“I think rooms in town would be preferable,” Mr. Blakemoor answered. “I’ve gotten accustomed to smaller spaces.” His usual smile fell away and a look of defeated sadness took its place. “I don’t need much. It’s only me.”
With one last look around the future building site, Mr. Blakemoor began the trek back toward Dawnview Hall. William caught up easily, his mouth suddenly so dry he couldn’t even lick his lips. This was the opening he’d been wanting, but what were the right words? Personal discussions were not something with which he had a great deal of practice, although he recently seemed to be making up for lost time. “How long ago did your wife die?”
The older man blinked and then looked at William in surprise. “Oh, years. Elizabeth and I had a good life together. She died so young, though. And I never remarried because I never found anyone who I thought would be the mother she was.”
William’s pulse picked up and he made a conscious effort to keep his pace long and loose. “You said you hadn’t any sons.”
“No.” The man’s steps slowed a bit and William adjusted his accordingly. Mr. Gherkins fell quietly into step beside Mr. Blakemoor but said nothing.
“I have—had—a daughter,” Mr. Blakemoor finally said. “But I lost her.”
How was William supposed to respond to that? If he hadn’t known better he’d have made the obvious interpretation that the girl had died. Perhaps Mr. Blakemoor would rather pretend she had. William’s opinion of the man began to spin. “My condolences,” he murmured.
After several silent steps, the older man came to a halt and contemplated William with an unflinching but very tired gaze. “I know you outrank me, but I’ve lived a few more years than you, and your father has passed on. If I may, I’d like to give you a piece of advice I wish I’d learned long ago. Remember that your pride isn’t as valuable as you think it is. Keeping it might cost you more than you could imagine.”
William was afraid to say anything, even though saying nothing would make him look like he didn’t value the experience of an elder, lesser-ranked man. In truth, William couldn’t think of anything to say that didn’t betray the fact that he knew Mr. Blakemoor was talking about Daphne.
There was still so much he didn’t know about the situation. Since leaving Marlborough, he’d come up with at least another dozen questions to ask Daphne, questions he’d love to know the answers to right at that moment.
But as he looked at the man in front of him and thought through what precious little he did know, he came to one conclusion.
This entire situation was a complicated bag of moonshine.
Mr. Gherkins coughed and started walking again. “Your friend Mr. Ramsbury is supposed to be coming by with those steam-engine plans this afternoon, isn’t he?”
“Yes,” William said, trying to bring his head back around to the more comfortable topic. Calling Harcourt Ramsbury a friend might be a bit of an alteration of the definition most people gave the word, but their interactions had always been pleasant and William kept in fairly regular contact with him. He supposed that made the man as much of a friend as anyone else. “He’s probably there now.”
“I’ve asked our driver to have the horses ready to leave in an hour or so. I believe it best if Mr. Blakemoor and I take our leave after we complete our discussions.”
William nodded. As late as it would be when they left, the men might not make it farther than an inn in Birmingham, but if they’d noticed even half of the tension he felt in the house, William wouldn’t fault their departure.
The situation with Daphne wasn’t the only imbroglio in William’s life.
The house was just coming into view when he saw a figure in a long black greatcoat striding across the manicured lawn.
“They told me you were at the site so I decided to start walking that way,” Ramsbury said as he neared the group of men.
“You could have waited for us at the house,” William said.
Ramsbury glanced back over his shoulder, his brown hair that was rather in need of a trim blowing across the stark angles of his face. “It’s a beautiful day. No reason to spend it inside.”
William sighed. That must mean Araminta, his father’s widow, was home. Even if she was ignoring the man, she could make the atmosphere uncomfortable. “I understand.”
With a nod, Ramsbury produced a roll of papers from within his coat. “I think you’ll find our suggestions to your existing steam engine system well worth investing in. We’ve put a great deal of effort into improving our valve releases.”
Mr. Gherkins accepted the plans and unrolled part of them. Mr. Blakemoor joined him in looking over the partial section of plans and soon both men were grinning.
“That’s ingenious,” Mr. Blakemoor said. “We’ll be in touch very soon, I’m sure.”
They discussed the new steam engine for William’s factory as they walked to the stable. Once they were there, one of William’s grooms held the horses’ heads until the driver was ready to take control. With final handshakes all around, the other men were soon off.
“Would you care for tea, Ramsbury?” William asked, gesturing toward the house.
After a brief pause, the other man nodded. “Now that you’ve returned, I wouldn’t mind stepping in for a bit. Lead on, Kettle—oh, I suppose it’s Chemsford now. My condolences.”
William nodded solemnly because saying that condolences weren’t necessary wasn’t respectful of the dead. Or the living, for that matter.
They made their way to the house, where the front door swung open as they climbed the steps. A footman in spotless clothing stood beside the open portal. The servant took their hats, gloves, and greatcoats before disappearing quietly through a door near the back of the front hall.
As they made their way upstairs to one of the smaller, more private parlors, they talked of the science society where Ramsbury was a member. The society met frequently to discuss findings and experiments, and some very fine inventions and improvements had come out of the group over the past few years. While William was not intellectual enough to participate in the discussions, he liked knowing about the coming advancements.
A servant bearing a tea tray entered the parlor five steps behind them.
It was all beautifully convenient and a stark contrast to the life he led back at his estate in Marlborough. He rubbed a hand over his face. Did his new estate have a name? If it did he didn’t know it. He needed something to call it other than the place where Daphne and a handful of children turned his life into chaos.
“I say, Ramsbury,” William began, ignoring the tea tray for the moment and instead wandering over to look out the window, “what do you do when an experiment goes in a completely unexpected direction?”
Ramsbury came to join him, standing a few feet away and looking at the marquis instead of the rolling hills. “It depends. If the new direction is an unexpected result of controlled methods, then I pursue it to see where my assumptions were wrong. If, however, it’s apparent that some outside element has changed the results, I toss the whole lot and start fresh.”
Well, that wasn’t really an option. Yes, William could let the place and move somewhere else—he had more than enough estates—but he had a feeling that out of sight, out of mind wasn’t going to work with Daphne. He’d simply worry and wonder how the new occupants had managed when she wouldn’t let them into the house.
“What if the element is unexpected but naturally occurring?”
Ramsbury frowned. “I suppose I would start by trying to add more controls. Something that forces the element to be cut off or cease forming.”
William nearly choked on his tongue and had to remind himself Ramsbury didn’t know William was talking about real people. He was not suggesting William kill Benedict and Daphne to solve the situation.
More controls was an interesting idea, though. He could bring in more servants, should have done so ages ago. Maybe then Daphne’s role in his life would be less confusing. Of course, more people brought more c
omplexity to the situation. Believing Benedict wasn’t William’s child would be a lot to ask of someone new. And if it ever became known that Daphne was his mother . . .
“Don’t more controls make the experiment more complicated?” William asked.
Ramsbury’s brows pulled together tightly above his straight pointed nose. “Yes,” he said slowly. “That is the nature of complex experiments. But the goal is always to have only one variable that you are measuring the effect of.”
One variable. Daphne was certainly a variable. William had spent a great deal of time thinking about her and couldn’t quite pin down who she was.
A housekeeper he should be essentially ignoring. A gentleman’s daughter he could feasibly see socially. A woman of gentle breeding fallen on hard times who he should pity. A strong mother who demanded his respect and compassion.
William sighed. Being in Dawnview Hall, he couldn’t help but remember his own mother. She had withstood years of derision from her husband, trying to shield William from it so that he could possibly have a good relationship with his father. It had been a doomed endeavor, but he admired everything she went through to try and make it happen.
Likewise, he admired everything Daphne had gone through to make a life for her son.
“This variable . . .” William trailed off, trying to figure out how to ask advice without revealing the details of his personal life. The most personal conversation he and Ramsbury had ever had before was about where William had his clothes tailored because Ramsbury had torn a jacket while visiting a few friends in Ireland. “Is it ever not what you expected it to be?”
“Only if someone mislabeled the container.”
That was a rather fitting description for Daphne if ever there was one.
“Do tell us, Kettlewell, how long you intend to stay this time,” his stepmother said as she entered the family parlor, her son Edmond at her side.
When had the boy returned home?
“It’s Chemsford now,” he reminded her. While Ramsbury’s earlier mistake had been accidental and quickly corrected, William had a feeling Araminta had used his former title intentionally. The brief tightening of her lips as he reminded her that the power of the title wasn’t available to her anymore confirmed it. “And I intend to leave within a day or two.”
Since being away from Marlborough wasn’t fixing his problem, he might as well return and sort it out in person.
In fact, if he left this afternoon, he could possibly make it back to Marlborough tomorrow. There was going to be a night at an inn either way. He crossed the room and gave a quick tug on the bellpull.
“May I present Mr. Harcourt Ramsbury.” William refused to present his stepmother to his friend. As he refused to call her by the title that had once belonged to his mother, she was better off breaking with traditional manners and introducing herself. Instead, he turned to his half brother, Edmond. “Shouldn’t you be at school?”
Araminta waved her hand in the air. “They sent him down for some ridiculous misunderstanding with another boy. He’ll be returning next week.” She then poured two cups of tea and fixed them the way she and her son liked them.
William pressed his lips together and avoided looking at Ramsbury. It was one thing for Araminta to be so dismissive of her stepson in his own home. It was something else entirely to be rude to his visitor. His efficient staff would likely be coming in the room any moment with more tea and cups, but that was rather not the point.
Nor was the point that William would have offered the first two cups to his stepmother and half brother if given the chance. The point was that she hadn’t even considered for a moment that those cups might have been meant for someone else.
He turned his attention to Edmond. “What happened?”
“It was a bit foolish, I suppose, but I took another boy’s—”
“He’s having a bit of trouble with his maths,” Araminta broke in, “and another boy didn’t care to offer him any assistance. As I said, it’s a ridiculous misunderstanding.”
Edmond shoved a biscuit in his mouth and looked at his toes.
This boy, who couldn’t speak for himself, who would steal another boy’s paper—because William had no doubt what had actually happened—was the same age as Benedict.
That was rather unbelievable.
Because it also meant Daphne was the same age as his stepmother. Within months of William’s mother dying, his father had been scouring London’s ballrooms for a young, biddable, sociable wife.
His father and Daphne might even have been at the same parties—not that she would have been the type to draw his eye. She was the exact opposite of Araminta.
And Benedict was the exact opposite of Edmond. What would Edmond be accomplishing now if he had a bit of Benedict’s maturity? Then again, who would have taught it to him? Guilt crept in, making William roll his shoulders. It wasn’t Edmond’s fault their rascal of a father had been the only example he’d had.
“Maths can be particularly tricky for some people,” Ramsbury said.
Araminta frowned first at Ramsbury, then at William. “Who is this man?”
“My guest,” William bit out because that was all that was truly relevant.
She sniffed and went back to her tea.
“I’m going to take Edmond back myself, so don’t worry about staying to escort him,” Araminta said, setting the cup of tea down without a single chink of cup against saucer. “I’m withering away here. It was quite unfortunate of your father to pass so near to the Season. I simply can’t go to London this soon, but if I don’t see someone, I’ll go mad.”
And if he’d needed a reminder of why he had thus far avoided spending time with his half brother, Araminta had just provided it in a neat, easy-to-carry handbasket.
It was the same reason why Edmond was doomed if William didn’t do something soon. That was a sobering thought.
“I should probably be going,” Ramsbury said, a very understandable declaration after a marchioness had just indirectly declared him not somebody.
“I’ll see you out.” William stepped from the room, trying to form a proper apology to the man.
As they approached the stairs, though, Ramsbury spoke first. “How long have we known each other?”
William thought back. “Five years, I suppose. We met when you were just out of Cambridge.”
Ramsbury nodded. “And in all that time have we discussed family issues?”
“No,” William said slowly.
“We should probably keep it that way.”
Ramsbury softened his statement with a half-smile and a puff of a chuckle. William gave a low laugh in agreement. His attempt at having a more personal discussion with the man had been a dismal failure.
“I will say, though, if that lad up there is your variable, you need a lot of controls if you want to change the outcome of the experiment.”
“And if it’s not?” William asked.
“Then you’re going to be fortunate if your lab doesn’t implode.” With that, Ramsbury plopped his hat on his head and walked out the door.
William stared at the closed door for several moments.
Ramsbury was right. Edmond needed controls and William had been too focused on getting away from this place and its memories to provide them. He’d convinced himself that he was devoted to duty, maturity, and responsibility, but he’d been ignoring a prime opportunity to live those qualities out.
Somewhere along the way he’d allowed the sad moments spent in this house—trying to gain his father’s notice and approval on his rare visits and watching his mother fade, first as an ignored wife and then as a sick woman the doctors couldn’t cure—to overcome the happier memories. He’d forgotten how much his mother had poured into him as a child, how she had guided him.
Someone needed to be that guide for Edmond.
Araminta had a cup of tea waiting for him when he returned to the parlor. The aroma was familiar and sent a stabbing pain through his gut. Did she know she prefe
rred the same blend of tea his mother had? To distract himself, he looked at Edmond. “When this term is over, you can visit me in Wiltshire, if you’d like.”
Araminta paused with her cup partway to her mouth. “You’re living in Wiltshire?”
“Yes, at a tiny estate Father won in a card game.”
“What would I do there?” Edmond asked.
William shrugged. “Whatever you do here, I suppose. Ride, hunt, fish. Visit the town market and the summer fairs.”
“With you?” The tinge of excitement in the lad’s voice proved William was doing the right thing.
Before he could answer, Araminta cut in. “Of course with him,” she said with a frown. “He is the one who invited you. Kettle—ahem, Chemsford may be lacking in social graces, but his manners are impeccable.”
Was William supposed to thank her for that?
Ignoring her was probably a better decision. “Yes, with me. I intend to spend at least the whole of the summer there, but probably longer. I see no need to oust your mother from this house before I marry.”
“How gracious of you,” she murmured.
She probably assumed he intended to marry soon, though she would prefer he die an eccentric old man and leave everything to Edmond.
William had no intention of doing that, even though he had yet to come up with a plan to find a wife without doing the literal social dance most of his class participated in. On second thought, if marrying meant socializing and putting up with people like Araminta, he just might leave the whole lot to Edmond.
Just the idea of multiple Aramintas made his skin itch.
But there were also Daphnes in London, obviously. That gave him a bit of hope.
Not that she was the type of woman he would be looking for, of course. But she was nice. Pretty in a plain sort of way. He couldn’t fault her work ethic.
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