“Well, that will not do.” His face softened as he stepped away from his desk. “What are my little sparrows needing today? A ribbon perhaps, or sweet meat?”
“Gowns, Papa. The Harvest Ball is next week and we cannot attend in last season’s fashions.”
His father nodded as if new finery were the height of his concern. The contrast was so jarring, Algenon would not have believed it if he had not witnessed it so many times. Where he could do nothing right, his sisters could do nothing wrong. They were his father’s darlings, even though in male company his father lamented their very existence.
Well, not them specifically, but their gender. Everyone knew Lord Roberts pined for a second son. The why completely mystified him. It was so illogical Algenon could hardly wrap his head around it. Where was the man who liked straight edges, educational books, and sensible dark clothes? The eccentricity seemed at odds with his character until a person witnessed how often Lord Roberts existed in extremes.
He hated Society yet demanded they all attend every event that might further their connections. He demanded his food be either piping hot or chilled. If the cook dared serve anything in between, she’d be fired and another brought on.
The most confusing, however, was how a man who loved order could continually make chaos with his demands.
Phillipa chattered on about the color of the gown she hoped to have made, and Charlotte chimed in with suggested cuts. The whole time, his father simply nodded as if he were truly listening.
He wasn’t. Algenon was certain of it. Especially when his gaze strayed to the long clock by the far wall. Finally, his sisters paused.
“Very good,” their father said. “Have the shop owner place any purchases on my bill and I’ll pay them at the end of the month.”
“Oh, thank you, Papa,” both girls said, their words tumbling over each other.
“Yes, well, we wouldn’t want you to be ill fitted. There are gentlemen to catch, you know.”
Charlotte giggled and Phillipa rocked onto her toes, giving a sort of hop in place. Algenon cringed inwardly. They thought their father was looking out for them, but in truth, he was trying to get rid of them—both for the time being and in the future.
It was a trick he’d seen their sire use repeatedly. Say what the girls wanted to hear, then send them away.
“Now, if you will excuse me…”
And there it was. Algenon didn’t even listen to whatever else his father said to them. Instead, he braced himself for the storm that would erupt the moment the door closed and they were alone.
Sure enough, the second his sisters left, his father spun on him. “I will not put up with your philandering any longer, Roberts.”
Algenon tried to protest. He’d never engaged in such debaucherous behavior. He’d hardly even kissed women, contrary to popular belief. And of his three experiences, he’d not been the instigator for two of them.
However, his father would not hear him.
“Silence. You will marry whomever I choose. You know the consequences if you do not follow my rule.”
Algenon’s mouth snapped shut, his teeth clinking together. He did know. It was the same threat he’d hung over his head for years. It was the reason he’d never followed his heart. If only he could change the past.
Chapter 3
In the distance, the morning mist rose off the small stream that ran between Hazelwood and Blackthorn. Javenia ran a hand along the wall between the properties, allowing her fingers to trail over the rough river rock as she followed it to its eventual end. When she finally reached the break in the wall where the stream traveled through, she stopped.
She didn’t have to wait long.
No more than five minutes later, Algenon stepped out of the mists. How many times had they met this way? Hundreds perhaps.
It began when they were children, an early morning stroll that eventually led them to the property line where they could talk without anyone overhearing them. When they were little, it had been the perfect setup to escape their nurses. They were far enough into the grove that no one from their respective houses could see them, yet close enough that they could quickly scamper back if called.
She couldn’t count how many adventures they’d had. It was here that he’d taught her how to whittle wood, make a blade of grass into a whistle, and skip rocks. In exchange, she’d taught him about insects and how to deal with people like Duncan, who never again picked on the boys like he had that fateful day so many years ago.
As they’d grown, the meetings had become more sparse, but it was their tradition after one or the other had been gone for an extended amount of time. She’d looked forward to the tete-â-tetes every time Algenon had returned from Harrow, counting down the hours until they’d see each other again. Those middle years had been filled with stories about their struggles in school and the growing pressures they felt in pleasing their families.
Now as an adult, the secret meetings had become bittersweet, each one a little less relaxed. Gone were the days that they shared every worry, and while she cherished every time they met, she also wondered if it would be their last.
“Miss Harris.”Algenon raised a brow at her when he came close enough to speak.
She bit back a smile. “Miss Harris, is it?”
