Gabriel climbed off Gerhard’s lap and the two of them picked up their swords and left. Rafael paused by Clemency’s chair. “Sorry, Mama,” he whispered.
She bit her lip and put her arms around him, kissing his cheek and smoothing his hair. Gabriel got his hug in turn. When the door had closed behind the boys, she turned to Richard. “This is why I need you to stay in England, close to me. They need a man’s guidance.”
“They need to be outside, not penned up in a schoolroom in the city,” he replied. “Find a house for yourself in the country, where they can climb trees and swim in a pond and get dirty and tired as boys should.”
She flushed. “I would lose them in the country. They would never come home.”
“Besides, I will not be here if I take a house of my own.” Richard glanced slyly at Gerhard. “Perhaps they need a new father.”
Gerhard’s face went pink even as he glared murder at Richard. Clemency sat upright in astonishment. “What?”
“Someone to build towers with them and show them how to swing their wooden swords. Someone who will be kind to them and teach them how to behave like gentlemen.” Richard watched his sister blush. Gerhard sat in stubborn silence, buthe deserved to be tweaked. Perhaps if he thought Clemency was looking to marry again, he would untie his tongue and finally say something to her. It never failed to amaze Richard that his friend, so fearless on the side of a mountain, so unflappable on the deck of a ship in the middle of a storm, grew starry-eyed and stupid under Clemency’s sparkling smile.
“Let me know when your estate agent has found something acceptable,” he said, rising from the table. With any luck, he would be able to locate and secure passage on a ship back to the Continent, or perhaps to South America, before that happened. “Hercule, come,” he said, and his dog scrambled up from where he’d been lying by the hearth.
“What would be acceptable to you?” she protested as he went to the door.
“In the country. Out of view of other houses. On top of a hill. With plenty of trees.”That ought to occupy her for a good while,he thought, and made his escape, Hercule at his heels.
Chapter 5
It took her nearly a month, but Clemency called his bluff.
He went to view the first house purely to put a stop to her pleading. It was a rather grand manor house, the sort of house that required a lady, several children, and a full staff to feel like a home. Richard pointed out that there were precious few trees on the manicured grounds of the place, and his sister rolled her eyes at him.
The second house was more like an old castle, with drafty halls and winding staircases and suspicious stains on the flagstone floors. Even Clemency agreed it wastoorustic.
The third house was too close to London—he could see the city from the sitting room windows, he pointed out to Clemency, which quite spoilt his decree that he didn’t want to see any neighbors. Clemency scowled and told him not to be a hermit, which made Richard laugh.
The fourth house was possibly the worst of the lot. The roof was swaybacked, there was no library, and the dining room’s narrow windows faced north, giving it a dreary air even on a hot sunny day.
“This house does not reflect well on England as a country,” he said to his sister.
“You’re being impossible,” she told him crossly.
“I would be more at home in Zürich,” he replied. “I like the houses there.”
“No! I will keep looking. There will be a house to suit you somewhere near London.” She stormed out, leaving Gerhard gazing at Richard with censure.
“Why are you determined to find fault with every house she presents? She is making a great effort to satisfy your demands.”
“You did all the work,” Richard pointed out. Gerhard had become Clemency’s personal manservant since they returned.
“For her,” explained his friend patiently. “She wants you to stay. Do you feel the pull of the mountains so strongly that you can deny your only family?”
Restlessly he paced to the window and gazed out. “It is that I feel no pullhereother than Clemency and her children.”
“You are famous here.” This, Gerhard knew, was a tender subject, and Richard scowled at him for raising it. Several years ago, some lord had got hold of one of the travel memoirs Richard had written—his trips down the Nile into Africa, with its vast savannas and deserts, and his subsequent encounters with the native peoples and creatures—and raved about them to everyone of his acquaintance. Soon his accounts of scaling mountains in the Alps had also become famous. To indulge Clemency, he had attended some parties and given a few speeches about his adventures, and as a result he’d become a minor celebrated figure in London.
This delighted his sister. Richard knew she was scheming to get him invited to parties again, to speak about his recent travels into Mongolia. She had hinted that he ought to go on a speaking tour of England. Richard would much prefer to sail back to the other side of the world and be slaughtered by Mongol tribesmen.
“What is wrong with this house?” Gerhard asked when Richard said nothing. “It is miles from London.”
“Barely four.”
Gerhard raised one shoulder. “That is miles. It is in the country, as you asked. The grounds are wooded and the house sits on a hill.” He squinted at the window. “And I cannot see any neighboring buildings at all.”
“The trees obscure them. Wait until winter when the leaves have fallen.”
