“Damn your eyes, Rossingley.You can’t have him return yet.
“It’s unfair,” he added, then felt a little foolish.Young boys railed at the unfairness of life; grown men did not.
*
IT WASN’T WRONGto feel sorry for oneself.Just like it wasn’t wrong to shoot miniature arrows at miniature regiments whilst marinating in far from miniature glasses of French brandy.But neither pursuit was especially productive, unless one relished fixing all the divots in the mantel the following day with a head like a burst mattress.So, Lyndon stomped to Will’s cottage to pour out his woes to a sympathetic ear.
“As far as I see it, the earl has simply sped things up a little.Your young man was always going to depart sooner or later.”
“Huh.”Slumped in the chair opposite, Lyndon scowled.
“What?”Will unsubtly nudged his empty teacup across the table in Lyndon’s direction.“Do you disagree?Did you imagine you would use the last month of his stay to persuade him to remain, long after his summer here ended?”
Lyndon glared at him.Will calmly glared in return.
“No,” he lied.“Of course not.”
Making excellent use of one of the few parts of his anatomy that still functioned correctly, Will raised his left eyebrow.
“All right.Yes,” Lyndon bit out.“What I mean is, I don’t know.”
A year and some had elapsed since he’d contemplated ending his life.Things might not have always seemed to be any easier since—he was still himself—but love rang like bells through his ears, and he’d be damned if he’d let it slip through his fingers.“Possibly,” he concluded.
“Glad you’ve cleared that up,” Will remarked.“Tea, please.”
With a lot of unnecessary clashing, Lyndon filled the small kettle then hung it over the hearth to heat.Returning to his chair, he hacked an apple into ragged chunks.He fed a cube, none too gently, into Will’s mouth.
“I have considered not showing him his father’s letter,” Lyndon said.“Or pretending it was somehow delayed or lost.To buy myself some more time.”
Will chewed carefully, swallowed, then waited for Lyndon to feed him another cube.
“But you have decided against it,” he said finally.
“Yes.”Lyndon dabbed at Will’s mouth then popped more apple in it.“See?He’s made a better person of me already.”
“Will you insist he stay longer?”
“Insist?”Lyndon huffed.“You’ve clearly not met Rollo.He’s not a tame tabby cat, and I’m not in a position to insist on anything.”
“Ask him nicely, then?”
“No.”Lyndon shook his head.Of that he was certain.Rollo was homesick, though he put a brave face on it.And because Lyndon loved him, he would set him free.He would send his beloved back to his loving father and adored brother.“If he stays, then it must be his choice.”
*
THE AFTERNOON TURNEDinto yet another of those late August hazes, when the sun shone hot, and the still air smelled of blackberry wine.Rollo suggested they venture down to the lake.Seeing as he appeared to have Lyndon on a bridle, Lyndon agreed.He discovered that because Rollo’s hand slipped into his, the placid stretch of water didn’t instil any of the terror in him that it usually did.Not taking any chances, however, they laid the blanket on a patch of grass a good way clear of it.
Rollo nestled in his arms.“I received a letter from Papa this morning.He is sending Dobson and a carriage.”
Whether it was good news or bad, Lyndon couldn’t interpret, though he was thankful he hadn’t tried to conceal the existence of his own correspondence.“Yes.I am aware.I expect they will arrive any day.”
Unsure what to add, he kissed Rollo ardently for at least five minutes.And then Rollo fell uncharacteristically quiet as if waiting for Lyndon to express his opinion further, which he knew he should but wasn’t entirely certain how.A great craggy boulder seemed to stand in the middle of the path joining his feelings to his tongue.Yet, if he didn’t say something, it might be too late, as this Dobson person was already en route, and Rollo’s things were already packed.
“It is a pity our friendship must come to an end sooner than anticipated,” Lyndon ventured at last, which wasn’t what he’d intended to say at all.
“Must it?”The smooth skin of Rollo’s forehead bunched in a puzzled frown.It was absurdly endearing.Was Lyndon really going to let Rollo escape his clutches?Was his heart really too frozen to shape the words consuming his every waking hour?
“You are returning to Rossingley,” Lyndon pointed out uselessly.“It is at least a three-day ride from here.”
