“My intentions are not contrary to Mr. Grey’s interests, but this moving on with his life you refer to does not comport with either his brother’s or my impression of the man. He does not socialize, he does not belong to a club, he does not ride to hounds with the locals except for the informal meets, and he does not attend services. Until recently, I’m not sure he knew which son was which. He sits, like a spider, in the middle of a financial web and spins money at a rate that impresses the Regent.”
“And this is a crime, to do what one does well?”
“To let life go by in every sphere save one is a tragedy. My marchioness says we have neglected our neighbor, and my conscience has agreed with her, as it is wont to do. He has not moved on with his life, Benjamin. I know when somebody is mired in their past, because I’ve been in the same slippery ditch myself.”
“It still isn’t like you to interfere, conscience or not.” Personal disclosures were not like Heathgate either, much less unflattering personal disclosures.
“I won’t interfere. I will simply ensure Mr. Grey has the information necessary to make prudent decisions in a timely manner. He does that well in the commercial realm, and if your sister’s affections are returned, he should be motivated now to do so regarding personal matters as well.”
“I would not want you for an enemy, Heathgate.” Benjamin rose and set his empty glass aside.
“My sentiments as well.” Heathgate set his glass aside too, his face creasing into a startlingly charming smile. “Now that we’ve covered my neighbor’s situation, come to the nursery with me. James, Will, and Pen will want to see you, and Joyce will want to see me.”
“Your marchioness will want to see you.” And to his credit, Benjamin managed to sound not the least envious as he made that observation.
The anniversary of Barbara’s death came and went, and when Ethan realized he noticed the significance of the date only in hindsight, he had to consider he was putting Barbara’s death behind him. For the previous two years, his mourning period completed, he’d gone off to hunt grouse in Scotland or Cumbria—or to pretend he was hunting grouse.
He’d consider it sport when the birds were given guns to defend themselves, though he’d never dare express such an opinion to another.
He continued to meet up occasionally with Heathgate on the bridle paths, and sometimes with Lords Greymoor and Amery as well, all of whom were fascinated with their offspring’s every peccadillo and sniffle.
This would have been a trial, except Ethan was fascinated himself. His children entranced him, with their funny little opinions, their odd fears, and their willingness to be silly over nothing. He liked the way they’d argue fiercely with each other one minute, and then be off to whisper in the corner the next. He liked the way each boy understood the other, and even in the midst of pitched battle, would tread lightly in certain areas.
He liked that they were affectionate, particularly since Uncle Nick’s parting admonition to Jeremiah had been a whispered order to tickle Ethan at least every other day. That wouldn’t last—boys grew up and acquired dignity —but it had given Ethan a pretext for hugging his children and wrestling with them in the grass from time to time.
And if the children weren’t thawing years of reserve, Alice certainly was. She was shy of her own body, but eager regarding Ethan’s. She’d touch him in little ways throughout the day if they were alone—smooth his cravat, take off his spectacles, squeeze his hand—and she was something else entirely at night.
Scholars were a curious lot, and Alice was inherently a scholar. She took off his clothes and studied him. She touched and tasted and even listened to his body, pressing her ear over his heart or lungs and then, satisfied he was quite alive, over his belly.
“It’s how you diagnose a colicky horse,” she’d said, frowning up at him.
And then she’d listened to him laugh.
They hadn’t made love—yet. Not in the traditional sense of the phrase, anyway. Ethan told himself he was giving her time to change her mind, but in truth, he wasn’t ready. He blamed his unreadiness on Gareth Alexander, Marquis of Heathgate, neighbor and Inconvenience at Large.
Since Nick’s visit, Ethan had felt the presence of neighbors in his life, and not just on his bridle paths. Twice, the boys had been invited to Willowdale to play with Heathgate’s children. Twice, Ethan had been to dinner, once at Heathgate’s, once at Greymoor’s. They were an informal, affectionate lot, even when the children were not in evidence. The only one of the group with whom Ethan felt truly comfortable was Amery, the quietest one of the bunch.
The hardest shock to bear was that these people touched him, physically. The ladies kissed his cheek and took his arm as if he were a long-lost cousin. The men were forever cramming themselves together on sofas and settles, sipping their drinks at the end of the day. They teased and fell silent, alluded to the occasional problem, and laughed gently at one another. It puzzled Ethan to be included in such goings-on, and he was growing to tolerate it better than he would have predicted.
Growing almost comfortable with it, except every time he began to lose track of his separateness, he’d look up to find Heathgate watching him. The marquis’s eyes held the same questions he’d battered Ethan with the day Nick left: Why don’t you feel compassion for the boy you were? Why do you feel ashamed of him?
And Ethan wished, as the air began to take on a hint of autumn, he could talk to Nick. Now, when Nick was busy with his earldom and his new wife and six other siblings, Ethan let himself miss his brother. He didn’t want to burden Nick with superfluous confidences, but he missed his brother.
He just… missed him.
“Miss Alice?” Joshua was preparing for a midafternoon nap, which was unusual. That he was accepting the need without protest was more unusual still.
“Joshua?” Alice sat on his bed. He looked a little pale, but then, he was an Englishman’s son, and Alice had never seen his color high.
“If you said you wouldn’t tell a secret,” Joshua began, “but then something else happened, so you had not just one secret, but two, does the first promise not to tell mean you can’t tell the second time either?” Alice frowned and tried to puzzle through the riddle that was part logic and part little-boy inquiry into the heady topic of manly honor.
“Give me an example.”
Joshua’s brow puckered in thought. “If I saw Papa up reading past his bedtime, but I promised not to tell, then I saw him doing it again, should I tell?”
“Before you tell, you should confront him directly and give your papa a chance to explain, unless you think it isn’t safe to do so.”
Joshua fingered the hem of his coverlet. “Papa doesn’t hit. Why wouldn’t it be safe?”
“I don’t know. I once didn’t tell my brothers something, because I was afraid they’d go try to beat up someone for me, and I didn’t want them taking that risk.”
“Are your brothers as big as Papa?”
“Not quite, and they were quite a bit younger at the time. Now close your eyes. Do you want me to read to you?”
“Yes, Miss Alice.” His yawn was genuine, and before Alice could select a soothingly familiar story, he was asleep.
“Is he all right?” Jeremiah’s voice was laced with anxiety.
Alice smiled at the boy hovering in the doorway. “I think he’s just worn out from trying to keep up with his brilliant older brother. He’ll be fine.”
Jeremiah came to stand beside her, looking down at his younger brother. “I heard him ask about secrets.”
“It was a good question.”
“Did you ever tell your brothers?” Jeremiah asked, still frowning at Joshua’s sleeping form.
“I did not,” Alice said, wondering what mysteries were churning in Jeremiah’s too-busy little brain.
“Maybe you should. I think I’ll take a nap too.”
“You don’t have to,” Alice said. “If you’re not tired, it can just make it harder to sleep at night.” And God knew, the last thing she wanted was for the little boys to be up wandering around when she was misbehaving with their father at night.
