Page 59 of Counting on Love

“Ha!” Crispin seemed almost amused. “People don’t sneer at us.” He turned to Reginald. “Do they?”

Reginald could not joke. He felt too sick. And too relieved. There should be a wider range of human emotion. It should not be that being scorned by his father in favor of a stranger would feel exactly the same as being dropped by his mistress for Plodgett.

“Well, this man sneered.” Jasper downed his glass and poured another. “Though, to be fair, seeing the Earl affected him. I doubt he expected to find him so ill.”

“He knew Father?” Crispin asked.

“Seemed to.”

“And Father knew him?”

“If he did, he pretended not to. Not by sight. The thing is, I don’t think he was overjoyed that Mother and I accompanied Tibury. But honestly, he needed one of us to translate. He’s getting harder to understand.” He breathed out sharply. “In a nutshell, someone wrote to Father on Tibury’s behalf. He’s an excellent curate and so they put forward his name for Mr. Codworthy’s eventual replacement. Father read his references and, well, there it is. He told this Tibury fellow that he would add a codicil to his will that the livings would go to him.” Jasper’s voice rose, then fell. “I’m sorry, Reg. I’m not going to ignore his wishes…that is, unless you…”

Reginald shook his head.

“Damn it, Reg. Say something!”

“There are—” Reginald had to clear a rasp from his throat. “There are four livings. And there are many, many, worthy, educated men who would be grateful for even one. I had no expectation of hoarding all four.”

“But Tibury didn’t even appear grateful! He said, stiffly as you please, that he was not in any position to refuse!”

“Framingham is the best of the four,” Crispin said, so gently it embarrassed Reginald. It embarrassed him even more because he didn’t want Framingham or any of them, but to say so would only make him sound petulant. And hurt. And damn it all, he was hurt.

“I don’t understand why Father didn’t say something to me first,” Jasper grumbled. “He just—I’ve been beating my head against the wall, sorting out the mess everything has fallen into the past eighteen months, and he just goes and does this. Reg, if I had known—”

“It isn’t a tragedy.”

“Nor a mystery,” Crispin said. “Father hasn’t any muscles left to flex. Handing out a living…” He shrugged. “It was something he could still do. Don’t begrudge him that.”

“I don’t,” Reginald said.

“I wasn’t talking to you.”

“I don’t either!” Jasper’s voice rose again. “You think I begrudge him his last few breaths? The hell—the both of you! The hell with you! That damn chair! Do you think I want this? Any of this? Any of it? Do you think I enjoyed tossing Vanessa aside like…like… Tearing each other apart by correspondence?”

“Shut up!” Crispin said, springing to his feet, catlike, over the back of the davenport and putting his hand to the door. He closed it softly. Then turned and said low-voiced, “They’re coming. Jasper, get hold of yourself.”

Jasper drew a long, shaky breath. Then he tossed down the rest of his sherry and poured yet another but set it down. He ran a hand through his hair. Then he nodded.

Crispin opened the door. He swooped an elaborate bow. “Ladies, welcome.”

If Reginald envied his brothers anything it was this. How easily they could project ease. They might have been sparring over billiards. Meanwhile, he still felt jellied inside.

And the ladies entered, Georgiana, vibrant as a thunderclap, striking Reginald like a blow to the chest. No, he didn’t envy Jasper anything but her. She was so, so beautiful. And she was the same woman who had almost tearfully begged him not to let anyone know she was intelligent. No, not intelligent. Brilliant. Was she supposed to hide that? For the rest of her life, was she supposed to hide herself?

He shuddered. Just as he was going to end up with the Framingham living, with a few dusty Greek texts on his shelf that he never looked at anymore, pretending to be a man of God. Avoiding his brother and his brother’s countess. Hiding from this. From her. He looked up.

Jasper had gone to the door to draw in the ladies.

And Crispin, Crispin had already welcomed them. Now, to Reginald’s dismay, Crispin was looking closely at him.

*

At dinner, no one discussed the strange visitor. Georgiana found it maddening. Of course, it was none of her business, but at least Lady Iversley or Jasper might have laughed and said: What an odd little man. Ignoring him and his visit gave it more consequence rather than less.

Like Crispin’s plate.

The soup course was pea with a good deal of salt but no meat. Crispin consumed a large bowlful. Then came the fish. Bream. It was very good with a heavy, peppery cream sauce. Crispin’s was served plain. And then there was boiled beef and carrots. For everyone except Crispin. Who had a bowl of thick gruel comprising, it appeared, oats and dried fruit, as though he were a horse.