always has been.'
Eleanor's glorious smile spread across her face. 'I believe he is, though when I when I was younger, I was too daft to understand that.'
'And I have never forgiven Hart for the way he treated you.' David got to his feet, alarmed when his legs swayed under him. 'He deserves to be thrashed soundly. Although he paid for his mistakes, I would say.' David leaned his fists on the bed, more to steady himself than anything else, and leaned down to kiss her cheek. 'I am happy for you, El. And for Hart, the blackguard. I'm not so much of a bastard that I'd wish you any unhappiness.'
'And you'll always be dear to us, David.'
David snorted a laugh as he stood up, or tried to. The nips from the flask had been a mistake. 'Don't grow sentimental. I'm only
'This one is in a good cause.'
'For baby brother Ian? Yes, I suppose it is. And if you think I loathe to go to the Earl of Glastonby and threaten dire things, you're wrong. I'm looking forward to it.' He leaned down and kissed Eleanor again, because what fool wouldn't when he had the chance?
'David.' Hart's voice rumbled behind him. 'Please take your hands off my wife.'
David carefully straightened up, showing that he touched Eleanor only in friendship. Well, he didn't want to, but he'd keep it cordial.
'Leave me alone, you lucky bastard,' David said. If he weren't so drunk and exhausted, he'd be more restrained, but if he didn't find a bed soon, he was going to die. He used Hart's arms to steady himself as he passed him. 'If you make her unhappy for a single second, my friend, I will shoot you.'
'My valet is waiting outside to help you. Sleep it off.' Hart patted David on the shoulder.
The pat was friendly, but hard, and David had to struggle to keep to his feet. David blew a mischievous kiss to Eleanor, then swayed out the door and happily let the valet have his way with him.
*** *** *** 'There, guv. How's that?'
Ian, dressing in the dark morning, paused impatiently. He wanted to fetch his children, meet Cameron and Gavina for their early ride, and then get back to his task in the sitting room. Christmas was nearing, and he and Daniel weren't finished.
Now Curry had turned from the wardrobe in Ian's dressing room and faced Ian with something resting on his small palms.
It was a Ming bowl, or what looked like one, but cracked and crazed with bits missing. Ian stared at it a moment, then losing interest, went back to buttoning his riding coat.
'It's your bowl,' Curry said. 'The one you bought from the Russian. Me and the others below stairs, we stuck it back together for you.'
Ian looked at the bowl again. He knew full well that it was the bowl Beth had broken, with its pleasing lines of dragon and vine, and the lovely blue. When Ian had first taken it out of the box, it had sung like a symphony. Now it was broken, like a violin that would never make music again.
'No need,' Ian said. 'It's ruined.'
Curry lowered his hands, his brows drawing down, that look on his face that meant Ian had disappointed him somehow. 'You know, working for you can be bloody painful, my lord.'
Ian straightened his collar. So Curry had said before. Ian never had any idea how to respond to that.
'This took us a long time, guv. And some of the bits had been broken to powder, so of course it can't be all there again.'
He sounded exasperated. But then, Curry often did. Curry had done so much for Ian, however, one constant in Ian's swirling madness. Curry had cared for Ian when no one else had, when the man could have walked away and let Ian drown in his own confusion.
'Curry,' Ian said. 'Thank you.'
'Oh, praise from me master. Do you want the bowl, or not?'
Ian glanced at it again, but the bowl no longer sang, no longer eased his jangled world. 'You keep it.'
Curry's eyes widened. 'You'd give me a priceless Ming bowl?'
'Not priceless anymore. Or throw it away, as you like. I'll buy you a better present.'
Curry looked down at it, an unreadable expression on his face. 'I'll keep it if ye don't mind. A souvenir. It reminds me of you, this thing does.'
Ian had no idea why that should be, but he nodded, glad the discussion was over.
He pulled on his riding boots and took up his hat, forgetting about Curry and bowls, broken or otherwise, as his thoughts moved forward to spending a delightful hour with his children.
*** *** *** As Christmas neared, the house filled. Beth was kept so busy she didn't have much time to worry about Ian, but the thoughts were there, niggling at her. Hart had assured her he'd have a new bowl for her to give to Ian by Christmas, and Beth was warmly grateful to him and Eleanor for their efforts.
Ainsley's four brothers, the McBrides, arrived en masse, Ainsley crying out like a girl as she flew down the stairs to fling herself first at one, then the next. Steven McBride, the youngest brother, came in his regimentals, able to obtain only a few weeks' leave. He was twenty-nine, handsome, tanned from foreign suns, and instantly the center of the female guests' attentions.
Next came Sinclair, the tallest of them with a booming, deep voice--the barrister, who lived mostly in London. The Scots Machine, Ainsley had said his fellow barristers called him, for his tenacious grilling of witnesses at the Old Bailey. He rarely failed to get his conviction.
He might be a machine in court, but Sinclair was also a harassed father with two children--Andrew and Catriona--who immediately turned the nursery into a circus, complete with tents and tightrope walking. Nanny Westlock's face had been tight since their arrival.
Elliot McBride, a former soldier who had been kept nearly a year in a terrible prison in India, arrived with his new wife, Juliana. Elliot had scars on his face and kept his hair shorn, but he'd softened somewhat from the last time Beth had seen him. Married life looked well on him.
Patrick was the eldest, fifteen or so years older than the other McBrides. He'd been father to them when they'd lost their parents, raising the three boys and Ainsley the best he could. Ainsley clung to him for a long time, and then to Patrick's wife, Rona.
Isabella and Beth, by tacit consent, took over a few of Ainsley's tasks to allow Ainsley to spend time with her beloved family. Still more tasks when Eleanor's father, Earl Ramsay, arrived, so that Eleanor could fuss over him.
Ian, despite his avoidance of crowds, seemed to take the filling house in stride. When he wasn't taking his children out for walks or riding with Cameron and Gavina, he spent it closeted in the sitting room with Daniel. He'd occasionally pass a late evening in the billiards room with the McBride brothers. Beth would look in and see Ian and Elliot smoking in silence while Sinclair and Steven did most of the playing and talking. Ian also quietly won much money from the other three.
Daniel was the Mackenzie who gave Beth the most concern. He'd become as obsessed as Ian over whatever they were doing in the sitting room, bolting down the stairs whenever mysterious packages arrived at the door. In fact, while Ian would emerge from the room from time to time, Daniel remained behind. There was no question of unlocking the door and taking a peek on the rare occasion both left the room, because Daniel had sent for parts for a new lock and installed it himself--and he kept the only key.
Three days before Christmas, Beth came upon Daniel and Bellamy facing each other in a dim back corridor. Bellamy and Daniel both had fists raised, and Daniel sported a large and multicolored bruise from his forehead to his jaw.
* * * * *
Chapter Ten
