes, I stopped in Chertsey, at the Whistling Pig. My son recommended the food there. It was quite good.”
“I see. Well, may I offer you a sherry?”
“Delighted.”
I went to the small table that held a tray, decanter, and glasses, and poured him a glass. After giving it a moment’s thought, I poured one for myself. “To your health, sir.”
“Thank you. And to yours also.” We sipped the sherry. “Did your uncle put this up?”
“Yes. Sir Eustace brought home a number of bottles after one of his wine buying trips to the Continent.”
“I will say this for the man,” Mr. Stephenson said grudgingly. “He did know his wines.”
“Indeed.”
He finished his sherry and nodded agreement when I held up the decanter.
I recalled his mention of Geo recommending the Whistling Pig. “I’m sorry to tell you that you missed him.” I refilled his glass.
“Eh? Missed who? I thought the blighter—” He abruptly cleared his throat. “That is to say, your uncle’s been in the ground these past months.”
“He is.”
“Then about whom are you talking?”
“Your son.”
“Good God, George was here? Whatever for?”
“Why… er… to keep Aunt Cecily abreast of your progress, of course.”
“Ah, yes, of course. The boy would have no other call to be here.”
I choked on my sherry. Should I say something about Geo and I becoming friends? I couldn’t see Mr. Stephenson being best pleased about that. But if I said nothing, and Aunt Cecily did…. I wiped my mouth and set my glass aside, feeling a headache coming on. So occupied was I with my thoughts that I missed his next question.
“I beg your pardon, sir?”
“Has he… has he behaved well toward Cecily?”
“He is always all that is most courteous. Could you doubt that?”
“No. Of course not. He’s my son, after all. However….” His words tapered off, and he seemed fascinated by the amber liquid.
I thought it best to change the subject. “The weather has been a trifle inclement.”
“Yes.”
“If I may say so, you’re looking well, sir.”
“Thank you.”
“I understand you’re recovering from a bout of ague.”
“Yes.”
“I trust you’re recovering well?”
“Yes.”
I waited, but he seemed to have nothing to add to that, so I tried once more. “The drive to Surrey, you didn’t find it too taxing?”
“Not in the least.” Again he fell silent. His gaze touched on the neat condition of my desk, on the flames that danced in the fireplace, on the space above the mantle where a portrait of Sir Eustace had once hung and which had been consigned to the attics. I’d replaced it with a painting of my concept of the Laytham Stud, done for me by Miss Petre.
Mr. Stephenson finished his sherry. He put his glass down on the desk and met my eyes for a brief moment.
This was getting us nowhere. “You wished to speak to me, sir?”
“Yes.”
I lost what little patience I had left. “Mr. Stephenson, I am not a mind reader. About what did you wish to speak to me?”
He took his watch from his waistcoat, opened the lid, closed it without glancing at the time, then opened it and closed it again. “As you may know, I’m attached to the Secretary of State for War and the Colonies.”
“No, I did not know that, sir,” I murmured absently, distracted by his actions. I was aware he was in the King’s service, but beyond that….
“I’ve returned to England on convalescent leave….” Mr. Stephenson continued toying with his watch, either not hearing me or else choosing to ignore me. “But there are still things I must do. Yes. Things I must do.” He dropped his watch, letting it dangle on its chain, picked up his glass, and went to the small table that held the decanter of sherry.
He filled the glass once more and took a more than healthy swig.
“Things you must do, sir?” I prodded gently, hoping to get the conversation on track once more.
“Quite. Among which are the dinner parties Aberdeen is requiring of me. The Earl is the Secretary of State.” He peered at me over the rim of his glass and frowned at my apparent confusion. I had no notion as to how affairs of State were run. “However, I’m a widower.” Obviously he expected me to understand his drift.
“Er… yes.” I was at something of a loss. This was not the direction in which I’d expected the conversation to go.
“Laytham.” He sounded exasperated. “Since the wives of important men will also be attending, I obviously need a lady to hostess these dinner parties. I should like that lady to be your aunt, Lady Cecily.”
“I see. May I ask exactly how many dinner parties?”
“Oh….” He waved his hand vaguely. “Any number of them at this point, and probably a good deal more once the Season begins.”
“And is she expected to make the journey to Town each time you give one? She is not a young woman, Mr. Stephenson, and—”
“Young man, your aunt is a vital woman in the prime of her life! However, a lady of her quality and sensibilities should not be required to make such repeated journeys. Therefore, it will be my pleasure to offer her the amenities of my home.”
“I think not, sir. She is a widow still in first mourning. I cannot agree to such a plan. I would have thought, as fond of Aunt Cecily as you claim to be, you would have taken such considerations into account.”
His face turned an unhealthy shade of red, and he slammed his glass down on my desk, causing its contents to splash over the rim. “You, Sir Ashton, are nothing more than a young puppy who—”
“In spite of my age, I am the head of this family, Mr. Stephenson. As such, it falls to me to have a care to the ladies living under my protection.”
“If you are, indeed, concerned for your aunt’s reputation—”
“If? Sir, you insult me!”
“In that case, I beg your pardon, but I assure you there is no need for you to be concerned about it. Let me offer a simple solution. Miss Arabella may join her.” He removed a small case from his inner pocket, opened it, and took out a cigarillo, then offered the case to me.
“No, thank you.” I paced to the end of the room, turned, and paced back. “I cannot permit that, sir.”
“Perhaps I should inform you that these dinner parties are for the most part political. For entertainment, I will offer loo for the ladies and whist for the gentlemen. There will be no dancing, and musical interludes, if any, will be suitably dolorous.” He held a match to the tip of his cigarillo and drew on it pensively. When it glowed to his satisfaction, he shook out the match and dropped it into the ashtray on my desk. “I will be frank with you. I am desirous of one day wedding your aunt. I have waited a very long time for her, and I am willing to wait a while longer. The last thing I want is to harm her in any way.”
“I still cannot agree to her staying in your home, even if Arabella accompanies her.” I raised a hand to forestall the objection I saw coming. “However, what I can do is order a suite of rooms for
them both in a respectable hotel.”
He studied me through a cloud of smoke. “That will cost a tidy packet of money.”
I shrugged. “I believe that is not your concern, sir.”
“In that case, may I suggest the Apsley? It is not only the height of respectability, but it is fashionable.”
“Very well, then.” I hoped he hadn’t noticed my flinch. “Fashionable” translated to expensive, and I could see the profits of a successful harvest draining away. “Shall we join the ladies? Aunt Cecily is most anxious to greet you, and I have no doubt she’ll be interested in your proposal.”