“Palatable! It is heaven’s nectar! Drink up to new futures!” Hunt pounded him on the back and wandered off to consult with the stable owner—a former lieutenant now married to one of the earl’s heirs.
Life was strange, Grey mused, studying the odd mix of gentry and village folk. Or perhaps Gravesyde’s lack of social boundaries had simply opened new avenues—and new futures for everyone here, it seemed. A more progressive future than the tired, war-torn decades of past.
Andrew entered with the bootmaker, who was sporting a fall of lace above his tightly tailored, bright blue coat. Bootmakers—in lace.
Before her brother could reach Ellie, Grey intercepted him. His damaged past had created a life of irresolution. He didn’t intend to waste more time. “A word, Andrew?”
The bootmaker gave Grey’s ruined footwear a look of scorn. “It is good that you had the forethought to order new, my lord. I’ll have them ready by Monday.” He set off to speak with the piano lady.
With a laugh, Andrew accepted the mug handed him and gestured at the crowd. “Are you buying? What are we celebrating?”
“I think the groom is buying this round. I paid to celebrate the gallery, but I’d rather not be seen as reveling in the fate of three bounders related to present company.” Grey tasted his ale again. It went down smoother this time.
Andrew glanced toward his sister, who was now perusing a stack of sheet music. “What’s that on El’s ears?”
“Ear bobs,” Grey said dryly. “Your sister is learning to be the lady she is meant to be.” He tried not to look that way or his hunger might give him away. Eleanor learned so quickly that she’d be on her way to London if he didn’t play his cards right.
“Our mother will be crying hallelujahs in heaven and raining blessings on whoever persuaded her into them. But I will be sorry to see my best friend metamorphosing into a butterfly,” Andrew said mournfully.
“You’d rather your sister remained a caterpillar?” Grey sipped his ale and darted a quick look in her direction. She was flipping music pages, choosing songs. “You have your own lives now.” He hesitated, uncertain how to approach the subject of most interest to him. “Do you both wish to stay here?”
“I do, certainly.” Andrew studied Grey. “And you?”
“I am unexpectedly enjoying the company, yes, but I have an estate with no one but an elderly steward in charge. I will have to visit regularly, at the very least.”
Instead of responding to the topic closest to Grey’s concerns, Andrew emitted a rude snorting noise and gestured at the entrance. Their bearded neighbor stood there, looking appalled at the crowd that included women and children. Then proving he’d been listening, Andrew said, “Black Dickie bought all the hens and sheep at the market today. He’s keeping them in that wilderness of a yard behind us. You might think twice about your choice of abode.”
A slaughterhouse in the backyard, lovely. “Does the bank know this?”
“I have a notion, since he still believes the bank stole his rightful home, Bradford does not care. Should he make enough as a butcher, he might make rent payments. Who’s to say?”
Grey wrinkled his nose in distaste. If he meant to take up village life. . . “Perhaps he can be persuaded to find more suitable premises for slaughter, but admittedly, it is a good location to sell his wares.”
Andrew returned his attention to Grey. “The village is growing. I would like to be part of it. Did you have something you wished to say to me? Because I fear El is about to attempt to sing.”
Grey spit it out before he could turn coward. “I would like your permission to court your sister.” He hadn’t even said the words inside his head yet, but enormous relief filled him once they were out.
Andrew slapped him on the back and lifted his mug. “If she doesn’t crown you for your presumption, then I’ll happily give her away. You’re a good man, Greybourne. Insane, but good. She will lead you a merry chase.”
He knew that and relished the possibilities. He’d avoided responsibility for too long, thinking his intellectual curiosity got in the way of a normal life and damaged him in some way. Now that he knew differently. . . “I’m looking forward to it.”
In relief, with one hurdle accomplished, Grey braced himself for the next—Ellie.
Setting down his mug, he crossed the room and dared to place a hand to the small of her back as she sang a children’s rhyme, accompanied by a pack of young ones he could not name.
Children. Nursemaids. He could afford that, in a year or two, after settling Stew’s debts from his own funds. He’d never considered children, so he studied these. He had time to learn the way of fatherhood, he supposed.
His bleak childhood had never taught him nursery rhymes, so he couldn’t join in. When the song ended, Ellie looked at him questioningly. “You’re ready to talk?”
Grey grinned. He felt an actual grin spread across his face. “Yes, please. Only briefly. I do not want to take you from your fun.”
Her smile turned into an expression of concern, but she followed him outside. The summer sun lingered low in the sky, behind clouds, so the evening breeze was cool. He shrugged off his coat to place around her shoulders.
“I have no desire to see you in men’s clothes again, but you are fetching in whatever you wear.” And he wanted to kiss her again. The memory of their earlier kisses had been heating his blood. Damned good thing he wouldn’t be teaching students while his brain boiled.
“Are you sure you’re not drunk? You are behaving rather oddly.” She didn’t lose her worried expression.
“I am not drunk and I am not ill. I am free, for the first time in my life. I had not realized how badly I’ve crippled myself by fearing the Fates hated me. As you rightly pointed out, that is superstitious poppycock, and an excuse to not make decisions. I’d just lived that way for so long, I’d not questioned my choices.”
