by Mary Balogh
“I say,” Nigel said eagerly when he saw Justin. “Mr. Sharpe has been as good as his word, Lord Brandon. He has made lists of recommended books for us. Yours is on the desk. This is mine.” He waved the page he held. “I cannot wait to get Pa to take me to my favorite bookshop in York. I daresay I will spend the whole of my allowance there and not even make a dent in the list.”
“Those books do not all have to be read in a month,” Uncle Rowan said with an affable smile for the young man. “It takes a lifetime to get to the end of a good reading list. More than a lifetime, in fact, but a lifetime is all any of us has. And what a horror story it would be if we did run out of everything worth reading. What would we do then? Your list is a bit different, Justin. I tried to avoid adding books I can see are already here.”
“Thank you.” Justin took a quick look before putting the list away in a top drawer. “I shall take it with me the next time I go to London.”
He sat down at the desk and had a quick look through the pile of mail stacked there, mostly official estate business his secretary had already dealt with. There were two personal letters as well, though, one of them from Maria’s aunt Sarah, addressed to him. She and her husband were enjoying their tour of Scotland, she had written, but they were very sorry it had coincided with the house party at Everleigh. She hoped it would be convenient to him and her niece if they invited themselves there sometime after their return. She would write again later.
“It would be so wonderful to meet Maria and to see you again,” she had written. “I remember that you were very kind to me when I was at Everleigh for Lilian’s wedding to your father— who was also extremely kind, by the way. I recall being quite terrified because you were aristocrats and lived in a vast mansion, and I was just fifteen. But you befriended me, although you were only thirteen yourself, and made sure I relaxed and enjoyed myself.”
Despite the fact that he had been horribly bewildered and upset at the time of that wedding, Justin could remember liking his new stepmother’s family, who were all very different from her. They had been hearty and warm and genuine and comfortable in their own less-than-aristocratic identities— and yes, a bit awed by their surroundings and in need of some reassurance.
“A letter from your aunt Sarah you may be interested in reading,” he said, handing it to Nigel. “She seems to be enjoying herself in Scotland.”
His other letter was addressed in Hilda’s handwriting. Justin wondered as he picked it up and broke the seal if his own letter had reached them before she wrote. Was Ricky still upset that he had failed to come in July?
It was a brief note. His own letter had arrived, and Hilda had read it to Ricky and he had run from the house. “And that was the last we have seen of him, Juss. He is gone and we are frantic,” she had written. There was no sign of him anywhere, and no one had seen him. He had never been farther from home than a few miles in any direction, but where could he be? He had no money on him that they knew of, or anything else except the clothes he was wearing. But he was gone without a trace. The only thing they could think of now— Hilda had both capitalized and heavily underlined the one word— was that he had gone to see Justin since Justin had not come to see him.
“But how would he know where to go?” she had written. “How would he get there even if he did know? How would he manage without any money? And without someone to look after him? He won’t be able to manage, and that is that. But it is all we can think of, Juss. We are at our wits’ end. Wes is beside himself. He is running around in circles. And all the men from the quarry and all the neighbors are out looking.”
“It is grand that they intend coming here later,” Nigel said, setting his aunt’s letter down on the desk. “Aunt Sarah and Maria will surely like each other. I’ll go find Pa and Aunt Patricia and tell them the Scottish tour is going well.”
Justin smiled vacantly as the boy left the room, still clutching his precious book list, all youthful exuberance.
Justin’s hands were tingling as he set down Hilda’s letter. He could remember once when he had gone to the grotto by the waterfall without telling anyone and had fallen asleep there after playing for a while. It had been after dark when one of the gardeners had found him and carried him home to his parents, both of whom had been outside while search parties went in every direction. They were both so frantic that even Justin’s five-year-old self had recognized the blind, helpless panic that consumed them. That was what Wes and Hildy would be feeling now for Ricky. It was what he was feeling. He felt sick to his stomach and wanted to dash off … But where?
Good God, could they possibly be right? But they would not have written to him until they had exhausted all other possibilities. And they had not searched alone. Friends, neighbors, fellow workers—everybody would have turned over every stone and forked over every haystack and searched every barn.
Ricky had listened to what Justin had written him and then promptly disappeared. Wes and Hilda had concluded that he was coming to find Justin. Mad as it seemed, it was possibly true. Probably true. Had he ever mentioned Everleigh Park in Ricky’s hearing? Justin could not remember. Had he mentioned Hertfordshire? But even if he had … Well, Hertfordshire was a whole county. It covered a sizable area. How was Ricky ever going to find him? Without a man’s mature understanding? Without company? Without money or belongings? Would he even know how to find his way home if he changed his mind? Did he know where he lived? Did he know it was in Gloucestershire? Justin’s first instinct was to go dashing off there himself to help Wes with the search. But what end would that serve? None whatsoever. What could he do, then? Anything? His throat was dry. His tongue felt thick. His stomach churned.
“Bad news?” someone asked.
He looked up, frowning. His uncle and Angela were no longer in the library, he realized. Only Watley remained, still reclined in his chair by the fireplace, a finger holding his place in the book he was reading.
“A bit of a bother,” Justin said, setting a still-tingling hand down on top of the letter. “It will sort itself out. I hope you had a pleasant ride. The landscape around here is quite scenic. Have you had tea? I am sorry I was not here myself. I have just returned to the house.”
“I believe Lady Maria was having tea brought to the drawing room for whoever wanted it,” Watley said. “I came here instead for a bit of quiet. Yes, the ride was very pleasant. Good company, lovely countryside.”
“I have been showing your sister the grotto beside the waterfall out at the lake,” Justin said. “I daresay she told you I offered her marriage a few days ago and she refused.”
“Yes,” Watley said. “She did tell me.”
“I beg to inform you,” Justin told him, “that I will be renewing the offer before you leave here next week.”
“I see,” Watley said. “And does Estelle know this too?”
“She does,” Justin said. “Her answer would have been the same if I had asked again today. At least, I am almost certain it would have been. I hope to convince her over the next week that it will be worth her while to change her mind.”
He was aware of the stilted nature of his words. And of the possible offensiveness of some of them. I hope to convince her … that it will be worth her while to change her mind. But his heart was still thumping and his head was still buzzing with the knowledge that Ricky was out there somewhere, wandering about England, or even Wales if he had got himself turned about the wrong way, in the hope of finding his friend Juss. Did he even know Justin’s last name? Or his title name? Or that Juss stood for Justin?
“You plan to woo her, then?” Watley said. He had closed his book and set it down on the table beside him.
“That word makes me cringe,” Justin said. “Woo. Is that what I will be doing? I do not know. But you ought to know that I hope to marry your sister.”
“I am not her guardian,” Watley said. “Neither is my father. Estelle is her own person.”
“But you are her twin,” Justin said. “The bond is close, I be
lieve.”
“It seems to be closer than any I have seen between mere siblings,” Watley told him. “I will not say we read each other’s mind. That would be ghastly. But we sense each other’s feelings. Well, we more than just sense them. We feel with each other or for each other. I have often tried to verbalize just what the bond is, but have always found it impossible to do, even in my own head. We do not interfere with each other, though we sometimes intervene. There is a difference. If through bringing up this subject you hope to enlist my help in convincing Estelle that the title Countess of Brandon would be a good one for her, I must disappoint you, I am afraid. The choice, whether yea or nay, will be hers to make.”
“If I cannot … woo my own woman, I would be a sorry excuse for a man,” Justin said. “Whether I succeed or fail will be all on me— and on your sister. I merely wanted you to know my intentions. If you believe that I am taking unfair advantage of her in my own home when I invited her here for another purpose entirely, then you may feel free to say so.”
He picked up Hilda’s letter, unfolded it, folded it again without reading any of it, set it on top of Sarah’s letter, picked it up once more, and slid it beneath her letter. He felt nauseated. Where are you, Ricky? Are you frightened? Have you been taken up as a vagrant somewhere and locked up in a jail?
He became aware of the silence and looked at Watley, who was looking back.
“If you take unfair advantage of Estelle, she will tell you so,” Watley said. “If she chooses to marry you, she will do so. If she chooses not to, that will be that. I will neither intervene nor interfere unless your wooing should turn into harassment. I do not expect it. I am not going to turn into the heavy-handed brother either with her or with you. But I wish you would believe me when I say I am a good listener. Something in the letter you have shoved out of sight is consuming your mind and your emotions. I know whatever that letter says is none of my business, and as soon as you have told me so I will leave the library and never refer to the matter again. If I may be of some assistance to you, however, I will sit here and listen.”
It was not in Justin’s nature— or had not been for the past twelve years, anyway— to confide anything to anybody. He bore his burdens alone. He buried his feelings beneath the armor of tough stoicism he had erected about himself soon after leaving home. But earlier this afternoon— and to a certain degree at the summerhouse a few days ago— he had let the sister beneath his guard. Was he now to confide in the brother too? The man he hoped to make his brother-in-law?
“I have a friend who is missing,” he said. “There is no trace of him close to home. His brother and … sister-in-law are frantic and believe that perhaps he is trying to come to me.”
Watley was looking steadily at him, his eyebrows slightly raised.
“Ricky is thirty years old with the mind of a very young child,” Justin told him. And he went on to explain the situation as briefly and clearly as he could.
“And you are not sure,” Watley said when he was finished, “if he knows your full name and title. Or the name of your estate or what county it is in.”
“But I cannot imagine Ricky setting out to come to me if he did not have at least one or two of those answers,” Justin said. “Even if he knew all four, though, how could he possibly find me here? He has nothing with him. He has no money. And my fear is that even if he has changed his mind and decided to return home, he will not be able to find it or tell anyone exactly where he lives. I blame myself for saying I would go to see him in July and then not going.”
“What you really blame yourself for,” Watley said, “is letting him love you and loving him in return. Life can be damnable when one opens oneself to love. It can be even worse when one does not.”
“Damned if you do, damned if you do not?” Justin said. He closed his eyes and set his hand flat on top of the two letters on his desk.
“But this is not the moment for either panic or philosophy,” Watley said. “Let us think of what we can do.”
“We?” Justin opened his eyes.
Watley shrugged. “I am your guest,” he said. “If you have your way, I will be your brother-in-law in the foreseeable future. More to the point, I am a fellow human being. You are going to have to get out the word throughout the county— a full description of Ricky and an emphasis upon his great importance to you, the Earl of Brandon. Titles and influence can be useful things at times. Fellow landowners. Magistrates. Clergymen. We need to make a list. And offer a reward— but only if he is detained without violence and treated with kindness.”
“If he gets as far as Hertfordshire,” Justin said.
“We must at least consider the possibility that he will,” Watley said. “For the rest of the country we must consider notices in newspapers, among other things.”
Justin sat back in his chair, drew a deep breath, and let it out slowly through his mouth. “Perhaps,” he said, “they will yet find him fast asleep in the hay inside someone’s barn close to home that they have not thought to search yet.”
“It would be the best possible outcome,” Watley agreed. “Though it does seem unlikely. May I make another suggestion? Will you send for my sister? You said you told her about those years you spent living with Ricky’s brother. She may have some ideas. A woman’s perspective and all that.”
Justin got to his feet and pulled on the bell rope beside the mantel. He sent the footman who answered his summons to find Lady Estelle Lamarr. “Ask her if she would be so good as to join me and Viscount Watley in the library,” he said.
They waited in near silence.
“I am making a mental list of everyone I know in this county,” Justin said after a few minutes. “It is not a long one. My steward and my secretary will be able to help. They have both been here a long time. They worked for my father before me.”
The same footman opened the door ten minutes after he had been sent and admitted Lady Estelle. She stood just inside the door and looked from one to the other of them, her hands clasped at her waist.
“I hope there is a reason for this odd summons that is not going to have me exploding in wrath,” she said.
“I am not about to order you to marry Brandon forthwith, Stell,” her brother said. “Nor am I about to forbid you to marry him and order you to pack your bags and be ready to leave within the hour.”
“Well, that is a relief,” she said. “You get to keep your head, Bert.”
“Ricky is missing,” Justin told her, and her eyes came to him and remained upon him while he told her about Hilda’s letter.
She did have ideas in addition to those her brother had suggested.
“Involve women and servants,” she said. “If you wish to spread any news as fast as wildfire, those are the people to tell. Men will spread the word in official ways and be very thorough and methodical about it. Women and servants will just talk. And the people to whom they talk will talk to others. Those others will talk to yet more. Soon scarcely anyone, either upstairs or down, will not know that a man of Ricky’s description and mental slowness is wandering around lost and— most important— that he is very precious to the Earl of Brandon, who will pay a handsome reward to whoever finds him and treats him with kindness while he or she brings him here to Everleigh.”
“If he finds his way to this county,” Justin said. By now Lady Estelle was sitting on the chair across from her brother’s and Justin was standing between them, his back to the fireplace.
“Well, you know, gossip does not stop at county borders, Brandon,” Watley said.
“But you must be prepared for much of that gossip being about you, Lord Brandon,” Lady Estelle warned him. “You have kept your secrets locked up tight and your two worlds very separate until now, have you not? The initial story will explain that Ricky is trying to find you here and that he is very important to you. You can control that explanation at the source of the story, but once it starts spreading you will lose control of the details, and the story will grow and swell like a hot-ai
r balloon. Everyone will be very eager to fill in the why and the how.”
“You can control that too if you wish by getting ahead of the rumors with solid fact,” her twin added.
Lady Estelle set a hand on Justin’s arm, whether unconsciously or deliberately he did not know. He could feel the warmth of it and the comfort of it through his coat sleeve and shirtsleeve. “You can do a great deal more than his brother can to spread the word and find Ricky,” she said. “You have power and influence.”
He turned his head to look at her, and she seemed to realize where her hand was. She removed it after patting his arm a couple of times.
“Thank you,” he said. “To both of you. I do not know why you would be willing to help me. This is supposed to be a house party primarily for your relaxation and enjoyment.”
“We actually enjoy helping friends, do we not, Stell?” Watley said.
“Like you, we have a large extended family,” she said. “On our mother’s side and our father’s and our stepmother’s. Hers includes all the Westcotts, and there are dozens of them. Or am I exaggerating? But they include powerful people, like the Earl of Riverdale and the Duke of Netherby.”
“Netherby is a friend of mine,” Justin said.
“We will write to them all if it should become necessary,” Lady Estelle said. “He will be found, Justin. You must believe that he will.”
His panic was beginning to recede just a little. We actually enjoy helping friends.
She had called him Justin.
He wondered if she had noticed. Or if her brother had.
Fifteen
When Estelle was called away from tea in the drawing room to the library, Maria had been talking with Mrs. Sharpe, her son Ernest, and her elder daughter, Doris Haig. Mr. Sharpe had just joined them too. Maria reported on what Estelle had missed of the conversation before the two of them went down for dinner that evening.
“I asked them straight-out if they had resented my mother,” she said. “I even told them it would be perfectly understandable if they had. Mrs. Sharpe told me Papa had always been very good to her sister while she lived, but that she had thought him entitled to find happiness with someone else after she was gone. They did not blame him for marrying Mama. Though Mrs. Sharpe did add that it gave her a pang of sadness anyway since she had worshiped the ground her sister walked upon, to use her words.”