Archie said, “Yes, sir, the three of us have developed a bit of an annual tradition—a fortnight of holiday in September.”
Never mind that this was the ninth annual Earls Trip and Father had just now noticed.
Father’s eyes traveled down to Effie’s feet and back up to his face. “What on earth are you wearing, boy?”
Boy. Effie winced. He was eight-and-twenty. He was not a boy. He felt the word as the prick it was meant to be, theyat its end a sharp pin sliding into his guts. But to complain, to react at all, would only prove him deserving of the moniker. It was a paradox he often found himself in with Father.
Chartreuse skies, he reminded himself.Chartreuse skies.
The answer to Father’s question was that he was wearing a dismayingly unremarkable pair of buff pantaloons, a perfectly acceptable black coat, and a wildly ridiculous waistcoat of pink and violet striped sarsenet. But Father had eyes, so the boy said nothing.
“I’ve brought Mr. Nancarrow to Town,” Father said after several beats of silence, perhaps after not getting the reaction he’d wanted, though Effie would allow for the possibility that he was overestimating how much thought his father expended for him.
“Yes,” Effie said, becausehehad eyes. He did rather wonder what business the steward of the family’s Cornish estate had in London, but as long as some of that business involved the relocation of a printing press, Effie didn’t see that it was any concern of his. Father had made it quite clear matters to do with the estate, with the title, generally weren’t.
“Thought I’d acquaint him with the goings-on here in Town,” Father said.
“I thought you were in Italy,” Effie said.
“Just long enough to see your mother and Sarah settled.”
“I see. Well, we must be going,” Effie said quickly, but he immediately regretted the almost desperate tone that had crept into his voice. He didn’t like this feeling that he was slinking away. He didn’t know what to do about it, though, other than to follow his instinct to pull Leander’s cage out from behind his back. It was incredible that Father hadn’t noticed Leander to begin with.
“Go!” Leander screeched, attaining a heretofore unheard-of pitch, and Effie didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. At least he was no longer hiding.
“I hope I may count on your support for a gaols act next session,” Simon said to Father, as if therewasn’tan overlarge blue macaw screaming at them.
“I’ll consider it,” Father said tightly.
He would not consider it. Effie could tell from his tone.
One compensation for when Effie inherited the earldom was that he would vote however Simon told him to.
They made their goodbyes, Father wondering aloud where Mr. Nancarrow had gotten to. Effie led the way down the front steps, all but threw his valise at the waiting footman, and flung himself and his bird into Archie’s coach.
The boys joined him, and they all sat in silence for a moment until Simon said, “That was very . . .”
“Painful?” Effie supplied. “Uncomfortable? Anxious-making? Odd?”
“I haven’t seen your father for a long time” was Simon’s only answer.
“Nor have I,” Effie said. He turned to Archie. “Change of plans. The printing press is—one hopes—making its way to your house. Ought we to detour there and warn the countess?”
“Will she be told it’s from you?”
“Yes.”
“Then we needn’t bother. Clementine will take it in stride.”
Effie, too, had thought Archie’s wife would be unfussed by the arrival of a broken printing press to her fine London townhome. It was part of what made her such an excellent person. “Is your wife’s sister staying with her at the moment?”
“No. Olive and Sir Albert are at Hill House,” Archie said, naming his wife’s family’s country house.
Good. With any luck, Effie’s secret was safe. Though it wasn’t luck, was it? It was Mr. Nancarrow. Which was rather remarkable given that Effie’s secret was several hundred pounds of iron and wood. Effie allowed himself a degree of relaxation. It would take a while before he could unbend fully. But respite was coming. That was the beauty of an Earls Trip.
“Let usgo,” he said. “Let us gonow.”
“Go!” Leander agreed.
