Page 93 of Counting on Love

Reginald went about in a haze of grief. He supported his mother and his siblings with whatever they needed, but he was unable to think. He did not look at the Greek manuscript. He didn’t touch the account books. In fact, he avoided the library altogether. He didn’t want to think. Or feel. He needed to be numb for a good long time until the pain could be dealt with.

Jasper disappeared into the role of Earl. He had no choice; Reginald understood that. There were things that had to be done. He also understood that Jasper used busyness as a distraction the way Reginald was using inertia.

Crispin chose the opposite path, attacking grief and disappointment headlong as though throwing his battalion into the breach. Before Father was even cold, Crispin had spoken to Mother about Tibury. It wasn’t how Reginald would have done it or Jasper, but Crispin did not procrastinate.

Crispin told them afterward that she was aware. She did not want to discuss it but seemed relieved that they knew about their brother since it was a secret that was bound to come out. And it was, after all, none of the poor boy’s fault. She gave him permission to tell Olivia, after the funeral, because it would not be fair for her to be the only one who did not know.

The day after Father died, Crispin rode to Ipswich. When he returned, he repeated that their brother, Giles Tibury, was a good man. Giles would not come to the funeral out of consideration for Lady Iversley. Nor would he attend the reading of the will. But he would pay a call in a month or so. He said he did not expect them to open their arms to him, and, in fact, he did not wish to be openly acknowledged as he had a father, who, though long deceased, he had no wish to disavow. Nor did he wish to be known as the old earl’s by-blow. Even so, he would like to know his brothers and sister.

Crispin, Jasper, and Reginald discussed this once, and then they did not discuss it again.

The reading of the will took place on the last day of the year, a fact that felt as if it should hold some significance, but of course, did not. It was solemn and sad. There were only two surprises. A month ago, Reginald would have been shocked if there had been any. Now, he was relieved there were only two.

The first was that the will included no mention of the livings. Father had not had the chance to make the change. Reginald thought it fortunate that Jasper had been in the room during Tibury’s visit, or it would appear that the lords of Iversley had simply discounted the Earl’s wishes.

The second surprise was that Father had repurchased the family’s lakeside cottage in Binnings and restored it to Crispin’s inheritance. This was an unentailed property where the family had spent many summer months swimming, fishing, hunting, and picnicking. It had been deeded to Crispin upon his majority just as the great-aunts’ townhouse in Bath had been deeded to Reginald upon his.

When Crispin had announced he would join the army, Father had said no. Crispin’s health was far too tenuous. He refused to purchase a commission for him. The ensuing argument had seemed to Reginald to be cataclysmic. Crispin left home. After three days, word came from Father’s banker that Crispin had sold the Binnings cottage and bought his own commission. Crispin returned to Chaumbers to pack his bags and politely take his leave. He never spoke of the argument; he went off to war as though it never happened.

Yet Father had repurchased the cottage and re-deeded it to Crispin. Apparently, Father was the one with regrets.

After the reading of the will, the brothers gathered in the Earl’s study. Reginald had another surprise.

“That chair is new.” The design was similar, but it was brown rather than black and the arms squarish rather than round.

Jasper shrugged. “I ordered it when you asked me to. It took a while to arrive from London. The old one is in the library. Haven’t you noticed?”

“I haven’t been in the library.”

Jasper narrowed his eyes, then shrugged again. “Crispin? Did you know about Binnings?”

“No.” Crispin coughed as if to clear his throat. “No, Father never said anything to me. Perhaps he was afraid I would refuse it. Which, if you are wondering, Jasp, I most certainly won’t.”

They were quiet for a moment. Then Jasper poured two glasses of sherry and handed one to Reginald.

“The deuce,” Crispin said. “One glass won’t kill me. Pour another. I’ll drink to the Earl.”

They stood, glasses raised, and drank to their father. Then Crispin set his glass down.

“I have to get back to my regiment. I’ve already extended my leave once and my lieutenant colonel wants to lay eyes on Adam to ensure I haven’t misplaced him.”

“Haven’t what? Misplaced your valet?” Jasper looked blank.

“Yes, I’m in charge of him. Didn’t I explain? I thought I did.”

Reginald knew Crispin thought no such thing. “What have you been hiding from us?”

“Not from you. From Mother.” Crispin grinned, then rolled his eyes at their irritated expressions. “Oh, come now. Alice guessed. Surely you did, too.”

Neither Reginald nor Jasper spoke. They refused to be baited.

“He’s on parole. Idiotic, really. He is no more Boney’s man than I am. But we caught him in a hovel tending to wounded crapauds. If I hadn’t taken charge of him, they were going to shoot him for a spy.”

Jasper muttered, “Here I thought your secret was that you’d finally, finally, hired yourself a personal physician.”

“No.” Crispin’s grin turned to a grimace. “I don’t need a physician.”

“Adam fits the bill, though,” Reginald pointed out. He’d been thinking pretty much the same, but of course, one could not put the question to Crispin.