Emma’s Da studied him from across the room with a hint of approval. He ought to approve. After all, the old man had ordered him to be here, for Emma’s sake. “I wouldn’t miss your cake, Emma. You’ve been teasing us with it the entire week.”
The cake proved as tasty as promised. The guest of honor dutifully opened family gifts, quietly grateful. He even managed a show of enthusiasm over little Audrey’s gift of a handkerchief with a carefully—if crookedly—stitched “B” and what looked like a flower. The old man’s shoulders sagged, however, and he seemed to lean more and more in his chair.
Before Rob could intervene, Ellis Corbin acted. “We best be getting these young ones home, Emma. Your Da looks fit to drop.”
Emma knelt down next to her father’s chair. “Oh, I hate the night to end, Da, but Ellis has it right. We’ve fair worn you out.” She kissed the old man’s cheek and was gone, shooing her family before her like a hen in a flurry of feathers. Moments later, Eli announced he was for bed, and Morgan followed.
Suddenly alone with the man, Rob asked, “Do you need help?”
“I can manage. I’m not in my dotage yet, though your sister might have you think so. It was a good night. Thank you for that fancy shaving set.”
What could he say to that beyond a mumbled “welcome,” while Old Robert’s knowing eyes scanned his face?
“I’m glad you’re here, Robbie.”
“The party mattered to Emma. I think it’s the true reason she summoned me.”
“Maybe. Whatever the reason, it has been good to see you.”
A tangle of confused feelings choked Rob. Words, some harsh, some hurtful, some tender, clamored for attention.
“It’s late,” the old man said at last, pushing himself up one-handed with a moan. “I best find my bed.”
He clamped a hand on Rob’s shoulder. “We’ll talk,” he said. “Before you go back to London, we’ll talk.”
Chapter Eighteen
Rob kept tohis room on Sunday, aside from a relaxing ride south, away from Ashmead and in the opposite direction to Willowbrook and Caulfield Hall. He’d had a surfeit of family and made no attempt to join them at church.
Monday morning, he resolved to confront the earl. Eli did his best to convince Rob to postpone the visit until he could join him, but Eli had a client to see to in Nottingham, and Rob felt a growing sense of urgency.
“The sooner I get the information we need, the sooner I can leave. A week. I ought to be gone within a week.” The meager belongings he had brought had been packed and repacked. He would have to have his regimentals shipped. Emma would do it. He could leave at a moment’s notice. He would do so when the time was right.
He saw his brother off shortly after the inn came awake and prowled the grounds and kitchen until it was only a few hours short of a polite hour for calls.
His solitary ride to Caulfield Hall gave him ample time to list the reasons he could and should dispose of Willowbrook and be gone.Now the earl’s here, let him see to Lucy Whitaker’s well-being. She isn’t any more my responsibility than the blasted inn. I’ll leave Morgan to see to the repairs; he seems willing enough. I’ll send an agent from the city to see to the sale.
He recognized the Caulfield butler’s cold eyes and stiff manner, his air of a loyal servant who yearned to show the upstart the door. He’d met his like before.
“Kindly tell the earl I’m here on business. This isn’t a social call,” he said, handing over a heavy, perfectly engraved calling card.
The butler took it between finger and thumb, gave it a dismissive glance, and left him standing in an entryway as opulent, cold, and dead as he remembered. The lifeless silence filled him with oppressive gloom. He would see the earl if he had to storm the upper rooms.
Just as his control began to slip and the temptation to confront the earl—or perhaps to bolt out the door as his fourteen-year-old self had done—became unbearable, an unexpected sound startled him out of his black mood.
A shriek of childish laughter echoed off the walls, the clatter of small boots on marble stairs descended, and a tiny voice unleashed the universal cry of childhood, “You can’t catch me!”
A small girl slid to an abrupt halt three feet from Rob, startled eyes taking in the stranger in her world. A slightly older boy ran into her, gleefully proclaiming, “Got you! Now you must catch me.” The lad sobered at the sight of Rob, and both pairs of eyes studied him intently.
The girl, who couldn’t be much more than five or six, had the deep auburn hair of a Caulfield. The boy who looked to be about Matt Corbin’s age had darker hair that reminded Rob of someone.
Lucy. He has Lucy Whitaker’s hair and eyes.An unreasonable shard of jealousy stabbed Rob until he remembered Lucy’s sister had been the earl’s wife and most certainly the mother of these children.
The girl took a step toward him and blinked to take a closer look.Green eyes. The color of Maddy’s. “You look like my Papa,” she said with a puzzled frown.
The boy hissed, “Stubble it, Marj.” He demonstrated a rather more formal set of manners, giving a well-executed bow and elbowing his sister, who dipped into a creditable curtsey. “I am Viscount Ashmead. May I help you, sir?” Courtesy couldn’t keep the naked curiosity from his eyes.
Bright boy!Rob bowed gravely in return. “I am Major Sir Robert Benson. I have business with the earl.”
