Page 33 of Yielding to Love

“No.” He waited while Jasper poured a drink for himself. He supposed there was no harm in telling Jasper some of it. And thereby spare himself a grilling. “I thought I might stay on half pay and live an idle life in London.”

“Would you?” Jasper’s lips bunched skeptically, but his eyes looked more hopeful than doubtful. He sat down. “Not be idle. I don’t believe that, but to stay in London?”

“I went to Albany on Piccadilly to see about leasing a set, but they had nothing available. So that ruled out London.”

“There are other apartments.” He spoke very carefully. “Or you could keep your rooms—”

“I won’t live in your home, Jasper. Would you live in mine?”

He frowned. “Well, but why does it have to be Albany?”

Crispin feigned a disbelieving huff. “It is the toniest building for bachelor gentlemen in all of London. It is where Lord Byron lives!”

“Which does nothing to recommend it. What about your cottage in Binnings? I thought you’d be heading there.”

“I did, too, but I was distracted by my mission of mercy. I will probably go there from here.” He drummed his fingers on his knees, a nervous tic he sometimes forgot to suppress.

Jasper narrowed his eyes at Crispin’s knees, then raised his gaze to peer into his face. “What is the alternative? If you don’t go to Binnings?”

He sighed. He was divulging more than he wished. And yet, he wasn’t likely saying anything Jasper could not have guessed for himself. “I could go back on full pay and see where they send me.”

Jasper leaned forward, forearms on his desk. “Obviously, I would prefer that you don’t.”

“Or”—he drew a deep breath—“I could take the position Wellington wishes me to take. Attaché at the embassy in Paris.” There. He’d confided all. He braced for a storm of unwanted advice.

“Which would mean what? Errand boy? Courier? Advisor?” Jasper’s brow darkened. “Or spy? I thought you’d be finished with—”

“I was never a spy, Jasper. I was a soldier. Sometimes I gathered information.”

“Will you be ‘gathering information’ in Paris?”

Crispin shrugged. “My French is good. And I am an aristocrat. I’d be well-positioned to circulate in the restored Bourbon court.” Jasper looked more and more disturbed. “Jasp, I would just be listening to gossip.”

Until the War Office needed something foul to be done.

“France is still volatile. And you’ll recall aristocrats in the previous Bourbon court lost their heads.”

“I’m an Englishman. I’ll be safe enough.” He grimaced involuntarily. “From everything but the food.” He shook his head. “France is my last choice. In fact, I intended to speak with Wellington to decline, but I couldn’t get an interview. He is trotted from one celebration to the next.” Crispin stood. Sharing confidences agitated him, but having started, he couldn’t stop. He paced a few steps. “I left my calling card, and he sent a letter two days later telling me to be at the embassy in Paris on September fifteenth.”

“The deuce.” Jasper harrumphed. “I don’t suppose you could decline in a letter?”

“Bad form.” Crispin grinned ruefully, though he didn’t feel like grinning. He still felt thwarted by Wellington’s elusiveness. “I almost did write a refusal, but then had second thoughts. It is the most interesting option.” He wiggled his eyebrows, attempting to lighten the mood. “French women are said to be beautiful and licentious.”

The study door flew open, and Olivia came running in. “Crispin! You’re here! We had such a wonderful honeymoon in Binnings. Oh, but your cottage is a disaster. Benjamin kept finding things he wanted to fix, but I reminded him how annoyed you were when Jasper had the new stove installed. You have to come see our cottage. It’s done up beautifully. You brought Mercury back, didn’t you? Can I ride him? You do know he should be mine.” She paused to catch her breath.

“Livvy, you staid old matron! Marriage has wrought wonders. I almost didn’t know it was you.”

Her eyes widened. Then she punched his shoulder and laughed. “Vanessa said to come fetch you both for supper. What does ‘licentious’ mean?”

*

Crispin picked at the supper offerings, finding little he dared eat. It wasn’t Vanessa’s fault, or Cook’s. They hadn’t known to expect him. Fortunately, the lively conversation distracted him from his hunger.

Olivia was full of news about the estate’s tenants. Vanessa talked about how well the bootmakers were doing. Jasper talked politics. Words swirled around the table, along with a good deal of laughter. Crispin was grateful to Jasper for not bringing up their earlier discussion. Then he realized the whole table was carefully avoiding asking him about his plans. Maybe they were afraid of chasing him away.

After supper, Benjamin and Olivia said they had to return to their cottage. Hannah, their adopted sprite, would not go to sleep without a kiss goodnight. Crispin, Jasper, and Vanessa adjourned to the parlor. The windows were open to let in a breeze. Jasper sat in a green upholstered armchair whose arms were unevenly worn, right more than left, from the way that Father had always leaned. Crispin joined Vanessa on a floral-print couch. It should have been cozy, but the atmosphere felt strained.

“So, when do you expect the rest of the Taverstons?” Crispin asked.