Inglis’s contemptuous tone conveyed his belief that Rollo’s visitors were neither.“I informed them of the need to make an appointment, but one of the gentlemen is adamant that his message is urgent.”
Rollo and Willoughby exchanged puzzled looks.
“I took the liberty of putting them in the tradesmen’s parlour.I…ah…decided they weren’t suitable for the library.”Waspishly, Inglis wrung his gloved hands.“Thegentlemanmaking demands is…ah…confined to a Bath chair.It is my impression that the other two are assisting him.”
“I am not acquainted with anybody needing a Bath chair,” Rollo stated.
“Aside from me,” groused Willoughby.
“Precisely,” said Inglis with a bow of his head.“But they were insistent, and they appear to have travelled some distance.”
“Did you take the gentleman’s name?”
“A Mr William Elliot,” Inglis said sniffily.
Rollo pursed his lips.He knew that name.Elliot.Elliot.Elm trees.Mossy grass.The tiny chapel at Goule.William Elliot.Will!
His blood ran cold.“Inglis?Bring them in here at once.”
“Master Rollo, I am not entirely sure your brother’s sick bed is a place for—”
“Willoughby is fine.I’d like you to do it, please, Inglis.Now.”He pushed himself away from the card table, not caring that Inglis would go telling tales on him to Papa within the minute.Sometimes in the household pecking order, he had the impression he ranked several rungs below his father’s senior servants.
“There must be something wrong with Fitz,” he gasped after Inglis flounced out.“Oh God.”A surge of panic threatened to overcome him.He clapped a hand over his mouth.“William Elliot is Fitz’s childhood best friend.He’s…he’s…he nearly drowned.Years ago.He never fully recovered.I believed him to be incapacitated, feeble in the mind.Perhaps he is, but—” He clutched at his hair.“He’s here, Willoughby, and I have heard nothing for weeks, and so there must be something wrong with F—”
“Shush, Rolly.Calm yourself.Only minutes ago, you explained Fitz wouldn’t write.You didn’t expect to hear news.Why don’t we find out what this Elliot man wants before we jump to conclusions?Perchance he’s simply on route somewhere else and decided to pay a call?He might be passing on a message from Fitz.Or a gift.”
The drawing room door opened, and Papa wafted in as serene and impeccably attired as ever, with a bemused Kit in tow.Rollo was hardly surprised.Nothing occurred at Rossingley that Papa didn’t already know about.
“I hear we have a deputation arrived from Goule.”He composed himself elegantly in the most prominent seat in the room and then threw Rollo a searching look.“Inglis informs me one of them is a woman.A young housemaid in the employ of Lord Lyndon.Am I about to receive an unwanted surprise?”
Rollo’s heart stalled.Lucy.It must be.Will Elliot and Lucy.It could only herald awful news.
“Of the womanly variety?”he managed to croak.“I think you know me better than that, Papa.”
“Marvellous.Then this impromptu visit will be no cause for concern, will it?”He offered Rollo a dangerous smile.Papa did not appreciate being the last to know something, especially where his sons were concerned.
Inglis ushered the three guests into the drawing room, introducing them almost as reluctantly as if they were three beggars hauled in from the street.
If his father wouldn’t deem it improper, Rollo would have grabbed Lucy, hugged her, then demanded to know what the hell was wrong with Fitz.As it was, he anxiously stood next to his papa’s chair as the earl accepted her shy curtsey and Jack’s awkward bow.Twisting his hands together and his face red as a beetroot, the stableboy looked as if he’d rather be anywhere else.
William Elliot was nothing like Rollo had imagined.Even with his face cruelly slackened down one side, it was easy to see how he’d once been handsome.Rollo had assumed him feeble-minded, but the man’s eyes were as sharp and clear as two bright sapphires.And, though ordinarily dressed and at a lower height by virtue of being hunched in a Bath chair, he somehow managed to rival even Papa’s command of the room.A feat Rollo doubted Willoughby or himself could ever achieve.If this lame son of a tenant farmer felt over-awed by the grandeur of his surroundings or, indeed, the slight but imposing figure of the Earl of Rossingley himself, he didn’t show it.But then, Rollo recalled, he’d been managing Fitz and his varying moods for nigh on a quarter century.The man was due a sainthood.
“My lord,” Mr Elliot began, his enunciation slow and slurred.“I am an old friend of Lord Lyndon.I come on his behalf, though he is not aware of it.”He paused whilst Lucy darted forward to mop at his mouth.“Forgive the intrusion.”
“Forgiven,” responded Rollo’s papa, clearly intrigued.“I only hope your trip proves worthwhile.”
“I am r-requesting that Mr D-Duchamps-Avery”—he stumbled over the longer words, his lower lip struggling to mould the shapes—“consider returning to Goule.Lord L-Lyndon needs him.”
“Oh God.”Rollo clapped a hand over his mouth.
The earl frowned.“Whatever for?”
At this, Will Elliot craned his neck up to Rollo.“He needs him,” he repeated.“He’s not right.”
Rollo could stand it no longer.“Please.What’s the matter?Is Fitz injured?Is he ill?Is he…is he dying?”
Mr Elliot threw him a long look.“Only of incurable stubbornness.”He shook his head.“But it’s making him ill.He’s stopped doing…everything.Eating.Sleeping.Masquerading as an honest upright member of the noble classes.You need to come back.Or at least explain to him why you haven’t come back.You owe him that.”
