Feeling the sun’s warmth on his back, Timothy shrugged out of his great coat and draped it over one arm, almost dislodging the chapeau on his head in the process. He reached up to adjust it, then he patted his coat to make sure the three letter packets he carried were still in place. All had been sent by Gordon’s wife Ella, but they were destined for three different addresses, starting with one for his mother. When he had offered to take anything back to England for them, Ella had expressed an unbridled glee, throwing her arms around his neck and bouncing off to her boudoir to begin letters that seemed to have no end. When Timothy had expressed surprise at her exuberance, Gordon had commented to him that getting Ella out of London had seemed to liberate her.
Timothy disliked being jealous of his cousin, but at times, it was inescapable.
The packets remained secure, despite the upheaval of the last few days. The blustery wind and rain of the previous five days had finally eased, leaving only a chilly morning mist that dissipated as the sun moved higher. The weather had been unexpectedly bright and clear when he had landed in Falmouth seven days ago aboard theLady Mary Pelham,a newer packet boat that had made the crossing in a phenomenaltwenty-eight days. At first, the sunnier April weather made for a welcome change from the squalls of the snowy March he had endured in New York, as a leonine series of storms had threatened the packet’s launch. But the skies had cleared the day before their scheduled departure, and they had left to rather smooth sailing on the crossing.
Over the past six years, Timothy had learned to love the sea and the ships, the banter of the sailors, the thrumming of the sails and rigging, and the undulating waves. He especially cherished the glories of the night sky. He had studied the constellations, the way the ships’ captains navigated by them, and the way they passed across the night sky. He promised Ella and Gordon that while in England, he would seek out the finest telescope he could purchase. The views from American soil were spectacular, but nothing could match the skies in the middle of the Atlantic.
And since he knew what lay ahead of him in the house across the street, Timothy had lingered before disembarking. An unfortunate delay. By the time he had worked up the nerve to leave the ship and arrange transportation for London, the spring rains had returned with a vengeance. The normal three-day trip from Falmouth turned into a five-day trudge through axle-deep mud, further deepening Timothy’s ongoing dread of returning home. Even the sweet barmaids along the way, who had been all too eager to help Timothy with a hot bath and a warm bed, did nothing to ease that nagging pit in his stomach that told him he should tend to his investments quickly, then leave again without gracing the front hall of this not-quite-so-lofty mansion he had once called home.
But that urge did not hold a candle to the dread he felt about what would happen if he did not.
All because a reprobate prince was now their king.
“Gah.” The harsh sound of disgust sounded deep in his throat.
From the corner of his eye, Timothy saw a gentleman approaching from the left with a slow stride marked by a pronounced limp. His frame—lean and elegant—carried his indigo frock coat well. A light-blue cravat had been tied neatly at his neck and a matching indigo top hat pressed down on a hair style from almost ten years ago. A gray silk waistcoat with indigo embroidery added to his elegance. Britches the same pale blue as his cravat disappeared into boots polished to a high sheen. A sturdy black cane evened out his balance, and a slight smile lingered on his lips as he approached.
Timothy returned the grin. Many things had changed over the past six years. His brother Luke was not one of them. He turned to face him. “Have you considered a more recent hair style?”
Luke gestured to the queue hanging down Timothy’s back. “Have you considered looking less like an American? Mother will be aghast.”
“It is practical at sea. And most of the ladies seem to like it.”
“The ladies of your acquaintance, dear Timothy, are not interested in the style of your hair.”
Timothy chuckled. “Perhaps not.”
Luke’s gaze traveled from the chapeau down to boot tips. “Although the Americans do seem to have some fine tailors. That should make up for the queue.”
Timothy straightened his shoulders, glancing over his own frock coat of a deep-green superfine wool and the green, black, and yellow plaid waistcoat. His black britches were tucked into leather Hessians. He felt dressed to ride, although he had not been on a horse since returning to New York from his latest South Carolina expedition after Christmas. “It is one of the few suitable kits I have left, and I am wearing my last clean shirt. If you think my hair looks American, you should see me on an average Tuesday. What brings you out on the street?”
Luke pointed at the house. “Mother. She told me she had invited you for luncheon, and she wanted reinforcements, since Mark is in the country and Matthew is in meetings all day with the estate managers.”
“Where are the others?”
“Mostly in the country or out of it. Mother complains about how all her offspring have scattered to the four winds.”
“The natural result of multiple marriages.”
“Paul is at the country estate, and Peter, James, and Theophilus are somewhere on the continent. Paris, I think. With their wives. I suspect Peter and James will remain there.”
“So you do not live here anymore either?”
“Rachel and I bought a house over on Grafton Street.”
Timothy took this news in. “Are you happy? Everyone seemed to think you would be the one to join the church. You were quite the pious one when I left.”
Luke’s smile broadened. “I am happier than I have a right to be. And my investments with Mark helped me avoid the church, although my faith is still sound.” He nodded across the street. “Why are you lurking out here? Are you not staying here?”
Timothy shook his head. “I did not have the nerve. Like you, I’m a beneficiary of Mark’s financial prowess, as well as Gordon’s. I am staying in Mark’s house in Bloomsbury. More convenient to my business here and a good distance from Mother’s campaign.”
“She does bemoan that you are the only one who remains unwed.”
“I receive frequent letters to that effect, no matter where I am. It is almost uncanny that her letters have found me in India as well as on the African continent.”
“As persistent as always. And with more contacts among the government than even when Father was still alive. They do not consider her one of theton’s dragons without reason.”
“She even wrote to Gordon. I suspect she is fearful I will allow some American lass to turn my head. She was most insistent that I return for all the coronation ceremonies, thinking this would be the best season to find a bride. Some of her demands have begun to sound like threats.”
