“Well, see that you do. He’s got the weight of Roxegate on hisshoulders, along with all of us, and he has his struggles with LadyLydia. You mind yourself with him.”
“Heshould just marry her and get it over with,” Stephenmuttered.
“I’ve no doubt one day he will, but he isn’t there yet. Wedon’t all wake up at the same time. I’m including you, I’ll haveyou know,” she said pointedly.
Stephen duckedhis head. What was it with the women in his life wanting him to cutOliver some slack? First Lady Torrence and now MrsParsons.
“Take another pastry, and then you can take that tray when yougo to see your brother. He hasn’t had any lunch.”
Stephen eyed thetray to which she pointed, piled with sandwiches, pastries, andfruit. “Aren’t there servants for that type of thing?”
“There are.”
“Iam a lord, I’ll have you know. And your employer. I don’t undertakemenial tasks.”
She raised herbrows. “You’re not my employer.”
“Fine. My family employs you.”
“Ah,so you do understand his lordship is your brother.”
Muscle tickingin his jaw, he glanced askance.
The rhythmicsound of the rolling pin filled the kitchen. “How’s your shoulder?”Mrs Parson finally asked.
Stephen exhaled.“Fine.”
“Youhaven’t hurt yourself again playing football?”
His lipstwitched. Mrs Parsons fussed overmuch. “No.”
“AndI suppose your team has won another game. Again.”
“Well, that’s what happens when you’re the best.”
She snorted.“The best of a bad bunch, I’ve no doubt.”
He grinned. “Youknow you love us.”
“Ido. God help me, I do.”
“When will we see you again on the heath?”
“Idon’t know, lad. I can’t just run off and watch football matches, Ihave a job to do.”
“So...Saturday, then?’
“Lord, go away with you.”
Still grinning,he shoved himself upright. “Right, I’m off,” he said, starting forthe servant stairs.
“Take the tray with you,” Mrs Parsons chided.
Swerving, hetook the tray.
“Andremember to mind your brother,” she called after him as he ascendedthe stairs.
The tray gotheavier with each step he took. His brother’s study had once beentheir father’s, and unwanted memories rushed through him. As achild, he’d used to dread the journey to his father’s study, eachstep taking him closer to his father’s disdain and disappointment.Unsmiling, his father had always had the same refrain: why can’tyou be more like your brother? Why can’t you be responsible likehim? Why can’t you be sober like him? Why can’t you be productivelike him? Why and why and why.
