Ethan: Lord of Scandals

“Sit down, Joshua,” Ethan called back. “Standing up there is dangerous, and Andrews will need to hold the horses. He can’t be holding you as well.”

Joshua dropped like a rock but bounced on the seat like any small boy would upon sighting his home. When the coach pulled into the circular drive in front of the house, footmen trotted up to lower the steps and begin moving the luggage. The groom scrambled down to grab the leaders’ bridles, and a stable boy come bouncing out of the carriage house to take Argus.

“Welcome home, Mr. Grey,” the senior groom called cheerily, “and welcome, young masters. Did you have a grand time with your uncle in Kent?”

Joshua was jumping around on the box again. “Miller, we had the best time, and Uncle Nick is even taller than Papa, and he has a huge horse named Buttercup, and a huge house, and his cook makes huge muffins. Enorm…” Joshua paused and looked to his brother.

“Enormous,” Jeremiah supplied. “And he let us ride his mare once, because we were very good, and we picked raspberries with Uncle Nick, and Aunt Leah is very nice, and there were other boys there, and they were all littler than us, but very nice, and we played Indians in the trees, and everything.”

“Gentlemen.” Alice Portman’s pleasant tones glided into the ensuing silence. “I’m sure your papa will help you down now that we’re safely home. Please don’t run until you’re away from the horses, and then I will expect you to give me a tour of your rooms once you’re settled. What do you say to John?”

“Thank you, John Coachman!” both boys chorused. Ethan had swung off Argus, intending to get to his library with some cold, spiked lemonade and a small mountain of correspondence. Footmen were capable of getting the boys down from the high seat. Hearing both boys extol Uncle Nick’s huge, tall, enormous virtues grated, though, so Ethan plastered a pleasant expression on his face and turned back to the coach.

“Here you go, Joshua.” He held up his arms and hoisted the first child to the ground. “Up to the house, as Miss Portman said. Time to pester the grooms later. Jeremiah, down you go.”

“Yes, Papa.” Jeremiah stepped back as soon as his feet hit the ground. “Joshua, let’s go. Miss Portman wants a tour.”

“But I want to go see Lightning and Thunder,” Joshua retorted, his chin jutting.

“Later, Joshua,” Jeremiah said through clenched teeth. “We have to go to the house now.”

Joshua’s lips compressed into mutinous lines, but before Ethan could assert paternal rank, Miss Portman extended a hand in Joshua’s direction.

“Come along, Joshua, or I shall get lost in a house as grand as this.” She wrapped her hand around his. “And if I get lost, well then, I might not be found in time to read a couple of perfect gentlemen, and very fine singers, their bedtime story.”

Joshua brightened. “We sang really loudly. I bet the horses’ ears flippered around.”

“I’m sure horses all over the shire were flippering their ears.” Miss Portman slipped her other hand into Jeremiah’s and led them off, chattering about horses in China and flippering ears.

“Prettier than old Harold,” the groom remarked with the familiarity of long service. “Bet she reads a mean bedtime story.”

“See to the horse,” Ethan replied, watching as Miss Portman sauntered along with the boys toward the house. She should have waited for Ethan to escort her, but the view of her retreat was most pleasant, so Ethan kept his disgruntlement to himself. Joshua stopped, dropped her hand, and crouched to study the dirt—an insect, most likely, since Joshua was apparently going through a bug-studying phase—and Miss Portman crouched down to peer at the dirt right beside him, her skirts pooling on the dusty ground.

Argus, after balking for form’s sake, let himself be led to the stables. The coach clattered away toward the carriage bays while the small parade of footmen hefted the luggage off to the house.

Still Ethan stood in the drive, wondering if he’d ever seen Mr. Harold once pause to study a bug? Seen him take either boy by the hand? Heard the man sing?

Had Ethan ever done those things with the boys himself? Even once?

The questions were vexing him several hours later as he made his way to the family parlor where Miss Portman would join him prior to the evening meal. Perhaps it was the effect of several hours at his desk, but Ethan realized he was looking forward to the next hour. Food was always a pleasure, but Miss Portman’s presence was the added spice that had him glancing at the clock and wondering what she’d wear to the table.

She wore a frown and the same dusty traveling dress she’d had on all day.

While Ethan had bathed and changed into clean clothes.

“I see you did not change for dinner,” Ethan remarked as the footman closed the door behind her.

Miss Portman eyed him up and down. “I was told you keep country hours and you do not change, when you bother with sitting at the table at all.”

Ethan gave her the same up and down perusal she’d given him, though compared to a governess’s virtuosic ability to communicate disapproval at a glance, he was a mere tyro. “I gather you would prefer to be spared this ordeal?”

She peered around the room. “Honestly, the chance to sit down and eat something appeals greatly.”

“You’ve been standing the livelong day? I should offer you a drink, at least some wine.”

She shook her head. “No wine. It does not agree with me, but thank you. And yes, I have been on my feet.”

“If you’re to forgo your gustatory glass,” Ethan said, “why don’t we go in to dinner, and you can regale me with the details of your day while we dine?”

“Because that would be unappetizing,” Miss Portman informed him, her tone so wistful, Ethan felt his lips trying to quirk up. He offered his arm, keeping his eyes on the door instead of Miss Portman’s face.

“As bad as all that?” he asked, leading her toward the folding doors to the informal dining room.

“As tiring. What have you done with yourself since abandoning your children in the driveway this afternoon?” A small silence followed, while Ethan observed the courtesy of seating a woman who delivered scolds as casually as others might offer pleasantries.

“Forgive me.” Miss Portman closed her eyes and blew out a breath. “I am fatigued, and therefore cranky.”

“And here I go, demanding you put up with me when all you want is to climb into bed. Are your rooms acceptable?” He poured her a glass of wine as he spoke, and passed it to her.

“They are lovely.” She offered a tired smile, and Ethan noticed she had smudges of shadow under each eye and a slight droop to her shoulders. “The view of the back gardens is wonderful, and the balcony is a luxury this time of year.”

“All the bedrooms at the back of the house have balconies.” He gestured to the footman, who served the soup, then waved the man away. The remaining courses were put in the center of the table so the diners might serve themselves. When the footman had retreated and closed the door behind him, Ethan found a familiar frown on Miss Portman’s face.

“You are going to be difficult because I dismissed the footman,” he surmised. “You would rather have us discussing the weather all evening than allow us the privacy of a single meal?”

She answered him with a measuring look. “I would rather you had asked me if I were comfortable dining en famille.”

Ethan sipped his wine and waited for her to take the first taste of her soup. “How did you spend your initial hours here at Tydings?”

“Chasing your offspring.”

“You were touring the premises?”

“The grounds first.” Miss Portman kept glancing around the table, as if looking for something or finding fault with the settings. “After two days of travel, the boys needed to stretch their legs, and then too, you’ve gone and gotten them ponies, whose acquaintance I had to make or civilization would crumble. When they’d burned off the worst of their mischief, we inspected the house from top to bottom, with particular attention paid to all the best hiding places for when Papa goes on a tear.”

Ethan set his wineglass down. “I beg your pardon?”

“I gather it’s a rare occurrence and mostly consists of a lot of yelling at solicitors and stewards, and cursing,