Then he ruined it by striding across the room and announcing, “Right, then. I’m off to Sevennis.”
Marl was behind his desk, squinting at one of the many ledgers he kept for the running of Avendene.
That was technically the estate manager’s job, but the manager was even older than Marl. More bugger-minded, too. The old coot refused to retire, and Jack refused to shuffle him off regardless, what with him having been the estate manager back when Jack’s pa was the duke.
Marl had taken on the bulk of the job.
Of late, he’d been tossing a fair bit of the work Beckett’s way. If loading Beckett down with extra hours and responsibility was another way to show his disapproval, along with all the frosty silences and the dismissive looks, he’d missed the mark by a mile and then some.
Beckett loved it.
He did most of the legwork and the face-to-face bossing, Marl handled the paperwork, and between them they got it done.
So Marl probably wasn’t going to be too keen on him heading off to town leaving him in the lurch. That was too bad.
Marl set down his pen and said flatly, “Are you?”
“Yes. If that’s all right with you?”
“Are you actually asking for permission as a member of my staff? Or are you telling me as His Grace’s lover?”
“I—”
“Decided you’re ready to take your place at his side, now that you’ve successfully run off the duch?”
“Come on, now.” Beckett rolled his eyes. “I didn’t run no one off.”
And if Marl didn’t care for his familiar tone, then Marl shouldn’t go bringing up Beckett’s sex life.
“No?” Marl made a big show of looking around. “And yet the duch, who should be here running his household, is nowhere to be seen.”
“All right. Been a long time coming, I s’pose. May as well get it out. Let’s have it.”
Marl glared at him.
Just glared.
Didn’t actually come out and say anything.
Looked like Beckett had to be the one, then. “If you think I don’t feel bad about the duch haring off, you’re wrong,” he said.
“I’m sure you do feel bad.” Marl picked up his pen and returned to his ledger. “Just as I’m sure the duch is aware of that. I’m sure the duch is greatly comforted by it, as he lives in solitude in his self-imposed exile.” He looked up briefly over the wireless rims of his thick spectacles. “Since comprehending the subtleties of communication seems to be beyond your grasp, allow me to enlighten you. That was sarcasm. Consider it a helpful lesson.”
“Lesson, eh? All right. Teach me anything you like. I’ll listen.”
That shut him up, didn’t it?
“While you’re at it,” Beckett continued, “if you’d like to give me any hints as to how I can go about fixing things, I’d be obliged.”
Marl put the pen down again. Slowly. “What, exactly, do you mean by ‘fixing things’?”
“Way I see it is, I’ve got to get the duch back here where he belongs. That’ll make him happy, which will make Jack happy. ‘Bout all that matters.”
Marl’s brows lifted when Beckett called him Jack rather thanHis Grace.
It didn’t feel wrong. Beckett didn’t take it back.
“Their Graces will be happy.” Marl unhooked his spectacles and removed them. “What about you?”
