Page 48 of Counting on Love

“Tell him…” His good hand balled into a fist on his lap.

“Tell him what?”

“Give up Vanessa.” He scowled, wheezing. “Give her up.”

Reginald flushed. Father knew about Jasper’s mistress? Obviously, he did. But that was something sons did not discuss with fathers. At least, not this son. Good Lord. He hoped Father didn’t know about Annie.

“I’m not telling Jasper what to do. For one thing, he doesn’t listen to me, and for another—”

“He listens.” Father’s chest rose and fell. “To you. Tell him.”

“I’m sure Crispin already has.” Reginald could not imagine why their father was making an issue of this. “And Jasper will say it’s none of my concern.” Nor was it any of Father’s. But the man looked so sorrowful, Reginald said, “Vanessa never struck me as a woman who would remain a married man’s lover. If Jasper doesn’t set her aside, I suspect she’ll drop him.”

He braced for the name “Plodgett” to come from his father’s lips, but the words that did emerge were even more of a shock.

“Should’ve married her.”

“Vanessa?”

When his father nodded, Reginald did also, but warily. He wouldn’t expect the Earl to champion the cause of a girl who’d followed the drum. Besides, it was too little too late. She was a fallen woman in the eyes of the ton.

His father rubbed his good eye, then dropped his chin to his chest.

“I’ve good boys,” he mumbled. “All of them. Good boys.”

“Thank you?”

His father did not respond to the jest. “Where’s Nurse?” He coughed. “I want…lay down.” He shifted restlessly. Contorting his face, he coughed again.

Feeling panicked, Reginald stood and put his hand on his father’s shoulder. “I’ll send for her. Try to be still. She’ll be back in a moment.” He straightened his father’s blanket awkwardly and repeated, “Be still.”

Then he walked quickly out of the chamber, told Father’s valet to go in, and sent the footman for the nurse. Alone, he leaned against the wall and wiped his smarting eyes.

What kind of clergyman ran from a sickroom? He’d been about as useful as a cow in there. He pulled away from the wall, giving it a backhanded punch with his fist. Oh, Father! Damn it all.

He should have gone to the library. Buried himself there with inanimate things. Things that would never die. Things he could not disappoint.

*

Georgiana replaced the Analytical Calculation carefully back in the exact spot where she had found it. She’d read three pages and was confident of her understanding of only one paragraph at most. Still, she refused to be discouraged. Naturally, it would take multiple readings. And a lot of careful thought. It would likely take years for her to grasp the whole of it. Perhaps the rest of her life. That thrilled her a little. She felt awake for the first time in a long while.

If Mr. Taverston dared pack up his books, she would have to find a way to steal that one.

Thank goodness he was not there. Georgiana had called out to be sure when she first entered the room and had received no answer. Now she glanced at the curtain, remembering again her shock when he had appeared there before.

What had he been doing so silently? Was this where he worked? What on earth did he do?

She looked back at the door, which she had left ajar. Then hesitantly, guiltily, she crept toward the curtain and pulled it back a few inches. That was his desk. A ledger rested on it with a few scattered papers nearby. There were numbers and notes on them, written in a bold hand, but most of the figures had slashes through them. Nothing was there that made any sense. And she had no business looking at it anyway. There was also a leather case closed with a clasp which looked as though it might contain something more substantial. She wouldn’t touch it, of course. She couldn’t explain why she wanted to. Her curiosity about it was a mystery. She was not generally a nosy-body, especially not enough to go rifling through a man’s papers.

What had Crispin said to ask him? What was he sitting upon? She pulled the curtain back a little farther. A stool was set partially under the desk. But what an odd stool. The legs looked to be of uneven lengths and the bottoms were roughly sawed. The seat had been painted to resemble a chessboard.

“Lady Georgiana?”

Heavens! She whirled around. “Oh! Mr. Taverston, you frightened me.”

“Again? Then I apologize once more.” He appeared more concerned than angry as he waved a hand toward his desk. “May I ask?”

Heat rose to her cheeks. “It is I who should apologize to you.” This was not something she could explain. Not readily. She stalled. “Lieutenant Taverston said I might find you here.”