Lucy darted forward again.“He’s painting a canvas he’s calledHopeless Last Dawn, sir.Fills half a wall, it does.He’s at it for hours.Can’t get him down from the nursery, sir.It’s…it’s…”
“Hopeless?”Rollo supplied, his belly plummeting.He could well imagine it.
“Bloody awful, ’scuse my French.Cook says it needs putting on the bonfire.Even worse thanBloatedDead Salmon Floating Down the River.”
“That doesn’t sound possible,” murmured Kit.He exchanged a glance with the earl.“I have a suspicion I know where all this is heading, don’t you, Lando?”
“I wouldn’t wager against it, darling.”
“And Berridge says his lordship has annihilated the Third Corps,” supplied Jack.“Marshal Davout is beyond repair.The wooden mantel too.The Fifth Corps is on its knees.Made a right mess of it.”
Will Elliot nodded.“All true.He’s spiralling fast, and I’m not sure I can do much to halt it.”
“But I wrote to him!A dozen letters.With pressed pink petals from the hydrangeas in the walled garden here at Rossingley folded in the crease.Daubed with the scent of lavender oil.”Rollo’s eyes filled with tears.“I explained about Willoughby’s dreadful fall and how he almost perished and how I must delay my return…and…and…how much we would enjoy our London season together and…how much I miss his silly little bow and his Count Rodolfo…and…and how I would gladly follow him through the annals of time!”
Hot, salty tears spilled down Rollo’s cheeks.A deep and profound silence ensued, during which his father contemplated their unusual visitors before settling his steely gaze on his second son.Rollo tried not to wilt under the strength of it.Willoughby was mended.Lyndon needed him by his side.He needed to go.This minute.He’d walk to Norfolk if he had to.On bare feet, wearing only the banyan on his back for warmth and with thruppence in his pocket.He’d sleep in hay barns on beds of straw, drink from ice-cold bubbling streams, and scrounge kitchen scraps from—
A delicate dry cough interrupted his bleak travel arrangements.All eyes swivelled to the earl, who raised a beautifully arched brow in Lucy’s direction at the same time as he rang a small silver bell.“Miss…”
“Lucy, Your Lordship.”She bobbed again.“One of Lord Lyndon’s maidservants.And this here is Jack, the stable boy.”
“Naturally a stable boy would feature somewhere,” Kit muttered.
“Quite,” agreed the earl.“Thankfully, on this occasion, I don’t believe he has a starring role.”He eyed Jack severely.“You don’t, I trust?”
“No, my lord.Only here to escort and assist Mr Elliot, my lord.Berridge’s orders.Don’t hold no truck with all this travelling abroad, myself.Never left Norfolk afore, never will again.”
The earl breathed a sigh of relief.“Excellent.”
As if pulled on casters, the butler materialised in the doorway.
“Inglis, dear,” the earl instructed.“Miss Lucy and young Jack have journeyed an awfully long way.Take them to freshen up somewhere and make sure they are well fed.”His pale gaze narrowed.“They are my valued guests.”
As all three servants departed, and Rollo dabbed at his eyes, the earl pinched a thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose.
“Rollo, darling.Correct me if I’m misinterpreting things, though I believe I have the gist of it.”His lips thinned.“It would appear that your lavish, lively correspondence from Goule, addressed to Kit and myself, may have omitted one or two tiny details?Lord Lyndon’sCount Rodolfo,for instance?”He shuddered.“Four words I had never envisaged putting in a sentence when I breakfasted this morning.Or, indeed, ever.Though I am of the opinion that you’ve been putting his Count Rodolfo somewhere else entirely.”
“Um…possibly.”Rollo’s wet cheeks heated.“Except we…um…don’t call it that.Count Rodolfo is a character in a book and is really of no relevance here, Papa.”
“But I can surmise that you and Lord Lyndon have been rather more intimate than you have led me to believe.”
He impaled Rollo on his pale, glittery gaze.
“Yes.Um… quite intimate.”
The earl digested that with a nod.“And through some postal misunderstanding, of which I am yet to reach the bottom, he is of the belief that you have discarded his suit and is making himself ill.”
“Yes, Papa.”
“Have you discarded his suit?Indeed, is it welcome?”
“Most welcome, Papa.More than welcome.As welcome as one could imagine.”
Though Rollo had a million things to say on the matter, he bit his tongue and stared meekly at the carpet.At least he’d learned something since his last dressing down.
“I wrote the day after Willoughby was injured.And a thousand times since.I am at a loss to explain how he did not receive any of my correspondence.”
Kit spoke up.“Just a thought, and I might have to check the date and the routes.But regarding that mail coach accident near Winchester, where the horse sadly perished and that poor driver was injured.There’s a chance your letter regarding Willoughby’s fall is languishing at the bottom of the River Test.”
