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Less than half an hour after he’d left the warmth of his wife’s bed, Varian was on his way to London.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Varian made a detour round Eden Green, deliberately avoiding its homey public house. He was in no mood for local gossip, especially when he would be the focus of it. The afternoon was waning under thickening gray clouds, and his horse was tired. Mount Eden’s stables were merely two miles away, and the deserted estate would offer all the privacy one wanted. Unfortunately, it would offer nothing else.
He headed down the overgrown path that skirted the village and ended back on the main road a safe distance away. As he rounded a turn, he saw smoke rising from the chimneys of the Black Bramble inn and breathed a sigh of relief. Unlike Eden Green’s Jolly Bear, the Bramble catered to travelers. On this bitter winter day, the yard was empty of carriages, as he’d hoped. Few would journey on such a day if they could help it.
Upon giving his mount into the hostler’s care, however, Varian saw the stables were not entirely empty. Two sorry-looking hacks were munching disconsolately in their stalls.
Moments later, he found their riders in the public dining room. They, too, were eating, but with greater enthusiasm.
One was a slim, dark-haired fellow who talked excitedly in between stuffing hunks of meat pie into his mouth. The other said little, only nodded now and then while he applied himself to his plate with steady determination. He was bulkier in build, and his light brown hair was not so fashionably styled as his companion’s. Though their backs were to him, Varian recognized them quickly enough.
By the time they heard him enter and looked round he’d already collected himself.
Two pairs of eyes—one brown, one dark blue—widened. Varian calmly crossed the room to them.
“If you must gape, Damon,” he said, “you might at least swallow your food first. What a rude fellow you’ve become.”
The younger of the pair, whom he’d addressed, leapt up. “I say, it is you, isn’t it? By heaven—of all that’s—but I said so, Gideon, didn’t I? Didn’t I say we’d find him?” He started to move toward Varian, then hesitated and stood, unsure, looking at him.
Gideon had risen as well, but with more dignity, first putting his utensils aside. “Sir, I am delighted to see you.” He held out his hand. “Welcome home, my lord.”
A mist obscured Varian’s vision for an instant, but he blinked it away and grasped his brother’s hand. “Well, met, Gilly.” He turned and gave his hand to Damon. “And you, too, Dervish.”
Damon’s uneasy expression brightened into a grin. “There, isn’t it just like him?” he asked Gideon. “Walks in cool as you please and tells me to mind my manners—as though he’d last seen us four hours ago, not four years. But come, you’re right. I’ve no manners. Do sit down. You look fagged to death. No, there, closer to the fire. We’ve had hours to warm up. I was all for keeping on to Mount Eden, but Gideon still keeps country hours and must have his dinner, and we couldn’t be sure to find any there, not on short notice. But now I’m glad he’s such a piece of clockwork, because we might have missed you—” He broke off. “But you’re alone. Where is she?”
While Damon had been chattering, Varian had taken off his cloak and put on his guard. He was preparing for the “she” before the question was out of Damon’s mouth. Now their hostess bustled in and curtsied herself breathless. While she regathered her wind, Varian calmly ordered his dinner. Not until she’d left the room did he return his attention to Damon. “Where is whom?”
“Oh, don’t tease, Varian. We’ve—”
“Damon refers to Lady Edenmont,” Gideon interrupted, flicking a warning glance at their youngest sibling. “At least, we were informed there exists such an entity.”
“I see,” said Varian. “Lackliffe and Sellowby made direct for London, I take it?”
“I’m told they did not even change out of traveling garb, but raced to Brooks’ club. Within two hours, the news was all over the west end. It was the talk of Almack’s that very night, and the next day I was summoned to Carlton House to satisfy His Highness’ curiosity.”
“I do beg your pardon, Gilly. My mind was taken up with other matters, else I’d have given you some warning. I’m sorry I placed you in so awkward a predicament.”
“Oh, Gideon wasn’t the least discomfited,” said Damon. “He gave one of his explanations, and by the end of it, Prinny no longer cared what day of the week it was. He sent for his physician and demanded to be bled. But you have returned, Varian, so that much of the tale is true. Not that I doubted them. It was only the rest that was so hard to take in. But you will tell us, won’t you? Have we got a sister at last, and is her hair truly red, and are her eyes as green as Lackliffe says?”
“Her eyes,” Varian said, “are quite…green.”
“I see,” said Gideon. He carefully lined up the handles of his fork and knife, then made a long, careful business of arranging his napkin.
Damon sat back in his chair, his deep blue gaze fixed on his eldest brother’s face.
“And so you set out from London in pursuit, I collect,” Varian said as the silence lengthened uncomfortably. “You thought I’d take Lady Edenmont to the ancestral…ruins.”
“I did not think so,” Gideon answered. “I only accompanied Damon out of concern that he’d otherwise wander about the kingdom for years, searching for his brother—as though you were the Holy Grail.”
Damon flushed. “We did find you, though, didn’t we? Dash it, Varian, I don’t wish to be indelicate—but where the devil is she?”
“With her grandmother.” There was a tightening in Varian’s chest, followed by a fierce shaft of pain. He stared hard at a gravy stain near Damon’s plate. “Don’t let your dinner cool on my account, gentlemen. I shall tell you all about it, once our hostess returns with the wine.”
They went with Varian to Mount Eden the next morning, despite his frigid objections. He’d thought he’d told his tale well, with just the right note of coolly detached amusement. Yet at the end, they’d both looked very grave, and he’d glimpsed something horribly like pity in Damon’s eyes.
Still, Damon was young and excessively romantic, and he’d always idolized his oldest brother—heaven only knew why. Gideon’s feelings were not so blatant. He’d always been the sober one. Quiet, occasionally priggish, but always thoughtful, calm…discreet.
Nonetheless, their feelings were plain enough to Varian. They didn’t think he could bear seeing Mount Eden without moral support, and that was unbearable: to find his brothers determined to support him in what they believed to be his hour of need…when he’d never, not once, given their needs, their problems, more than a second’s thought.
They stood at present in what had once been a sumptuous library.
Not a book remained, not so much as a tract. The walls were stripped bare, and the floors were thick with dust, debris, and mouse droppings.
It was an old house
, needing constant upkeep. Varian’s father had been conscientious in that regard—as in every other—until Varian had begun getting himself into difficulties, which soon mounted to tens of thousands in debts. Though the family was well off, their resources weren’t limitless. To rescue his heir, the late Lord Edenmont had to put off rescuing the house. After his death, Varian had abandoned the estate entirely.
What he now observed was the result of at least ten years’ neglect, all his own doing.
“There’s something to be thankful for,” Varian said as he looked up. “At least I can put a roof over my lady’s head.”
“Stewards are a selfish lot,” Gideon said. “They will insist on wages. Still, it might be worse, considering no one’s looked after the place these last years. There’s a great deal of dirt, certainly, and the paint wants to be renewed. It’s not nearly so bad as it appears, however.”
“Certainly not. All it wants is money—and a staff—and more money.” Varian moved to the fireplace. Broken bits of mortar lay within. “This chimney has its mind on tumbling, I believe.”
“It’s obliged to respect the laws of gravity.”
“You’d better tell me about the tenants,” Varian said, his eyes still upon the chimney fragments. “For your sake, I won’t visit them just yet. If I were stoned by an angry mob, you’d inherit, poor fellow, and I know you’d far rather be hanged.”
“Oh, Gideon’s lived in terror you’d get yourself killed on the Continent.” Damon was standing by the French doors, and his voice echoed across the cavernous room. “He’s so thrilled you’re shackled at last, I daresay he’ll rebuild the entire estate for you, singlehanded—and the nursery first of all.”
There was that cruel tightening again in Varian’s chest and the dart of pain.
“Excuse me,” he said.
They watched him leave, but didn’t speak or try to follow him. Varian heard no sound but his own footsteps as he left the library and climbed the stairs. He saw nothing of the stairs or hallways, thick with dirt and cobwebs. He heard nothing of the small, wild creatures scrambling in panic at the sound of human footfalls. Varian knew nothing of his surroundings until he opened the door he sought, heard it squeal painfully, and stood on its threshold, staring into the nursery.
