"Heard you'd taken a spectacular tumble in Hyde Park. Thought I'd stop by and see if you'd managed to break your neck." Robert pulled up a chair without invitation and sat, studying Aubrey with undisguised curiosity. "You haven't, clearly, though you look like death warmed over. What happened?"
"I fell off my horse."
"Yes, I know that much. The rumours are flying, you know. Some say you were drunk. Others say you were racing. Lady Avon's nephew swears you were attempting a jump that would kill a sane man." Robert grinned. "Which is it?"
"None of those." Aubrey shifted, pain lancing through his hip. "I was... distracted."
"Distracted enough to nearly kill yourself? Must have been quite the distraction." Robert's eyes gleamed with interest. "A woman?"
Aubrey said nothing, which Robert correctly interpreted as confirmation.
"Ah. The mysterious Rose, I assume? Still pining, are we?" Robert shook his head. "You really should give that up, old boy. The girl took the money and left. Time to move on."
"She did not—" Aubrey stopped himself. "Why are you here, Robert? Surely you did not come all the way to Hertfordshire just to insult my romantic attachments."
"Of coursenot. I'm on my way to the family estate. Mother insists on having the entire clan gather for Christmas this year. All my brothers, their wives, their squalling children—absolute nightmare." Robert grimaced. "I'd much rather be in London. There's a party at the York's on the fifteenth that promises to be delightfully scandalous. But duty calls and all that."
"So you stopped here to complain to me about your family obligations while I lie here unable to walk?"
"Precisely!" Robert slapped his knee cheerfully. "Misery loves company and all that. Though I must say, your situation seems considerably worse than mine. How long are you trapped here?"
"Three weeks at minimum before I can bear weight. Six before I can walk properly."
Robert whistled. "In this house? With your estranged wife?" He laughed. "That must be awkward."
"You have no idea."
"Is she caring for you? I can't imagine Lady Madeley is pleased about this arrangement. You've not exactly been an attentive husband."
Something akin to guilt washed over him. "She is... managing the situation."
"Well, she would, wouldn't she? Terribly proper, your wife. Bit of a bluestocking, if I'm honest." Robert settled more comfortably in his chair. "Ran into her in town a few months back. She was with that Kedleston fellow—you know him, surely? Steven Kedleston, neighbours with your estate here?"
Aubrey rubbed his temple to hide the irritation. "I am aware of who he is."
"Right, right. Well, they were discussing something dreadfully dull. Orphanage accounts, I think? Or perhaps parish budgets? I stopped listening after the first minute. Nearly put me to sleep standing there." Robert shook his head. "Can't imagine how Kedleston stands it. Though I suppose he's rather dull himself, so perhaps they suit."
"They were alone together?" Aubrey heard himself ask. "In London?"
"Hmm? Oh, no, there were others about. Some committee meeting or other. Lady Madeley had organised it, apparently. She's revolutionized the parish charity, from what my mother says. Has them running like a military operation." Robert laughed. "Mother's terrified of her, actually. Says your wife has a way of looking at accounts that makes grown men and women squirm."
Aubrey blinked. "Your mother is terrified of Eleanor?"
"Well, not terrified precisely. More... respectfully wary. Lady Madeley doesn't tolerate inefficiency, apparently." Robert stretched his legs out. "Anyway, the point is, she spends all her time with ledgers and orphans. Can't imagine she has time for anything improper, even if she wanted to. Which she doesn't seem to, based on how she talks. All duty and propriety, that one."
Something in Aubrey's chest loosened slightly. "I see."
"Though Kedleston's been carrying a torch for her since they were children, everyone knows that." Robert said it casually, as though commenting on the weather. "Follows her about like a puppy when she's in company. Rather pathetic, really. But she doesn't seem to notice."
"She is dining with him tonight," Aubrey said, the words coming out more sharply than heintended.
Robert raised his eyebrows. "Is she? Well, that's not surprising. They're practically family, from what I understand. His mother and Lady Madeley's mother are great friends.
Family. Neighbours. Childhood friends.
Exactly what Eleanor had said.
But Rose had been so certain. Had spoken of Eleanor's lover with such conviction.
