“Is the duke not with you?” Mrs. Goode inquired after pleasantries were exchanged. “He is well, I hope?”
“Oh yes, quite well,” Brett said as he spread the tails of his dark green jacket to sit in his usual chair. He’d grown rather fond of the threadbare old thing, actually. “He wanted to come, but he had some estate business to attend to this morning. He will join us as soon as he is able.” Brett rubbed his hands together in a show of enthusiasm that he didn’t feel. “Now, what volume were we on?” He reached for the closest book on the table.
Mrs. Goode laughed. “I haven’t the faintest idea. They all run together for me. Ash was forever talking about the Park, this little tidbit or that interesting fact. He found it all fascinating, and I didn’t have the heart to tell him it bored me to tears.”
Anne smothered a laugh. “Mama! Poor Uncle Ash and Father are horrified right now. They will be sending a lightning bolt at any second.”
Mrs. Goode just laughed again. “Dear Anne, if I were to be the recipient of heavenly lightning I’m sure I have far greater transgressions that are much more deserving of the honor.”
Brett was rubbing his upper lip to hide his smile, and Anne frowned teasingly at him as if sensing his amusement.
“Well,” Mrs. Goode said defensively, “I’m sure Mr. Haversham feels the same way. If the duke weren’t interested in finding out more about the Park’s history in order to redecorate and restore it he would not deign to read any of these volumes.”
“I must disagree, ma’am.” Brett was sincere. “While you are correct that the Park itself is of little interest to me, I am finding it quite enjoyable learning about the late duke through his history of the Park. His voice is quite distinctive in these volumes.” Brett put his hand on top of one of the books. “He was a bit of a character, wasn’t he?” Brett smiled in amusement and Mrs. Goode shared the smile. “I see so much of both Bertie and Freddy in him.”
“Yes.” Mrs. Goode sighed. “Bertie certainly had Ash’s playful side, and Jerome his sense of responsibility. Frederick, I think, has a better balance between the two.”
Brett shook his head regretfully. “I never met Jerome, I’m sorry to say, ma’am. But from what I’ve heard, that sounds correct.”
“Well, Bertie certainly didn’t get his playful side from the duchess, I’m sure.” Anne’s tone was sardonic. It was the first time Brett had heard her sound like that.
“Anne,” Mrs. Goode scolded, and Anne blushed like a chastised youth.
Brett came to her rescue. “I would have to agree, Anne.”
Anne pointed at him as she looked smugly at her mother. “See? Brett agrees with me.”
Mrs. Goode stood with the long-suffering sigh of a mother. “I didn’t say you were wrong. But one simply doesn’t say those things aloud in company, my dear.”
“Company?” Anne dimpled becomingly at Brett. “Why, Mother, it’s only Brett. He won’t tell a soul, will you, Brett?”
Mrs. Goode wagged a playful finger at Anne. “And that is how young ladies get into trouble, Miss Anne Goode. Believing in the discretion of handsome strangers who promise the moon.”
Brett laughed. “I make no such promises. The moon is a very far piece, ma’am, and I am too old and weary to chase it for anyone.” He leaned over and kissed Anne’s fingertips with a flourish, like a gallant knight of old. “Although were I a younger man of sound body and mind, I would gladly bring you the moon, Miss Goode.”
“There, my point is made, Anne.” Mrs. Goode stood up with a smile. “Don’t let him turn your head, my dear, with his pretty words.”
“I’m more concerned about his discretion,” Anne murmured under her breath, and Brett choked on the laughter that tried to burst free.
“What was that?” Mrs. Goode frowned as if she hadn’t heard.
“Nothing, Mama,” Anne said in a singsong voice that had Mrs. Goode rolling her eyes.
“Perhaps I should be warning Mr. Haversham not to let you drag him into any scrapes as you used to do with poor Bertie.”
“I shall guide her with my wisdom and good sense, ma’am,” Brett said solemnly.
Mrs. Goode tsked as she headed for the door. “I won’t be taken in by pretty words either.”
Brett suddenly realized that she was leaving, and he rushed to his feet. “Where are you going?” he asked in a panic. Surely she wasn’t going to leave him alone with Anne?
Mrs. Goode looked startled. “I must go and call on the Ferstons again. The last time I was there Mrs. Ferston seemed to be on the mend, but I’ve been worried about them for the last day or so. I really must see if she is better or I shall worry myself to death.”
Brett walked purposely toward the door. “I shall accompany you, Mrs. Goode.”
The older woman seemed nonplussed for a moment but recovered quickly. “Nonsense. Mrs. Ferston would never forgive me for showing up unannounced with a strange gentleman. As poorly as she’s been lately her house and person are not what they should be. I shall help her clean today, and in a few days you and the duke must make the rounds so he can introduce himself to all his tenants.”
Brett started to argue, but Anne sided with her mother. “She’s quite right, Brett. Mrs. Ferston would be so ashamed if you were to show up and her house was not in order. You wouldn’t want to do that to the poor woman, would you?”
Brett narrowed his eyes at Anne. “Then you should accompany your mother.”
Anne fluttered her lashes innocently. “Me? Why, whatever for? Those Ferston children are demons.” Anne shuddered delicately. “Five of them,” she added, holding up her open hand to emphasize the number.
“Anne.” Her mother was fighting laughter. “It’s your own fault that they love you so. If you wouldn’t teach them wild games and chase them about until they are all screaming they would leave you alone.”
Brett breathed a sigh of relief. “Then it’s settled. You shall accompany your mother and the duke and I will call later this afternoon.”
Mrs. Goode was shaking her head before he finished. “No, Anne mustn’t come. She had an inflammation of the lungs last winter, and I do not wish her to come down with whatever laid low the Ferstons.”
Brett looked suspiciously at Anne. “She appears to be in excellent health now.”
Anne coughed delicately into her hand. Brett’s lips thinned.
“Absolutely not.” Mrs. Goode backtracked and kissed Anne on the top of her head. “I won’t have a scare like I did last winter. Anne shall stay here and set my mind at ease.”
Anne smiled angelically, which made Brett grind his teeth. He bowed to Mrs. Goode and then to Anne. “Then I shall take my leave. When the duke is free later and you have returned, Mrs. Goode, we shall stop by.”
Mrs. Goode looked horrified. “I did not mean to drive you away, Mr. Haversham! As I told you that first time you called, we do not stand on formalities here. Please stay and keep Anne company and look through Ash’s books. When the duke arrives I daresay he shall interrogate you about what you have learned.”
Mrs. Goode’s choice of words reminded Brett why he was there. He was to occupy Anne while Freddy questioned Stephen. With a sigh he realized he was grinding his teeth again. At this rate, he’d have none left by next Sunday. He bowed sharply. “As you wish, ma’am.” He offered his arm, fighting for any excuse to postpone being alone with Anne. “Let me at least see you to your carriage.”
Mrs. Goode linked her arm with his and laughed. “You do it a great honor to call it such, Mr. Haversham, but I am not ashamed to call it a simple pony cart.”
Brett chanced a glance back at Anne to find her watching him with an amused quirk to her lips. He wished he didn’t find even her amusement at his expense desirable.
Freddy rode up to the parsonage, unprepared for the memories that assaulted him. He hadn’t spent very much time here. None at all, really, not like Bertie. But what memories he did have were pleasant. No, they were more than pleasant. They were glimpses into the life he
wished had been his. Mr. and Mrs. Goode had loved one another, something he found infinitely strange. His parents could barely stand to be in the same room together for five minutes at a time. He remembered wondering what it would be like to live in a house so happy. Ashton Park was beautiful, but it didn’t ring with laughter like the Goode Vicar’s house. And when Freddy’s father was at the parsonage, he was happy. He was never happy at Ashton Park. It had taken years for Freddy to realize that his unhappiness was not Freddy’s fault.
“Ho, Freddy!”
Freddy turned to the right, to the large garden adjacent to the parsonage. He saw Stephen standing there smiling and waving and he smiled and waved right back. Quickly tethering his horse, Freddy made his way past the small gate and into the garden. Stephen met him with a handshake.
“I was wondering when I might see you,” Stephen said. There was no rancor in his tone, just enjoyment at seeing Freddy. That was one of the things that Freddy liked about Stephen. He took people as they were. He seemed to have no expectations waiting to be disappointed. Rather uncommon for a vicar. But with his acceptance of people with all their flaws he brought a peace with him wherever he went. Freddy hoped to find a little of that here today.
“I’m sorry we haven’t been by, Stephen.” Freddy wondered for a moment why they hadn’t. It seemed as if once they’d found Anne everything else had paled in importance, even old friends.
Stephen smiled and winked. “Well, I hear you’ve had other things on your mind.”
Freddy raised an eyebrow. “Have you? And what might they be, pray tell?”
Stephen laughed. He had a nice laugh, rich and full. When Stephen laughed, he laughed with you not at you, and not to be polite. “Well, one of them might possibly be a very pretty vicar’s daughter who lives down the lane.” Stephen spoke over his shoulder as he turned to walk back down the row of plants he’d been working.
“Don’t you have someone to tend this for you?” Freddy asked curiously. “I can certainly send someone over from the Park.”
Stephen shook his head as he kneeled down again. “Don’t bother. Not now, at any rate. Perhaps at harvest time.” He flashed Freddy a grin. “Was that a very poor attempt to change the subject?”
“Actually, no.” Freddy looked around, and with nowhere else to go finally sat on the ground near Stephen. Stephen grinned at him. Freddy stared, daring Stephen to comment on his seating arrangements as he bent his legs and rested his arms on his knees, his right hand clasping his left wrist to hold them in place.
Stephen just shrugged. “Sorry, I left the elegant furniture in the parlor today.”
Freddy was startled. “Have I become so high in the instep then?” God, Freddy didn’t want to think he was becoming like his mother. She was so conscious of her social position. Freddy had become weary of trying to obey all the dictates required, according to her, to maintain that station. He looked at the parsonage and it occurred to him that his father hadn’t obeyed those dictates at all. No wonder he and the duchess never got along.
Stephen stopped digging and readjusted the large farmer’s hat he was wearing. Freddy was surprised to discover that he found Stephen appealing in that hat. Stephen had the blond, blue-eyed, ruddy good looks of a country squire, solidly built with a delicate jaw, broad cheekbones and a deep chest. The hat made him appear younger, coquettish almost, in a strange way. That wasn’t really a term Freddy would ever have applied to Stephen before today.
Stephen had his jacket off and his sleeves rolled up. His forearms were muscular and tan, the hair gilded by the sun. Freddy was struck by the warmth and solidity of that arm, the slight smudge of dirt across the freckled skin there catching his eye.
“Not at all, Freddy,” Stephen replied, adding more dirt to his arm as he shoved his sleeve higher. “You are the most democratic duke I’ve ever met.”
Freddy tilted his head as he moved his gaze from Stephen’s arm to his amused face. “Am I? And how many dukes do you know?”
Stephen looked thoughtful for a moment. “As of today? One.”
Freddy laughed. “I shall take the compliment at face value.”
Stephen reached out and patted his arm, and then he stood by putting his hands on his knees and pushing up. It was such a pedestrian gesture, and yet Stephen looked so much a part of his surroundings as he did it. How must that feel, Freddy thought, to be so at home in yourself, in your life? “Come on, I’m thirsty,” Stephen declared as he walked toward the parsonage, taking off his gloves, “and I want to sit down.”
“There’s plenty of room here,” Freddy said, and Stephen turned around to see him spreading his arms in invitation, indicating the dirt all around him.
Stephen laughed again. “That might be elegant enough for a duke, but I require a chair.”
Soon they were sitting in the shade of a large tree behind the house, a pitcher of ale, glasses and a plate of biscuits on the table between them provided by Stephen’s housekeeper.
Stephen took a drink and reached for a biscuit. “What’s on your mind, Freddy?”
Freddy pulled off his glove and reached for a biscuit. “How did you know I had something on my mind?”
“You’ve been unusually quiet.” Stephen took a bite, clearly in no hurry to rush the conversation. When he finished that small bite he smiled apologetically. “Sorry. I’m famished.”
Freddy waved at the biscuit. “Please, finish it. I’m in no hurry.”
“Good.” Stephen had two more biscuits in quick succession before he sat back and regarded Freddy. “All right. Go ahead. I’m all yours.”
“Brett and I—”
“How is Brett?”
Freddy was startled by the interruption. “He’s fine. Why do you ask?”
“He isn’t with you.” Stephen stated the obvious as if Freddy would understand its implications.
“We are not attached like a circus attraction,” Freddy said irritably.
“All right. Then where is he? I suppose I asked the wrong question.” Stephen took off his hat and set it next to his chair. Freddy was sorry to see it go.
“He is at Anne’s by now, I suppose.” Freddy didn’t like how irritable he still sounded.
“Ah,” Stephen said.
“What does that mean?” Freddy put his half-eaten biscuit on the table.
Stephen shrugged as he ran a hand through his hair, which had been flattened by the hat and sweat. Freddy noted rather dispassionately that if he weren’t in love with someone else it might have been exciting to seduce Stephen. The wayward thought surprised him.
“It means that now I understand the rather odd mood you’re in,” Stephen told him as he relaxed against the back of his chair and looked at Freddy. Freddy didn’t like the sympathy in his eyes.
“Do you?” he snapped. “And what do you understand?”
“That you are upset that Brett appears to be courting Anne Goode. She’s quite popular these days.”
Freddy stood and paced a short distance away, stopping by the tree. He turned to face Stephen and pointed a finger at him. “Then you would be wrong,” he told him smugly. “As a matter of fact, I am encouraging it. The only obstacle is Brett’s reluctance.”
“I beg your pardon?” Stephen looked shocked.
“Brett is in love with her. He has been ever since the war.”
“What?” Freddy found Stephen’s incredulity satisfying for some reason. “I wasn’t even aware they knew each other.”
Freddy marched back over to his chair and sat with a flourish. “They didn’t, not really. Only through Bertie’s letters.” He reached out and gripped Stephen’s arm. “Brett doesn’t know that I know, so don’t tell him.”
Now Stephen just looked confused. “Doesn’t know you know what?”
“That’s he’s in love with her.”
“Then how do you know?”
Freddy was reluctant to reveal more. He waved his hand dismissively. “It doesn’t matter. All that matters is I know, and I am determined to see
them together.”
Stephen was shaking his head. “I think it matters a great deal.” He sighed and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “Freddy, I don’t like the sound of this. Have your feelings for Brett changed?”
Freddy sank back against his chair, suddenly deflated. He couldn’t look at Stephen. “No. My feelings for Brett will never change, Stephen.” Freddy’s arms lay on the chair arms, his hands dangling off the ends as he stared at his lap. “That is why I want him to be happy.” He took a deep breath and turned to Stephen. “Anne will make him happy. He wants Anne.”
“I know he reciprocates your feelings, Freddy. I’m not sure how he feels about Anne, but I do know he cares for you.”
“Did he tell you that?” Freddy’s question was sharp.
Stephen answered reluctantly. “No. But Freddy, he just needs more time.”
It was Freddy’s turn to be incredulous. “More time? I’ve given him five years, Stephen. How much more time does he need to realize he doesn’t love me?”
Stephen clasped his hands together between his knees and stared at them. “Do you know how Bertie died?”
The sudden change of topic made Freddy wary. “No.” He answered slowly. “I know it was at Salamanca, that he was next to Brett when the cannonball landed near them. That’s all I know. Brett won’t talk about it. No one will, really.”
Stephen rubbed his right thumb and forefinger over his eyes, pressing so hard Freddy thought it must hurt. “Bertie shoved Brett out of the way, Freddy. He saved Brett’s life.” Stephen’s voice wavered. “The ball landed on an ammunition wagon. I was there. I saw it. Bertie was broken in so many pieces. And Brett dragged himself across the ground, his shattered leg behind him, to try to put the pieces back together.”
Freddy’s gut clenched and tears filled his eyes. He hadn’t known. Christ, why hadn’t anyone ever told him that?
Stephen rubbed his eyes harder, and Freddy realized it was unconscious, as if Stephen were trying to wipe out the memory. “By the time I got over there they were trying to pry Bertie out of his arms. Brett was trying to hold his guts in and put his head back together.” Stephen’s voice was shaky. “Thank God Bertie was dead already. He died instantly. But Brett…” Stephen paused to swallow. “He wouldn’t listen. He wouldn’t believe us. He was screaming when they took him away. Screaming that we were going to kill Bertie. I think he blames me.”
Brothers In Arms 05: Retreat From Love Page 15