“Mother…” he managed hoarsely, and that was all.
Mercifully, Beatrice stopped talking, and tilted her head anxiously at her son.
“Arthur? Oh, you’ve gone quite pale. Pray forgive me, I have grievously erred in my approach. I am prone to speaking out of turn.”
“Arthur?” came Lucy’s cool, calm voice, sounding as if it were from very far away. The pain in Arthur’s temples peaked, almost blinding him, and he staggered to his feet. He knocked against the coffee-table and heard the cups and saucers clink and jingle loudly, no doubt slopping tea over the delicate rims into the saucers.
No time to worry about that now. Shaking his head, Arthur stumbled out of the parlour, letting the door swing behind him.
“Oh, dear,” he heard Beatrice say. “What a mess I’ve made.”
What a messI’vemade,Arthur thought miserably. He didn’t go back.
***
Beyond the windows, the heavens wept. A gentle, balmy summer shower, yet persistent. Droplets cascaded from the eaves of the veranda, encircling the manor, and the lush foliage in the distance was veiled in a translucent haze.
That was another part of the wretched house and wretched earldom that Arthur was unsuited to inherit. The gardens, beautiful and well maintained, were too much for him. Beyond his skills.
It was almost comical.
He strode along the terrace, head down, hoping for a little breeze on his forehead to cool the pain. Not that it ever did much. Summer months were always more unforgiving than winter.
He walked until he was fairly sure Beatrice wasn’t scurrying after him, then let himself jerk to a halt. Leaning against the stone wall, he let himself slide down it, sinking to the ground, and pulled his knees up to his chest.
It was a rather pathetic situation for a man to be in. Arthur was not yet thirty, not for another ten months. He was a tall, well-built, a real soldier. His scar was testament to that. He’d been described as handsome, before. He had dark hair and steel-blue eyes, which he still had, but now apparently the scar ruined the whole effect.
He'd never been vain, but it certainly hurt to be considered so… sobroken, when he’d once been called handsome.
He kept his eyes closed, waiting for the pain in his temples to subside. The soft pat-pat of slippers on stone approached. He kept his eyes closed.
“Mother, I really don’t wish to…”
“Can I join you?” came Lucy’s cool tones, and Arthur opened his eyes.
Cousin Lucy, as they’d taken to calling her, was twenty-seven years old. By Society’s standards, she was well past marriageable age, which was naturally unfair. Not that Lucy cared much about that. She had dark hair and grey eyes and judging by the large portrait of the late Earl which hung in the dining room, she strongly resembled her father. The two had been close, as far as Arthur could tell, with the late Earl feeding and encouraging Lucy’s love of knowledge and research. They had the largest library he had ever seen, and he felt rather ashamed to confine himself to the novels and fiction section.
Lucy was not, as it was commonly said, abeauty. She had an interesting face, a long nose, and eyes that seemed to smile even when her mouth did not. She was quiet and had never expressed any sense of unfairness that Arthur had inherited everything that she had once had, beyond a modest yearly allowance that was hers.
Beatrice had taken to her immediately, and Arthur flattered himself that Lucy was perfectly happy here with them.
“May I sit?” Lucy repeated, when Arthur didn’t immediately respond. He nodded numbly, and she lowered herself to the ground beside him, back resting up against the stone.
They sat in silence for a moment or two.
“We should have told you about the party,” Lucy said at last. “I didn’t agree with keeping it from you, but neither did I tell you the truth. I encouraged Beatrice to organise it. I should bear at least some of the blame. So, I’m sorry.”
He shook his head. “I shouldn’t have reacted so badly. I can’t expect to keep you both in seclusion here forever. You must miss your friends, Lucy.”
Lucy bit her lip. “I haven’t seen much of my friends since I’ve been in mourning. I know I’ve stayed in black for longer than I should have, and I daresay it’s annoyed you.”
“It certainly has not. We would never tell you how to grieve, Lucy. It wouldn’t be right.”
She flashed him a quick, grateful smile. “Well, I was thinking of throwing off mourning at last for the party. I know how you feel… well, that’s not true, I don’tknowhow you feel. But I imagine that spending time in company is difficult for you. I don’t have megrims like you, but I see the pain on your face. But perhaps… perhaps building some relationships would help. You’ve been in Lanwood for months now, and you hardly know anyone. I have many friends I’d like to introduce to you. Perhaps you might enjoy yourself. You can always retire if your head aches.”
Arthur bit the inside of his cheek. He felt guilty, and selfish. How unkind was he, keeping his mother and Lucy away from Society because of himself?
“The truth it,” he said hesitantly, “I thought I would be better by now. The doctors all said that the megrims would fade in time. But the pain seems every bit as bad as when I first felt it. And the dreams…”
