He sighed, leaning back in his chair to prop his feet on the desk. The chair tipped up onto two legs, balancing precariously. I couldn’t help but hope he fell. “I don’t exactly have hands-on experience. So to speak.”
“Brilliant.”
“I’m four and twenty, you can hardly be disappointed that I cannot offer advice when you have more than a decade on me.”
“No, you’re right. I’m sorry. I just…”
“Don’t want to disappoint?”
“More or less.”
“Well, I did not say I’m without advice. Just nothing firsthand.” At my raised brow, he continued. “You should have asked Ainsley back there. Mrs. Ainsley always seems to be in a pleasant mood.”
“He is a client. She is a client. That is wholly inappropriate.”
“Excellent point. Well… you could always just ask her—Lady Rycliffe—what she likes. If the time comes, I mean. She is a widow, so it’s not as though…”
“That is… not the worst possible idea.”
“Thank you. I’m quite known for my mediocre notions.”
Just then the bell chimed, signaling either a clerk or a patron and the end of our conversation. I rose and poked my head out of Kit’s office to see Rosehill wringing his hands in front of him.
Before I could dissolve into a fit of panicked explanations for last night, he spoke. “Good morning, Will. Do you have a few minutes later this morning? I wanted to discuss my trip. But unfortunately, Dav is making a nuisance of herself. As I understand it, Davina’s concerns are Mr. Summers’s to solve.”
“Of course. Just stop in when you’ve sort?—”
“She was caught trying to sneak aboard a ship to France. She was dressed as a lieutenant.” The shamed exasperation with which Rosehill spoke was equal parts amusing and endearing. He could not be accused of failing to love his sister.
“Right… I’ll leave that to Kit.” I turned back to see the man collapsed onto his desk, his face buried in his palm. “Good luck!”
My only answer was a pathetic groan.
The knock startledme out of my contracts. Rosehill appeared somewhat less high-strung than earlier.
“Come in, come in. Everything sorted?”
“I think Mr. Summers is going down to the docks.” He settled in his usual chair with far fewer concerns about the windows and doors this time.
“Better him than me. So, Scotland? Yorkshire? Somewhere else entirely?”
“Scotland,” he nodded. “Is the place inhabitable?”
“Your steward seems to think so. How long are you planning to stay? You may wish to arrange some improvements if you’re to be there the rest of the summer.”
“That was one of the things I wanted to discuss.” He studied my desk with interest, his finger tracing the grain along the wood. “I would like to settle there. For that to be my primary residence.”
“I beg your pardon?” The words were out of my mouth before my head considered the rude tone.
“I would like to move. To Scotland. Permanently.”
“But, with all due respect, Your Grace…”
“It’s Xander, Will. You’ve known me forever.” His lips pursed to one side of his face in a manner I’d only ever associated with him. That expression meant a whole host of things, but it was usually in the vicinity of a smile.
“What about your mother? And your sister? And a wife?”
“It’s time for me to leave. I— It’s for the best.” His eyes found mine, so brown they were almost black and filled with an exhausted heartache. It was the closest he’d ever come to acknowledging—confirming my suspicions.
