They were all forthwith provided with various oddities to complete their costumes, none of which bore the slightest resemblance to anything that had existed in ancient Greece. No one seemed to particularly mind. Miss Hampton and Charlie were enjoying themselves, though Linus could not overhear enough of their conversation to know what they were saying. Mrs. Blackbourne continually whispered observations, the low volume of her voice rendering the conversation far more intimate than was warranted.
Sensing escape was necessary, Linus made a hasty observation to the group. “This tableau needs a lyre, else what am I to be strangled with?”
Artemis pressed a hand to her heart. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
Linus took a step away from Mrs. Blackbourne. “I will return with one shortly.”
“You know where one is?” Miss Hampton asked, her attention on him for the first time in nearly twenty minutes.
“I happen to play the lyre,” he said.
Her lips twitched. “Do you not fear that history might repeat itself? This tableau ought to serve as something of a warning.”
He assumed his most roguish expression. “I like to live dangerously.”
Chapter Ten
“Miss Lancaster might very well hunt her brother down if he does not return soon,” Charlie said.
Artemis—Arabella struggled to think of the young lady in more formal terms when she stood so clearly on the verge of a tantrum—glared at the drawing room doors through which her brother had disappeared nearly ten minutes earlier. “Where is he?”
Mater had wandered over to their group as that question was asked. “Arabella, would you be so good as to see if you can ascertain Mr. Lancaster’s whereabouts?”
“Of course.” She took up the assignment eagerly, grateful to be of help.
“But then we will not have our Calliope,” Artemis protested.
“I will return directly.” While she was every bit the misfit in this gathering that she had told Mr. Lancaster she was, she had been enjoying herself. She had been included in the activities. And she had found a kinship with the kind and handsome former lieutenant, something she very much wanted to continue.
Upon reaching the corridor containing the guest bedchambers, she glanced in all directions. There was no sign of anyone there. Where might he have gone? Perhaps his lyre was in the music room. Except, if he’d gone only two doors down from the drawing room, he would not have been away so long. Where else could he be?
Twice that day, she had seen Mr. Lancaster with his nephew. Perhaps he had chosen to look in on the little boy. If she didn’t find him there, she would simply have to return and face Artemis’s wrath.
He was, indeed, in the nursery, holding tiny Lord Falstone, rocking the whimpering child in his arms.
“Has something happened?” she asked.
“He’s feverish,” Mr. Lancaster said. “The nursemaid couldn’t comfort him enough to calm his cries.”
Arabella moved to his side. Mr. Lancaster smelled of cinnamon. She didn’t think she’d ever known another gentleman who did. It was unique but not at all unpleasant.
She set her hand gently on the boy’s flushed cheeks. “He is quite feverish. Have his parents been sent for?”
“Not yet. I was hoping I could get him to sleep. His parents have been worried enough about him today.” A heartbreaking little cry pulled Mr. Lancaster’s attention back to his bundle. “Perhaps worrying them can’t be helped. Would you feel better, Oliver, if you had your mother here?”
The boy simply continued whimpering.
Mr. Lancaster turned to the nursemaid, who was pulling the curtains around the room. “Janey, will you please fetch Their Graces?”
The nursemaid slipped quickly out of the room.
“Uncle Linus.” The little boy’s tender words were soft and pleading.
“I know,” was the gentle reply. “Feeling unwell is a misery.”
Mr. Lancaster was such a contradiction. He had the unmistakable bearing of a military man, yet he laughed easily and readily and was as at home in the nursery as the drawing room. He belonged to a family of tremendous importance yet had spoken to Janey without any of the pomposity so common in the aristocracy. He had full access to the stables, the grounds, the carriages but had chosen to spend his morning with a little boy and now his evening tending to the same child. And he had reached out to her, offering kindness and the first trace of friendship.
“I can’t say that I know very much about treating ill children,” Mr. Lancaster said. “My sister Daphne, on the other hand, would know precisely what is to be done.”
“He is not throwing any spots,” she observed. “That is a good sign. And while he is clearly uncomfortable, he is still alert.”
The boy rested with such trust against his uncle’s shoulder.
“Perhaps we should invite him to join our club,” Mr. Lancaster said. “That should cheer him up quickly.”
It had certainly lifted Arabella’s spirits. “I doubt his parents would consider him an outcast.”
“They certainly would not.” He rocked the boy gently in his arms.
Arabella had known only one gentleman in all her life who had emanated such kindness. The reminder of the caring man she had lost so long ago clogged her throat and rendered her thoughts heavy. How she missed him. How she wished he were there.
The duke and duchess arrived, both crossing directly to where Mr. Lancaster held their son. The duke wore such a fierce look that Arabella, on pure instinct, moved to intervene. In the next instant, however, little Lord Falstone reached for his father without a hint of trepidation. The duke held him protectively, gently, the very picture of compassion.
“You might as well have my effects moved in here, Persephone,” His Grace said. “I will not be leaving.”
Emotion built ever stronger in Arabella’s heart. She had expected to confront memories of the earl in this house but had not anticipated the reminders coming from guests who were little more than strangers to her.
Mr. Lancaster stood beside the duchess. “I ought to have known he’d be more comforted by his father’s presence than mine.”
She gave him a look of empathy. “That child is more comforted by his father’s presence than by mine.” The observation was not made bitterly. “Perhaps this next child will be equally fond of its mother.”
Mr. Lancaster turned wide eyes on his sister. “Persephone, are you—?”
She laughed nearly silently. “That was meant to remain a secret for a time.”
“Never fear. Uncle Linus can be trusted to keep mum.” He put an arm around her shoulders. “I’m happy for you.”
Arabella felt entirely de trop. That happened so often. So very often.
She quietly slipped toward the door.
“Miss Hampton.” The duke’s voice was quiet but every bit as authoritative as ever.
She turned to face him, quaking a little inside.
“Have the dowager or Lord Lampton send for the physician forthwith.”
“Adam,” Her Grace said in tones of light scolding.
“Please,” he added.
Arabella offered a brief dip of her head.
“And, Miss Hampton.” The duke held her gaze with a firm and unwavering one of his own. “Thank you again for finding my son this afternoon.”
“I am grateful to have helped,” she said and, feeling a surge of discomfort, slipped out of the room.
She’d not yet reached the ground floor when Mr. Lancaster caught up with her. The speed of his descent sent a wave of fresh worry over her. “Has Lord Falstone worsened so quickly?”
“No. His father has.” Mr. Lancaster had a way of saying things quite seriously but with undertones of humor. Arabella liked it very much. “He sent me to make doubly certain Lord Lampton isn’t ‘blinded by his own pantaloons and render
ed incapable of responsible action.’” His impression of the duke was uncanny.
“Perhaps we should wait to deliver the request until after the earl’s valet has undressed him.” The moment she spoke the words, she realized how uncouth they were. Heat filled her face. “That was inappropriate.”
“But funny.” Indeed, he looked far more entertained than offended.
“You won’t tell the dowager how improperly I spoke just now?”
He nodded solemnly. “I will guard your secret with my life.”
“That is very good of you,” she said.
“Anything for a fellow club member.”
He meant to continue with their jest? He had family, despite his insistence otherwise. Yet he still felt a kinship with her and empathy for her situation.
“We really should deliver the duke’s request,” he said.
“For what it’s worth,” she replied, “I do not actually doubt Lord Lampton’s reliability.”
Mr. Lancaster walked alongside her, matching her pace. “I don’t think the duke doubts it either. His grumpiness simply grows when he is concerned, and few things concern him more deeply than his family’s well-being.”
Arabella shook her head. “That surprises me.”
“It is meant to,” Mr. Lancaster said. “His Grace works very hard to be intimidating. He is also genuinely fearsome. Yet those who know him best love him. I am not certain how he manages it.” He leaned a little closer, lowering his voice as if about to share a great secret. “Should you sort out the mystery of my brother-in-law’s behavior, feel free to pass along your discovery.”
“You must have great confidence in my ability to solve mysteries.”
He shrugged. “You did figure out what mischief my sisters were undertaking.”
“I did manage that, didn’t I?” He was surprisingly easy to talk with. “I spend a great deal of time explaining your family to you.”
He smiled broadly, the expression bringing light and cheerfulness to his green eyes. Heavens, he was even more handsome when he smiled that way. “What can I say? I have a very mysterious family.”
“Mine is not so difficult to sort out. Only two are still living, other than myself, and they are not overly friendly.”
“I am sorry to hear that.” He spoke to her without even a hint of dismissal. It warmed her heart.
They had reached the drawing room. Mater met them only a few steps inside. “How is the little one?”
“His Grace has requested that Dr. Scorseby be sent for,” Arabella said, delivering the message she had been charged with.
“I will send one of the stable hands.” Mater left to deliver her request.
The other guests quickly gathered around, inquiring after Lord Falstone’s health and well-being. The comfort Arabella had felt in Mr. Lancaster’s presence dissipated. She had never been overly fond of crowds. He, on the other hand, seemed entirely at ease surrounded by people as he answered their questions.
She slipped away, skirting the other guests as she made her way toward the window that had become her place in the room.
“Are we canceling the tableaux?” Artemis asked her brother.
“Your nephew will be fine,” Mr. Lancaster said drily. “I am certain you are relieved.”
She looked immediately chagrined. “I hadn’t meant to be insensitive. I simply—I wanted—” Her chin quivered. In the next instant, Artemis fled the room.
Mr. Stroud moved to follow her, but Mr. Lancaster was faster. His concern for his nephew extended to his youngest sister as well. Arabella liked him all the better for it.
She sat, knowing she would be unobtrusive in her little corner.
Charlie, however, did not permit it. He joined her there. “Was Lord Falstone very ill?”
“He did not appear to be.” Arabella, of course, was no expert. “I imagine we will hear about it if that does not prove to be the case.”
Charlie stood a moment, eying the room from this vantage point. “Why do you always sit over here?”
“It is quiet. And it seems more appropriate.” It was also more familiar. In her uncle’s home, she had kept to corners and out of the way. This was not such a change. “I am, after all, a companion, not a guest nor a member of the family.”
He shot her a look of patent disbelief. “Did Mater say you had to keep to the corner?”
“No. But sometimes finding one’s place, no matter how humble, is the best that can be made of a situation.”
His brow creased even as his gaze turned to his brother in conversation with Mr. Windover across the room. “What if there isn’t really a ‘best’ to be made? What if everything is just . . .” He ended the sentence on a shrug, apparently not having the right word.
“Has something happened?” she asked.
“I’m trying to sort some things out, is all. It’s a bit of a mess in my head just now.”
“Have you tried talking with your brother?” Philip had enough of his father in him that he would be the very best person for Charlie to confide in.
“My brothers are always busy.”
“Is there no one else you could turn to?” She felt odd even asking the question. The closeness and loyalty of the Jonquil family was legendary.
He shook his head, his gaze wandering to the window. After a moment, he said, “Mr. Lancaster invited me to ride with him in the morning. He might—he might have time for me.” Years’ worth of hurt lay beneath those words.
“At the very least, he will be a captive audience.”
Charlie laughed, and the sound did her heart good. She had always been fond of him. And her dear earl had adored his littlest one. She still remembered the way he had lit up whenever Charlie had run across the lawn to greet him. She had sat in the shadows of the back wall, usually unnoticed, and imagined that had she been a Jonquil, the earl would have loved her that deeply and openly.
“Speaking of captive audiences,” he said, “I do wish we could have seen my brother’s portrayal of Hades. The other team was assigned the myth of Persephone. From what I hear, Philip’s performance alone would have won the competition for them, though he likely would have been strangled by the duke for it.”
“Truly?” Arabella couldn’t imagine why it would matter so much. “Does His Grace dislike the tale?”
“That myth, as I understand it, strikes a bit close to home,” Charlie said. “Philip does know how to be entertaining. And without Sorrel here, there is no one to keep him out of trouble.”
“A difficult task, I would imagine.”
Charlie shook his head. “Yet my family insists I am the one always landing in scrapes.”
“You do have a rather extensive history of precisely that,” she reminded him.
“It doesn’t happen as often as it used to,” he insisted.
She chose not to point out that he had found himself in one predicament after another only the summer before.
“Do you think Mr. Lancaster would listen to me?” He sounded so hesitant yet so very close to being hopeful.
“I do,” she said.
Mr. Lancaster understood the struggle of being lost amongst a gathering, amongst family. He would not dismiss Charlie’s feelings. He would reach out to him as he had reached out to her.
It was little wonder she was coming to like Mr. Lancaster so much. She had not known much true benevolence in her uncle’s home but had clung to the belief that it did, indeed, exist elsewhere.
Chapter Eleven
During his ride with Charlie the next morning, Linus discovered he had a lot in common with the young gentleman. Neither of them had spent much time in London, a place they both found more than a bit tedious. Though Charlie had benefited from extensive schooling and Linus had spent those years at sea, they shared similar academic curiosity. Linus spoke of the myths his father had loved so
much and that he had learned to love as well. Charlie told him about his study of mathematical theories. Much of what he said was beyond Linus’s comprehension, yet the young man’s enthusiasm was contagious.
“Our navigator on board ship used a tremendous amount of mathematics,” Linus said. “I spent the better part of a year studying with him. It was fascinating, though in the end, I preferred other responsibilities. You might consider that. Nineteen is a little old to begin in the navy, but it is not unheard of.”
Charlie shook his head. “My interests tend to the more theoretical. More academic.”
“I suspect you and my father would have appreciated one another. He thoroughly enjoyed the academic aspect of his studies.”
They had been riding for an hour, and the horses were tired and moving at a slow, meandering pace. The stables had come into view, but they had a little distance yet to cover before ending their morning excursion.
“How did your father support his family on the income of an academic?” Charlie, it seemed, knew something about the challenges of that particular career choice.
“Are you considering pursuing academics?”
“A little.” He shrugged as if it didn’t matter, but the lines in his face said otherwise. This was a topic of some importance to him. Charlie might have been a bit tossed about, but it seemed he wasn’t as lacking in direction as he had at first appeared to be.
“Our family was certainly not wealthy,” Linus said. “But we did have a small stipend from my grandfather’s estate.”
“At the risk of commenting where I’m not welcome, it is rather well known that your family was in far worse straits than being merely ‘not wealthy.’”
That was fair. “Our poverty was not the result of our father’s career choice but rather his decline. Had he been able to continue his speaking engagements and publications, our circumstances would have been much improved.”
No more was spoken on the matter. Linus didn’t push for further confidences. Evander had often allowed Linus to express his worries and frustrations, patiently listening, not pressing the discussion. Being in that role now was unfamiliar but not as ill-fitting as he would have guessed. Evander’s influence could still be felt, even after more than ten years. But he had never known his brother in the role of master of the estate. He would not have that example to lean on when he returned home. He would be as lost as ever.
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