Page 81 of A Figure of Love

Gareth would have to tread carefully—yet another thing he was not good at—if he was to keep his friend out of this. “You are not a sculptor, nor am I. It seems, however, this is rather singular marble she has been waiting for. She’s gone to Dover to try and sort out the problem, but they are proving. . . resistant. I will need to go and assist her.”

“And what can you do?”

“They want to see the original paperwork. You know how these excisemen have become. Recall that trouble we had with the part we needed for the mill in Manchester?”

“But that was during the War—and from America.”

Gareth tucked away the letter and shrugged. “What can I say, Declan, they will not release the marble until they have seen the documents.” He turned toward the desk and began assembling his books and papers.

“I’ll go with you.”

Gareth grimaced at the desk. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Why not? Or don’t you want me to come?”

He let out a slow breath before turning, his mind scrabbling for a convenient, convincing lie. Lying was yet another of his weak points.

So, he thought of the truth, and turned. “I hate to ask you, Dec—”

Declan’s forehead wrinkled. “Hate to ask me what?”

“I wouldn’t ask you, if I didn’t think it necessary. But with Mrs. Lombard gone, there is nobody to supervise the thirty-odd men working on the grounds. Do you suppose you might stay for a few days—just until I return?”

“You want me to supervise your garden project?”

Gareth knew he would do it—wanted to do it—by the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. It was always what gave Declan away at the card table when he had a good hand.

“It would only be for a few days.”

Dec nodded slowly, chewing his lip as if considering the matter. “I’ll admit I’ve begun to chafe at lying about all day.” He glanced up and smiled, looking more like himself than he had since Gareth had arrived. He rubbed his stomach. “I’ll also admit I’ve been missing your cook’s excellent meals and too-tempting cream cakes.”

Gareth forced himself to smile and act normally, even though inside he felt like he was crumbling.

∞∞∞

The Dover road was as execrable as Gareth remembered. Even his traveling chaise, a conveyance of unparalleled quality and design, could not protect his body from the tossing and jolting.

He’d considered taking his curricle, which was lighter and faster, but he would not want to convey Mrs. Lombard back in that vehicle.

They’d stopped for new horses in Canterbury even though he’d changed once already in Sittingbourne and the distance between the two towns was not more than fifty miles. But Gareth was determined to make up for lost time and fresh horses were the best way to do that.

Hours alone in his carriage gave him far to much time to think.

Getting Declan to Rushton Park had been simple enough—his friend had had enough of Biddenden. But making arrangements for Dover without tipping Declan to what was really going on had taken its toll on Gareth. If Dec had guessed what Gareth was really going to do, he’d have insisted on coming with him.

The strain of lying to a man who was not only his best friend, but adept at lying himself—and usually quite good about scenting out liars—was offset by the knowledge that Declan would remain at Rushton Park and keep Oliver safe.

Gareth had been stunned by the joy—yes, there was no other word for it—he’d felt at seeing the boy again. And when Oliver had hurled himself at his legs and hugged him, he’d not minded the personal invasion. In fact, he’d discovered his hand patting the boy on the shoulder before he even knew it.

Naturally Declan had watched all of this with a broad grin and wildly amused glitter in his eyes. His friend was aware of his lifelong aversion to being touched by others; Dec would know better than anyone what a radical shift was taking place inside him. Perhaps even better than Gareth, who simply pushed the matter aside. He had far too much to do to sit about pondering the uninteresting mysteries of his own mind.

So, he’d sent letters and received messages at all hours of the day and night, spent time showing Declan the plans Serena had drawn up and the current progress. He’d taken the time to walk to the new lake with Oliver, who’d been beside himself with excitement to be the first to show him. And finally, when he’d done everything he could think of, he made haste for Dover, taking only two grooms—Timkins and Butler—who both rode on the box, armed. Gareth was traveling with a good deal of money in his possession and the road was known to attract the wrong sort with its frequent mail coaches.

He arrived in Dover in good time even though the road was rutted and rough with dried mud. Gareth hated to think what it must have been like after the last rains.

The Ship Hotel was a fixture in Dover and doing a brisk business when Gareth arrived. He had to pay double the usual rate to engage two of the best rooms, but he believed it to be money well-spent. He could not imagine Serena’s condition after almost a week in the hands of her captors, but she would wish for a bath and privacy.

At Ruston Park he’d gone to her room himself and packed her bag. He’d been shocked to see how little she possessed and hoped her wardrobe was so sparse because she’d left the bulk of her clothing in London.