“William, do you remember happier times? Is there something that caused the change in your father’s behavior?”
“I’ve thought and thought. I was too young to know, perhaps. I remember the first few years after Emily was born were happy, or I thought they were.” The most time he’d spent with his father had been learning to ride, which the earl suddenly abandoned around the time he started drinking.
“How much younger than you is she?”
“Three years.”
“Hmm. They never wanted to try for another son?” Common practice among royalty and the aristocracy was to produce an heir and a spare.
“I don’t know. ’Tis not something I’ve asked.”
“Fair enough. So, you’d have been six or seven when things changed?”
“I guess so. I suspect mama tried to hide it for a time.” He stood and paced the length of the room, flinging out a hand. Sometimes he hated his father, as much as that sentiment felt disloyal. He could have had a much harder life, as Folly reminded him on occasion. But it was hard to watch his mother struggle as his father ignored his duties. “I don’t understand why she puts up with it. Couldn’t she get rid of all the spirits in the house? Keep the family sequestered in the country?”
“William, you know better than that. Women do not have many choices. If she hid the whisky, he’d just go to his club more, which would cost more and possibly be more embarrassing. If she tried to retire to the country, he could simply decline and stay here, and it would be harder for her to manage the estate without the solicitor nearby and your father to sign things.”
Her words took the edge off his fury. He was again impressed with her ability to evaluate a situation thoroughly. Intelligence layered with maturity was more than alluring, it was downright seductive.
He loathed his family’s circumstances. More, he disliked having to admit the sordid details to his Mistress, who was the epitome of competence. Perhaps most, he abhorred them limiting his time with her. However, this time was a welcome escape. Here, she took the lead, allowing him to drop the mantle of familial obligations that threatened to overwhelm him.
* * * *
The next morning, he ransacked his room looking for the items he needed. He would go to a bookstore for them if he needed to, but he’d prefer his gift be more personal. Nor did he relish having to explain to his mother why he wanted to visit a bookstore or even spend funds on something unnecessary.
He was tired of being accountable to his mother, and his months away at university these past two years had given him a taste of freedom. He’d already begun mentally mapping out his Grand Tour, then arrived home to a near-financial-crisis. He still was not certain they could dig their way out of it, and that concern weighed heavily in his thoughts.
Shaking his head to bring himself back to the more pleasurable task at hand, he stared at the tomes he held. Perfect.
He’d cast about in his memory for works in Latin that might lure her into a response. Recalling a reference that had arisen in their studies of influences on Virgil’s writing, he chose a book of Catullus’s poems. They had not been covered in classes, due to their risqué nature, but several students had read them outside of class and talked about them in the pub.
Pouring over them, he marked several before selecting carmen thirty-two as a starting place, grabbed his notebook to find a blank page, and began translating…
List, I charge you, my gentle Ipsithilla,
Lovely ravisher and my dainty mistress,
Say we’ll linger a lazy noon together.
Suits my company? Lend a farther hearing:
See no jealousy make the gate against me,
See no fantasy lead you out a-roaming.
Keep close chamber; anon in all profusion
Count me kisses again again returning.
Bides thy will? With a sudden haste command me;
Full and wistful, at ease reclined, a lover
Here I languish alone, supinely dreaming.
Staring at it, he debated leading with this. It was arguably to a courtesan, and could well be considered presumptuous or worse, directed toward a noblewoman. However, he was confident she’d appreciate the reference to commanding him and her quest for knowledge would smooth the way for more teachings—by both of them. A pulse of heat went through him as he pictured himself supine and at her command, ready to learn.
Putting aside his translated poem and the second book he’d found for that night, he abandoned the chaos of his room to continue digging through the mess his father had gotten the family into.
