“I was never a boy,” he answered cryptically. “I’ve always been this annoyingly responsible gentleman sitting beside you.”
“Do be serious,” she scolded.
Greys slid his stare sideways but couldn’t quite make out her expression. Was she pouting? Was she flirting?
“My aunt tells me that I have always been extremely well-behaved.” How was one to answer such a question?
“Your aunt raised you?”
“My parents died when I was six and ten, and although my grandfather was my guardian, I relied mostly on my tutors.” But, in being honest with himself, Greys knew that it was his grandfather’s influence that was largely responsible for the man he was now.
“Did you like your grandfather?” she asked.
He found it refreshing that she didn’t feel the need to express pitying sentiments in response to hearing of his parent’s death. It had happened a very long time ago. Although, perhaps not long enough.
They’d brought it upon themselves, and he was not exaggerating to remember how quiet his home became afterward, partly because the household had gone into mourning, but without his parents, although he’d felt an expected emptiness, he’d also experienced something entirely foreign.
Peace.
There had been no more yelling or crying from his mother and no more disparaging comments or sarcasm from his father. His grandfather had declared ‘good-riddance’ and ordered Greys to do the same.
Looking back, he could only vaguely remember when his parents had gotten along. They’d all but fawned over one another before he’d gone away to school.
It had been a love match gone wrong—a damnable, doomed, ill-fated love match.
“My lord?” The touch of her gloved hand to his knee jerked him back to the present.
“I don’t recall anyone ever, in fact,likingmy grandfather,” Greys answered honestly. “Far and few uttered any words of praise at his funeral—a ceremony that had overflowed with mourners. The one thing Grandfather never lacked was the respect of his peers.”
“I think,” Diana pondered quietly at his side. “That it must be easier to mourn people who we genuinely loved than it is to mourn those we didn’t, but ought to have. Because when we fail at loving someone, even if that person wasn’t easy to love, once they’re gone, we can never set matters right. We can never go back and fix it.”
“Your father?”
She shrugged. “Yes. Is that how you feel about your grandfather?”
“I loved my grandfather.” But damned if she wasn’t right in her musing. Mourning his grandfather had been natural. Yet, to this day, he’d not really mourned the loss of his parents.
How do you mourn a person’s death when they made you miserable?
She nodded knowingly and then straightened and looked around.
“It’s too beautiful a day to be sad.” She pinched her lips together. “Or feel guilty.” Only a minx like her would so easily dismiss such a serious subject as the one they’d touched on.
Such a trait was an admirable one—the ability to shrug off an unwanted mood without allowing it to weigh one down. Perplexed, Greys studied her for as long as he dared before turning back to watch the road. “There’s a clearing up ahead, near a stream where the horses can take a drink.
“And afterward, you’ll spring the horses for me?”
God help him. “Your brother would kill me.”
“He need never know. I promise not to tell him.” Greys shook his head at her. She was a flirt and a tease.
“He’d know if you flew off and landed on your head.”
“I thought we’d decided not to speak of sad things.” And then she laughed—a delightful bubble of joy that squeezed his chest for no reason he could comprehend.
Shaking it off, Greys turned down the almost indiscernible road and followed it until rushing water sounded over the pounding of the horses’ hooves and the crunching of the wheels. He drove right up to the water’s edge.
“Shall we explore, Diana?” He turned to face her, but their surroundings had captured her attention. When she finally afforded him a glance, he was surprised by the awe in her eyes.
