Page 35 of Yielding to Love

He went swimming and rowing at the lake. There was a new boathouse. That shouldn’t have made him feel melancholy. He wasn’t such an old man that he should grow moody over change. But he was moody.

He thought he was hiding his discontent, but Vanessa cornered him one afternoon while he was desultorily practicing billiards, and asked what was wrong. Not if something was wrong, but what was.

“Nothing.”

“You don’t know what to do with yourself, do you?”

He shrugged, then bent over the table. “I’m a gentleman who doesn’t drink or gamble. What else does a gentleman do?” He sent a ball careening into a corner pocket.

“I’m serious, Crispin. You went from a headlong gallop chasing Napoleon to a full stop when he was caught. That’s a difficult adjustment. Jasper is afraid, we’re all afraid, that you’ll go back to the army just for something to do and be sent God-knows-where.”

“Returning to service is only one option.”

“And gathering information?”

Good of her not to call him a spy. “Another option.” She gave him a wary look, so he said, “I’m not eager to go back. I have a conscience, Vanessa. I ignored it for so long I thought it was gone. But it’s still there. And I’d like to listen to it for a while, to see if it has anything worthwhile to say. I think it might be telling me I’ve… killed more than my quota.” He wouldn’t admit that to anyone else.

Vanessa put a hand on his arm. She started to say something, but shook her head. Then she said, “Sell your commission.”

He said only, “I might.”

He wouldn’t yet. But he finally sent a letter to Wellington, saying he that he was unable to be in France by September, and therefore, he must regretfully decline the opportunity. For several days he’d wallowed in concern that he’d made the wrong choice, before coming to terms with the fact that what was done was done. In truth, while the position intrigued him, the French food would kill him, and that was not how he wanted to die.

So, he played billiards. He played the pianoforte. He played cards. He bothered Jasper and bothered Benjamin.

Only a month, and he was heartily bored. Too often, he found himself wondering what Miss Harrington was doing. The colonel and Miss Harrington. Far too often. Even in the bosom of his beloved family, he needed better distraction.

Therefore, one morning, he packed his valise, went into the breakfast parlor, and announced to Jasper and Vanessa, “I’m going to Binnings.”

“Now?” Jasper said, eying the valise. His face wrinkled with annoyance. “Crispin—”

“I’ve put it off for too long. You’ve all been telling me the place is a ruin. It’s my inheritance. I have to see to it.”

“Yes, but you should talk to Benjamin first—”

“Benjamin is not my steward. And I am perfectly capable of assessing my own property and hiring my own workers.” He hoped he was. He’d never done so before.

Jasper grumbled. “And I imagine our grandfather thought himself capable of hiring his own architect.”

Crispin laughed. “Tell everyone I said goodbye.”

“For God’s sake, say your goodbyes yourself. They’ll all be angry at me for letting you go!”

Crispin walked out of the room, waving his hand over his shoulder. He should have sneaked out before dawn.

*

The lakeside cottage needed a top-to-bottom cleaning. Crispin thought the structure was sound. He hoped so. A few windowpanes were cracked. Some of the woodwork was rotten. The drapery and rugs smelled of mold. Crispin wandered throughout the house and swam through a river of memories.

The family had gathered here for weeks at a time in the summer. Halcyon days. Here, the children had been allowed to run free and misbehave. Crispin and Jasper thrashed one another regularly, just for the fun of it. They didn’t fight with Reg. He was too little. It wouldn’t have been sporting. Instead, they taunted the hell out of him, until Reg almost drowned them by drilling holes in their fishing boat. Mother was furious. Father laughed himself sick. Both parents thought Reg was too young and innocent to understand what he’d done, but Jasper and Crispin knew he’d been calculating. Thereafter, they’d accorded him the respect he deserved.

There had been berries to gather, picnics to go on, dogs to train, arrows to shoot, tents to set up and sleep in. Olivia toddled after them, frighteningly determined to do everything they did.

Even in their college years, they’d come to the lake house to throw off their cares. They’d brought Benjamin with them after befriending him at Oxford. Seeing it through Benjamin’s grateful eyes had made Crispin appreciate what they had all the more.

Everyone seemed to know that he had claimed the cottage as “his.” He believed it meant more to him than it did to anyone else. Perhaps because he had never fallen sick there. Never once.

He received the deed to the house on his twenty-first birthday. Then furiously sold it for less than its worth before his twenty-second. He’d had to buy his own commission after Father refused to do so. Upon his father’s death, he’d learned that the house had been repurchased and deeded to him again. He’d felt gratitude, comfort, and an overwhelming sense of loss. His father had understood him in a way he had not even understood himself.