CHAPTER 13
ARDEN
Arden left Jack with a smile on his face and a curious fizzing in his stomach. His body was wrung out from the wildly unfamiliar exercise he’d put it through and his emotions were scattered, but the foremost emotion was happiness. Plain and simple. He’d almost forgotten what it felt like, or perhaps he simply hadn’t been this happy before.
He certainly hadn’t been happy the day Jack married him.
He’d been grieving.
He’d been afraid.
They’d buried Arden’s father that morning, and whatever Arden had expected from a now-murky future, it wasn’t to end up married twelve hours later, and taken away from his childhood home forever.
He’d never expected Lassit to do what he did, either.
Arden had stood with his siblings at the family mausoleum as the sun rose over the ancient trees behind the ornate golden stone building and the traditional funeral songs were sung.
The old earl’s children were all dressed in deep mourning grey, flanking the arched doorway of the mausoleum to stand witness as the coffin was carried in on the shoulders of blank-faced servants in their best livery. The well-kept grounds thatthe mausoleum sat in were filled with the earl’s friends and acquaintances, many of whom had travelled up from Sevennis to stand witness alongside Arden’s family.
Although he hadn’t been able to stop the tears coursing down his face, Arden had managed not to make a sound. He’d kept his eyes firmly on the dew-spangled grass, not wanting to see the sympathy or the judgement of the gathered mourners. Not wanting to see the impatience of his siblings, either, all of whom were doing an excellent job of appearing fully in control of their emotions.
To the extent that Arden wondered if they even cared.
He chastised himself for the unkind thought. Just because they weren’t making a spectacle of themselves, it didn’t mean they cared any less than he did.
After the ceremony, he washed his face and presented himself in the drawing room as Lassit had instructed, where he did his best to mingle along with the sweet wine and dainty cakes being served to the mourners. Very few people spoke to him, other than a handful of Papa’s local friends. They were the only people he recognised.
Although none of the unfamiliar guests spoke to him, Arden couldn’t seem to shake the feeling that they were staring at him.
Of course they weren’t staring at him.
Why would they? What possible interest could they have in him?
Most of them probably didn’t even know who he was.
In fact, no one would notice if he slipped through the crowd and out of the room, walked sedately until he was out of sight of guests and servants alike, and then ran to the safety of his small, homely parlour.
And that, Arden decided, was his duty done.
Papa was the last person who would have insisted he go down to dinner. He’d always discouraged Arden from showing himself to visitors, anyway.
Unfortunately, Papa was no longer the Earl of Dalbryn.
Lassit was.
And Lassit had no patience for Arden and his shyness.
Arden was curled up in a comfortable old wingback chair, gazing wistfully into the dancing flames in the hearth, a book lying open and unread on his lap, when the door opened with an abrupt bang and Lassit strolled in.
“There you are, mouse,” he said as he came to a stop before Arden’s chair. “I think you’ve hidden away for more than long enough now, don’t you?”
Arden, drowsy from the fire and from what had been a very long and trying day, blinked up at Lassit sleepily and shook his head.
“No?” Lassit reached out and ruffled Arden’s hair.
Arden wrinkled his nose. “I think I’ll order some coddled eggs and toast for supper, and go to bed.”
“No, Arden. You won’t do that. You’ll get dressed properly, and you’ll come downstairs and join our guests for the evening.”
