Page 29 of Counting on Love

“The Earl has been stripped of the last vestiges of his authority. This is the only thing left that he can control. He doesn’t want to be cosseted and lied to. He wants to prepare himself. And to let us know that he is prepared.”

Jasper still looked mutinous. “Then why not tell that to Reg, who has been reading Bible passages to him for a fortnight?”

“Yes, well, Reg is a little heathen, isn’t he, really? Father isn’t going to meet Zeus.”

He started juggling again, then challenged Jasper to a game. Reginald was not in the mood to watch one of their bouts. They generally ended up throwing the balls at each other’s heads and he’d been caught one too many times in the crossfire. He left to find something to eat, then returned to his bedchamber and his manuscript until it was his turn to sit with Father. Thankfully, Father slept the whole time.

The family, except for the Earl, all came together for dinner, once Mother determined that dinner would finally have to be served without the anticipated guests. They arranged themselves back in their regular places: Mother to the right, then Crispin, Jasper to the left, then Olivia, then Reginald—with no one to his left or across from him, he felt he was hanging off the family’s tail. Father’s chair at the end of the table remained unoccupied. His absence had been heavily sensed the whole time, but it was ten times worse with Crispin home. Perhaps it felt more glaring to have the entire family gathered without him. Or perhaps it was the fact that they were all gathered because he was not able to be there. It made his absence seem final.

Mother asked Reginald to say grace, which he did. She always asked him, and he was generally able to say a decent prayer without giving it overmuch thought. This time he hesitated over the words. Crispin’s heathen comment had stayed with him. There was too much truth in it for it not to.

Mother directed the opening conversation to Olivia, who looked a little livelier today.

“Where did you go?”

“Oh, all the old places.” She beamed at Crispin. “We rode out to the lake and halfway around. Then visited the Crofts.”

“She played with the puppies,” Crispin said. “We may end up with another dog. Ugly things those pugs.”

Olivia made a face at him.

So Crispin had taken her riding, even though he’d likely spent most of the last several days in the saddle and could have used a respite. Yet he had seen at once what needed doing. Whereas Jasper and Reginald, wrapped in their own concerns, had not bothered—had not even thought to bother.

Olivia chatted happily about the puppies and the fact that she had beaten Crispin in a race.

Crispin merely shrugged. “I was overconfident after having so convincingly trounced Jasper at billiards.”

Mother said, “I’m sure that Lady Georgiana and Miss Fogbotham both ride. If the weather remains fine, you will have to arrange an outing, Jasper. And Olivia, you may take them shopping in the village. It’s not London, I know, but there are a few charming shops. And I suppose the church can be visited. Mr. Brindle enjoys showing off the windows.”

Crispin yawned. “Oh. I beg your pardon, Mother.”

Mother slanted a suspicious look at him, then continued as if he had not interrupted. “I thought perhaps a tea. Not immediately, of course, but in a few days. We’ll invite the Brindles and Sir Crawley and his wife. Do you think, Jasper, that Mr. Leighton could be persuaded to come?”

“Robert? To a tea?”

“Don’t give me that look. I’m sure he drinks tea. And he may well do for Miss Fogbotham. She’s a pretty girl with good breeding, but can’t hope to look very high.”

“Yes, well, Robert’s a fine chap, but can’t string three words together in a room containing females. He would show very poorly at a tea.”

“A hunt then. Surely you can manage to bring a few local gentlemen to Chaumbers one morning.”

“Yes, do!” Olivia said, her enthusiasm making it all too plain how neglected she had been. “And have the archery targets set up, Jasper.”

“That would do very well for you,” Crispin laughed. “But what about Lady Georgiana?” He pinned Jasper with his gaze. “What does she enjoy?”

Jasper returned his look. “All the usual things, I’m sure.”

“We will discover her particular favorites,” Mother put in smoothly. “I understand she plays the piano and sings exceedingly well. We’ll have music one night. Quiet music. Reginald, perhaps you and she might give us a duet. Jasper’s voice would send her running back to London.”

The boys all laughed at that, mainly because Mother was not joking. The conversation shifted to other things: the villagers, unimportant news from London, if the weather would hold. The modiste Mother had requested to come to Chaumbers for Olivia had sent her regrets; the local seamstress would have to do. Reginald listened with half an ear, his mind straying to a sticky point in his translation. His eyes drifted across the table to Crispin’s plate.

What now?

Crispin had not taken wine with dinner. He never drank, had not done so since his Oxford days. He had also waved off the bread. Had he eaten the soup? Reginald hadn’t noticed. As their guests had not arrived, it was not an elaborate dinner. Mother dispensed with the fish course altogether and had the servants just bring the meat. But it appeared Crispin had cordoned off his beef and gravy and was eating nothing but peas and potatoes. Reginald hoped their mother would refrain from commenting, though she must have noticed. He was intrigued.

Jasper filled them all in on gossip he had collected over the past couple of days, visiting the villagers. The names were familiar, and Reginald did have fond connections with a few families, but—and this was another reason why he should not be a vicar—he was content to hear about their doings from afar.

The servants cleared their plates and brought out trays of biscuits, cheese, and sliced fruit. Crispin took only fruit. Mother’s forbearance gave way.