Page 32 of Yielding to Love

Chapter Twelve

Iversley Village was the earl’s seat in Northamptonshire, a seven-hour journey from London. The family estate, Chaumbers, comprised the Taverston ancestral home and several hundred acres of grounds adjacent to the village. As Mercury loped up the long, beech-tree-lined drive, Crispin felt a slow unwinding of tension. Chaumbers might belong solely to Jasper, the earl, but Crispin knew he would never be unwelcome. It might not be home, but it would always be a haven.

Even so, it was no stately country house. All agreed it appeared to have been dreamed up by a madman or a drunkard. In fact, the blame belonged to Crispin’s grandfather and an erstwhile artist friend with ambition to be an architect. It was the first residence the man had ever designed, and Grandfather’s interference in the planning might have ensured that the poor fellow was never tasked with another. Built to restore an older house after a fire, Chaumbers’ four wings were neither symmetrical nor balanced in their proportions. Windows of different sizes appeared haphazardly slapped over the front. Crispin grinned as it came into view.

At least it was unique.

He took Mercury to the stables, where George, the head groom, greeted him—Mercury, not Crispin—as an old friend. A clean, dry stall awaited him. The horse seemed as pleased to be back as Crispin was.

He spoke with George while watching him rub Mercury down, and learned that the earl and countess were in residence, and Mr. and Mrs. Carroll were at the steward’s cottage, but Mr. and Mrs. Taverston and the Dowager had not yet arrived. He chuckled to think of Olivia as “Mrs. Carroll” and Georgiana as “Mrs. Taverston.” No doubt they were both queens in their own domains.

Someone must have run up to the house to alert Jasper, because he appeared while Crispin was talking to George about horses, primarily wondering at what age thoroughbreds started losing stamina and speed. And if it might not be a good idea to breed Mercury before he did.

“You are here. Good.” Jasper stuck out his hand, and Crispin shook it. No demonstrative affection in front of the stable hands.

“Did you think I wouldn’t come?”

“I laid no wagers one way or the other. Come on up to the house. Vanessa will be thrilled.”

They left the stables and walked the path to the house. The clean scent of grass and wildflowers flushed the stink of London from his nose, and everywhere he looked, he saw lush, thriving greenery.

“How long will you give us this time?” Jasper asked.

A flicker of stress rekindled between Crispin’s shoulder blades. He tried shrugging it away. “Not long enough for you to grow tired of me.”

Jasper didn’t smile. “We thought to have you a while in London. God, Crispin. Whatever compelled you to cart your old commander off like that?”

“The man can’t walk. His sister needed help getting him home.”

“But then you stayed with them all this time?”

“Not the whole time. Only until they were able to hire an attendant. Ha! Jasp, you won’t believe who. Adam. Adam, my old ‘valet.’ He’d been working at Chelsea Hospital.”

Jasper sniffed. “So you had a reunion with the old spy and your old commander.”

“A short one.” That was defensiveness speaking. He’d stayed with the Harringtons far too long. He took off his hat and pushed back sweaty hair, then donned it again. “He was my first superior officer, Jasp. He taught me a great deal. I owed him.”

He wouldn’t mention that the sister was young, pretty, and clever. She sang country ditties in an extraordinary contralto. And she wrote poetry. Jasper would laugh and tell him to turn around and go back. Crispin didn’t want to make Miss Harrington an object of fun.

He didn’t want to say that she was half the reason he’d stayed so long in Tonbridge. And half the reason he’d left.

Jasper said, “All well and good.” They mounted the front steps. The porter opened the door before Jasper knocked. “But please don’t run off again.”

Vanessa rushed into the entrance hall. “Crispin! Oh, how wonderful! We’ll send word to the cottage. Olivia will be so pleased.”

He hugged his sister-in-law. Then Jasper grasped him by the elbow.

“Come up to my study. While I have you alone.”

Crispin knew he could not avoid this forever. Jasper was using his “earl voice.” So he snickered and said, “Yes, my lord.”

The study looked comfortably official, no different than it had in Father’s day, except for Jasper’s new brown leather chair, a nod to Reg’s uncharacteristic burst of sentiment. Reg had not liked seeing Jasper in Father’s seat. Crispin dropped onto a couch facing the desk, laced his fingers together, and said, “You may ask, but I have no answers.”

“How do you know when I haven’t asked?” Irritation slipped into Jasper’s tone. He was generally an even keeled man, but Crispin knew how to needle him.

“You want to know what my plans are. I can’t tell you because I don’t know.”

“What are you thinking, then? You must be thinking something. You always are.” Jasper moved to a wall cabinet and pulled out a bottle of brandy. He waggled it at Crispen. “Yes? Or no?”