“She believes in ghosts!”
“So did your mother,” Jackson said. “The apple hasn’t fallen far from the tree.”
“That’s hardly a recommendation for good sense,” Aaron returned as he stepped into the hallway. “Binner! Where are you, man?”
“The house is empty, save us,” Lucas said. He’d made sure of it when he got here. “Your butler is at the pub down the way, and the others are gone with him or to their own amusements.” He blew out a breath. “You really need to take your staff in hand. How can you run a government if you’re not able to keep your own servants in line?”
Aaron was grumbling as he went to the kitchen. He returned a moment later with glasses in one hand and a cleaning towel in the other. He cleaned the glasses one by one before handing them over to Jackson, who poured them all large measures.
“My sister runs the household—” Aaron said.
“Badly,” Jackson said.
Aaron shot the man a hard look, but he didn’t disagree. “I manage the finances and the…” he waved his hand. “Politics.”
Aaron was a member of the House of Commons until such time as his father popped off and he inherited an earldom. Then he’d take his seat in the House of Lords, and some other eager son would find his way into Aaron’s vacated seat. The man appeared to love the work—had been an avid student of history since he was in leading strings—and worked tirelessly on the nation’s interests. It was a bloody crime that he couldn’t have a clean glass in his own household.
Meanwhile, Jackson got tired of tweaking their political friend. “Forget him, where have you been?”
“War, then another war, and now back.”
“Yes, but when? Everyone else came back years ago.”
“We still have an army,” Aaron cut in. “He’s probably been serving—”
“No, I haven’t,” Lucas interrupted. He didn’t want to go into details. “I sold out after Waterloo.”
“What!”
“But that was two years ago!”
Lucas nodded. He knew. “It took me a while to come back.”
“Two years?”
“I…” He shrugged. “I have been waiting until my hand is better before making an appearance.” He held up his maimed hand. He normally wore a dark glove over it, but because they were his friends, he pulled it off. The damage wasn’t as bad as it could have been. He still had a hand and, for that matter, his life. The thumb and forefinger worked just fine, but the last three fingers were knobby and cramped. His fingers and palm were thick with scars, and the whole thing looked hideous.
Jackson studied the hand with pursed lips. “I’ve seen worse. Your ugly face, for one, though I’ll admit the scar through your hair, is dashing. Aaron, do you think there’s cheese and bread in your larder? I’ve missed supper.”
Jackson always missed supper because his ancestral lands were impoverished, and he only ate when attending a ball or because of the generosity of his friends. Normally Lucas would counsel the man to marry an heiress, but Jackson was both canny and unflinching when it came to hard work. He would bet everything that Jackson had a clever plan to restore his ancestral lands. One that did not include charming an heiress.
Meanwhile, Aaron gave a disinterested wave toward the kitchen. “Take whatever you can find.”
“Thanks, mate,” said Jackson as he disappeared down the hall. Meanwhile, Aaron focused on Lucas.
“Your mother thinks you are dead.”
“Yes, I know—”
“Your father and brother as well.”
“Yes—”
“And my sister plus—”
“Yes! I know!”
Aaron blew out a breath. “Where have you been hiding?”
