“And will you be going, my lord?” Stanwick politely inquired as he prepared Freddy’s cup of tea.
“Wouldn’t miss it. I’ll be taking the curricle, weather permitting, because I don’t want to malinger there. I’ll just tip my hat, wish the man well, and spend a couple nights in Oxford.” With the scholars on summer holiday, the usual bevy of willing women would be more than happy for his custom, come to think of it.
“When shall I have you packed, my lord?”
“The invite is for Wednesday next, so I’ll depart Monday.” Freddy tapped the invitation against his lips. “I say, Stanwick, since when did we stop serving biscuits with our tea? A man could get more than a bit peckish‚ and me a lord of the realm.”
“I’ll see what the kitchen has to offer, my lord.”
Freddy watched him go, confident some sustenance would be forthcoming despite the deplorable impatience of the trades regarding payment of their bills. Good servants understood that a lord of the realm was above such things, and so food would continue to materialize on his table.
He was almost sure of it.
Given the last weekend’s mischief, Val decided he would remain on his estate that weekend. He urged Ellen, Nick, Darius, and the boys to vacate, and offered to hire the Bragdolls to patrol the grounds, but only Darius agreed to go.
And what errands he saw to in London, neither Nick nor Val wanted to ask.
To Val’s surprise, Axel and Abby Belmont decided to come for a visit on Saturday, the stated purpose being for Axel to lend his eye and hand to the addition on Ellen’s cottage—the unstated purpose no doubt being for the man simply to see his sons.
Val woke Saturday morning as he had every morning for the past five, in Ellen’s bed and in her arms. There were other bedrooms ready, enough that Val could offer the Belmonts some genuine hospitality should they be inclined to stay the night, but Val couldn’t bring himself to give up his nights with Ellen.
She was going to bolt. Val could feel it. His two oldest brothers had bolted for the cavalry rather than face Moreland’s insufferable high-handedness. He himself had bolted for Italy. His brother Gayle had bolted into the commercial complexities of a ducal estate in sore financial disarray. When Dev had come home from war, he’d bolted first into the bottle then into the wilds of Yorkshire.
Valentine Windham could sniff an impending departure miles off. Ellen was emotionally packing her bags, and there was not one damned thing he could do to change her mind.
But he was a man, so rather than stew endlessly without result, he eased himself out of Ellen’s bed as the first gray light filtered through the curtains, kissed her cheek, and retrieved his clothes from where he’d tossed them on a chair. He had a long list of things to do, and if he couldn’t resolve his situation with Ellen, he’d at least see about his list.
He was as bad as his father, thinking that passing bills in Parliament somehow compensated for being an inept, overbearing excuse for a papa.
“Val?”
“Here, love.” He returned to the side of the bed and crouched down half-dressed to meet her sleepy gaze. “Back to sleep with you, since I kept you awake for much of last night.”
She leaned out over the edge of the mattress and clamped her arms around his neck.
“What’s this?” he murmured, settling at her hip and smoothing her hair back.
Ellen leaned up, hugging his shoulders. “When will you tell me about your family? Really tell me, not just toss out a few placatory details?”
He was silent, his conscience trying to shout down his sense the time was not right. How would she react?
“When will you tell me what’s really amiss between you and Freddy?” Val said quietly. He took her hand and kissed her knuckles, trying to convey he wanted merely to listen, not to judge, but such desolation came into Ellen’s eyes, he regretted his question.
“I’ll tell you. Soon, and when I do, you will wish I hadn’t.”
“Did you betray Francis, then?” Val asked softly, bringing her hand to his cheek.
“Yes,” Ellen said on an unsteady breath, “but not… not the way you mean. I wasn’t unfaithful, though that hardly matters.”
The room was gradually, inexorably growing lighter, but Ellen remained silent.
“We’ll talk when you’re ready,” he promised, pressing another kiss to her neck.
“And you’ll tell me about your family?”
Val smiled sadly. “When I do, I will wish I hadn’t—and you might too.”
“All is in readiness,” Darius confirmed as they watched the farm wagon jingle down the lane toward the village early the next Wednesday morning. “Though I can’t like this idea of yours, Val, simply confronting the man, no magistrate about, no one but Wee Nick on hand to enforce the king’s peace.”
“Wee Nick,” said the man himself, “outranks the pusillanimous buffoon, has double his weight, double his reach, and at least five times his brain power. And should my charming presence fail to inspire him to good conduct, you will be waiting in the wings, ready to rescue us.”
“Rescue Val. What will you tell Freddy about Ellen?”
“As little as possible,” Val said. “She should be none of his concern, nor he any of hers. The entire purpose of this meeting is to see that’s the case.”
“At least you’re doing something about him,” Nick pointed out charitably, “though as to that, you’ve gotten a great deal done here in a short time.”
“Good crews,” Val said, glancing around. “Though I have to confess, it makes me nervous, the quiet. I can hear them banging away over at Ellen’s, but not to see scaffolding all over my north wing, not to hear the constant ring of curses and shouts and hammers, it’s unnerving.”
“You never heard much of anything before,” Nick said, “except all the notes in your head. You hear things now.”
“Possibly.” Val considered the notion. It was one thing not to listen, but Nick was accusing him of not
“You don’t get that gone-away look in your eyes as often as you did a couple months ago,” Darius added, “and you don’t make a fat, unhappy fist of your left hand a hundred times an hour.”
“I fisted my hand?” Val asked, staring at the hand in question as he spoke.
“I noticed it, because at first I thought it meant you were angry and ready to plant somebody a facer, perhaps even my charming self. Then I realized you didn’t even know you were doing it.”
Val’s gaze moved from one friend to the other. “It has begun to amaze me that I managed to walk upright and speak English on occasion, such a stranger have I apparently been to myself.”
“Not a stranger to yourself,” Nick corrected him, frowning down the drive, “more a visiting dignitary to those who care about you.”
Val fell silent, wondering what else his friends might have wanted to tell him, but for this tendency he’d displayed to become absorbed in his own artistic world, even while in the company of others. He realized abruptly he was doing it, again, while his friends exchanged a rueful smile.
“Bugger the both of you.” Val shoved them each on the arm. “I’m going to go through the house one more time. If you’d take the outbuildings, Dare, and you the stables, Nick, I’ll feel better.”
“Of course.” Nick strode off, leaving Darius to eye his friend.
“You’ve put the house in order this week,” Darius said. “The place looks good, and I assume you’ll be moving into it when Ellen’s cottage is done.”
“That would make sense,” Val replied, unwilling to voice his reluctance to do just that. Ellen back at her cottage seemed another step closer to him out of her life. If she ended their association, he could not bear to take up residence in the house alone, not with her toiling away in her gardens, one home wood and three universes of stubbornness away.
“So when,” Darius asked gently, “will you set up the piano?”
