Regardless . . . “How can I be here, and she be mere miles away? It isn’t right. I know you think me ridiculous, and perhaps you’re correct. But I love her.”
“Did you tell her that?” Simon asked.
“Good heavens, no. I can’t do that.”
“Mm,” Archie agreed.
“I’m sorry if we are acting like scandalized old biddies,” Simon said seriously. “You know we only want you to be happy. We just . . . don’t want you to ruin Miss Evans in the pursuit of said happiness. You have said how much you admire her work, and her desire to become a woman of independent means. I think you ought to take care not to jeopardize that.”
Right. Simon was right.
“Still, youshouldsee her again before she leaves,” Archie said firmly. “We will think of something.”
Effie told himself to be satisfied with that answer. He would have to be. It wasn’t as if he could gallop off to the Old Ship under cover of night to demand an audience.
With a sigh, he served himself some creamed potatoes.
The rest of the evening was not unenjoyable. They ate, they retired to the drawing room they’d occupied last night, they drank and chatted. When Simon started making noises about retiring, Effie yawned and said, “I think I shall do the same.”
“Pardon?” Archie asked. “Why?”
“Leander has been alone all day. And I am tired.”
“Really?” That was from Simon, who looked as bewildered as Archie. “You are tired at”—he pulled out his timepiece—“half eleven?”
“Yes, really.” Effiewastired, though he knew he would not sleep. Still, this day had worn out its welcome. He wanted to go to bed and stare at the ceiling and think about how to describe the way roses smelled. “Is that so unusual?”
“Yes,” the boys said in unison.
He supposed that was fair. Generally, on these trips, he and Archie stayed up late. He gathered that Archie got up early and breakfasted with Simon. Goodness knew when Archie ever slept, but that was Archie. Who needed sleep when one had friends in want of company?
So, yes, it was unusual for Effie to be tired this early. Perhaps he should tell them. This was an Earls Trip, after all. The time of the year when secrets came out. And this year was apparently his turn.
“I am tired because I haven’t been sleeping,” he said carefully, trying to think how to broach a matter he didn’t fully understand himself.
“What do you mean?” Archie asked. “You haven’t been sleeping at all?”
“Not much. I sometimes attain a few hours toward dawn.”
“You were always a night owl,” Archie said.
“Indeed, but he also always lay abed until noon or later,” Simon said. “Are you lying in as you usually do?”
“No. If I can manage a few hours of sleep, I consider myself lucky. But then I’m wide awake again. I’ve taken to stalking the city before the sun comes up, like some kind of madman.”
“What do you think has changed to prompt these difficulties?” Archie asked.
“I am plagued by nightmares,” Effie said. “I think some part of me resists sleep for that reason.”
“You have often had stretches where you’ve battled nightmares, have you not?” Simon asked.
“Yes, but these are different.”
“How so?”
“I have begun to . . . remember things.” Was he really going to tell them about this?
“What things?”
