BECKETT
When Beckett arrived at Jack’s house in Sevennis and barged his way into Jack’s study, the only one he found there was Nolan.
Jack, Nolan informed him, had gone to Greylag to visit his husband, and if Beckett hadanydecency, he’d?—
“I don’t,” Beckett said, and walked out.
He decided to leave Tib in the mews to be fussed over by the stable lad who’d come running the moment he set eyes on the big horse and had, he told Beckett, missed him something fierce. The way Tib kept rubbing his face on the old beta’s shirt, making him laugh, said that the feeling was mutual.
Beckett requested another mount be made ready while he saw to getting some food packed for his onward journey, and no one so much as batted an eye; not in the stables or the kitchen.
He ran up to the servants’ quarters for a quick wash, a change of clothes, and to use the privy, and when he came back down to collect a satchel of food from the kitchen, Nolan was lying in wait.
“Don’t start,” Beckett said and brushed past the dapper little secretary.
Nolan trotted after him. “Youdo not give orders tome,” he said.
“No?” Beckett stopped suddenly and turned.
Nolan bounced off him. He righted himself with an irritated hiss. “No. ”
Give the beta credit, he didn’t back down. He wanted to, Beckett could tell by the quiver of his eyelids, but he held Beckett’s gaze.
“All right.” Beckett sighed and shook his head, putting his hands on his hips. Fuck. He could do this. “I apologise,” he said stiffly. “What do you need?”
There, Marl. I’m taking the high ground. Hope you’re proud.
Nolan held out a large, tan leather portfolio. “I need Jack’s signature on these documents as soon as possible. There are also some Council bills I want him to have at least skimmed before he gets back. And tell him that Lord Crewe is dragging his heels on the Quinton purchase. Again.”
Beckett took the portfolio and tucked it under his arm. “Anything else?”
“No, that’s all.” Nolan nudged Beckett towards the kitchen and walked with him. “I expect Jack back in two days, three at most. These are the only things that can’t wait.” He hovered while Beckett thanked the scullery maid who handed over an enormous satchel of food, and trailed after Beckett to the mews.
Beckett stopped and looked down at him. “You don’t have to worry,” he said with only a hint of impatience. “I’m fixing things.”
“I truly hope that you can.” Nolan frowned. “You know that it’s been eating at Jack, don’t you?”
“Yeah. Me, an’ all. I won’t hurt the duch again.”
“I’m glad to hear it. I meant it’s been eating at Jack that he hurt you, though. That he didn’t get to tell you face to face thathe was marrying the duch. That he didn’t even get to introduce you.”
“He explained it all in those letters, though, didn’t he?” Beckett still hadn’t read them. He would. One day, when he’d got him, Jack, and Arden all sorted.
Nolan held his hands out, palms up. “I’ve told him that a hundred times. Doesn’t seem to make him feel any better.”
“Ah, well. He’ll get over it when he sees that I have.”
Nolan gave him a firm nod. “Good.” He reached out and tapped the portfolio Beckett had under his arm briskly. “Don’t lose that. It’s important.”
Beckett knew what was important, thanks.
Nolan strode back into the house, leaving Beckett to strap his luggage behind the saddle and head out.
The stolid bay mare trudged through the busy city streets and perked right up as soon as they reached country lanes. She was fresh and eager and they made excellent progress. They still had to stop overnight, although since the moon was a waxing quarter and the sky was clear, Beckett pushed on after dark until the mare started to flag.
He bedded her down in the poky little stall attached to an inn not twenty miles from Greylag, and spent a restless night on a rough, straw-filled pallet under the eaves of the rickety old building.
He already knew that arriving unannounced wasn’t the best idea in the world. He didn’t give a shit.
