That was rather more detail than Zeb had wanted. “Yes, fine—not fine, I’m very sorry to hear it—but the point is, he had an accident. My father had a cancer. Hawley’s father was killed in a brawl in a public house. These things happen, especially if you’re Hawley’s father; I’m amazed it took him so long to get his head kicked in. It’s a matter of chance.”
“Chance? Then consider this piece of chance: I had my forty-ninth birthday in June. A few weeks later, I saw my doctor. He gave me less than a year.”
Zeb’s jaw dropped. Wynn nodded slowly. “I have never mentioned the Wyckham curse to him; he would mock as you did. And yet he told me in so many words that I will not see my fiftieth birthday.”
“Good God,” Zeb said blankly. “Really? Good God. I am so very sorry, Wynn. I had no idea. You are seeking help? Have you had a second opinion?”
“There is nothing to be done. Man’s allotted span is threescore years and ten, the Good Book tells us, but not for Wyckhams. Not for Walter’s wives or children, and it seems not for his grandchildren either. Unless we take Walter’s route, eh?”
“Wynn, stop this. You can’t just sit down and wait to die because of superstition.”
“It is not superstition that will kill me.” Wynn patted his heart. “Don’t worry about me, dear boy. I shall face my fate in my own way. And that information was for you alone, hmm? Don’t tell Jessamine. Don’t tellanyone. I want your word on that.”
“But—”
“I mean it. I don’t want it put about, especially now, with the inheritance unresolved. I have only told you this so you understand that I am not asking lightly when I beg that you will stay.”
“Yes, but—”
“I want to order my affairs as best I can,” Wynn said. “I want to be sure of Jessamine, and Lackaday House, and of the hands they will both go into. But I have very little time left to me, so I ask you once more, Zebedee, as a dying man. Promise me to stay for this fortnight and to consider my offer with an open mind. I will not resent whatever decision you make, but please, give me this time. Call it a meaningless comfort to a superstitious old fool, if you choose. But you can help me face the end knowing I have done my best. I would be grateful for that.”
Zeb felt his shoulders sag, but there was no choice at all. “Yes. Of course I will.”
***
All of that had swallowed the morning. Luncheon at Lackaday House proved to be an exceedingly informal affair, with cold chicken, bread, and cheese. Elise did not take luncheon; Bram attended in angry, offended silence that reminded Zeb of too many meals with their father. Hawley made it down late, his heavy lids suggesting he’d been up half the night with two prostitutes and a bottle of brandy.
“Morning, bright eyes,” Zeb said. Jessamine giggled.
Hawley gave a lazy grin. He was a very handsome man in his louche way; he looked like he’d give you an extremely good time, and also the clap. “Sarcasm so early, Zeb? Please. Andyoumust be my new cousin, Jessamine.” He gave her a very slow up-and-down, well balanced to seem fascinated rather than intrusive. “Ah, yes. Yes, I see.”
“See what?” Zeb asked, hoping he wouldn’t have to do something chivalrous. Hawley was bigger than him.
“How I would paint you,” Hawley replied to Jessamine, holding her gaze.
Bram gave a very audible snort. “You mean, with splashes and daubs of the sickly shades you favour? Jessamine’s likeness deserves tobea likeness, not an upended palette.”
“For a man who looks at so much art, you don’tsee,” Hawley said, with the passionate intensity he always adopted for discussion of Art, capitalA. “You have a very limited vision of portraiture.”
“If by that you mean I have standards—something of which nobody could accuse you—”
“On the contrary. I have superb taste.” Hawley sent an admiring glance at Jessamine, who was watching round-eyed. “You see what you are told to see, Bram, and order other people to see the same things.Isee Beauty.”
It was going to be like that, then. Zeb had neither the skill nor the desire to compete with Hawley in the matter of seducing young women, but he didn’t want to sit here watching him charm the girl and make Bram look like a smug prick, although that was admittedly not hard. He wondered if Elise would take a hand, and which of the men she’d want to spite more.
He looked away, and saw Gideon watching the show.
He was seated at the end of the table, eating in silence as he had last night. His expression was neutral, but Zeb would have put money that it hid contempt, and he couldn’t blame the man. Gideon had a good face for contempt, too, with deep-set, pale blue eyes, and that authoritative nose, which radiated disapproval all by itself. If this house was really on the site of an ancient evil monastery, Gideon would have been perfectly cast as the sinister abbot with who knew what crimes lurking under his cassock. It was hard to believe, looking at him now, that he ever smiled.
That was dismally wrong. He was a serious man, but Zeb knew, none better, how much his eyes could warm and crinkle at the edges, how his face could light up with amusement or desire or love—
“Cousin Zeb!” Jessamine said, possibly not for the first time.
“You are being addressed,” Bram snapped, adding, “Oaf.”
“Uh—right. Sorry, Jessamine, I was miles away. What was that?”
“I found the book, Cousin Zeb,” Jessamine announced. “I read the first chapter. It’s awfully strange, isn’t it? I’m not sure I like it, but I want to read on.”
