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“That’s true, although, as your brother, I did attempt to find out about you a time or two. Curiosity, you know. When I did, it was mostly talk about your friend the earl’s surprise betrothal to that girl from the country, and that was that.”
Lucas began to breathe a little easier.
“At any rate,” Simon continued, reaching for another square of toast since he’d managed to eat the first square and keep it down. “I was much too busy with my ownaffairs”—he chuckled—“to worry all that much about yours. You must have returned from war eager to ensure your immortality by producing progeny to have found a willing bride so quickly, especially since you’re still a relatively young man. Now, James—he’sthe one Mama ought to be carping at.” He sighed. “Sorry. I shouldn’t say such things about Mama; I know she means well. But she keeps writing me theseletters. Most of the time, I just ignore them. But James is thirty-one, devil take it. If anyone deserves to get letters from Mama reminding him of his duty, it should be he.”
“I think he’s inclined to pursue that route in the not-too-distant future,although he says he is too busy with professional duties to marry right at the moment.”
“Thatisnews. Well, well. Any prospects? Lovely young ladies from Lincoln dying to marry a man who’s always busy with his so-called ‘professional duties’? James was always the one who seemed most keen on excitement, if you were to ask me, despite his intensity in school. I can hardly believe he spends his days molding away in a wig and ceremonial gown before a judge. It seems to go against his basic nature.”
Lucas smiled. “I hadn’t thought about it that way. And, no—no prospects as of yet, at least no one he’s mentioned.”
“Well, I’ll believe it when I see it when it comes to James.” He’d finished the second square of toast by this time. “You know, Lucas, I’m feeling somewhat better after your hounding me to eat the toast. I’ll try a few of those eggs and see how they sit.”
“Good.” Lucas scooped some eggs onto a plate for Simon. “And if all else fails, I’ll grab Mama’s decorative urn over by the window and have it over here in a trice.”
Simon turned to look in the direction of the urn, then grabbed his head with both hands and moaned.
“Shall I grab the urn?” Lucas asked, setting the eggs down just to be on the safe side.
“No, just give me a minute for the room to stop spinning. It might actually be an improvement for the urn if I were to use it though. I never could understand what Mama saw in the ugly thing.”
Lucas chuckled and handed the plate of eggs to Simon. Even in the aftermath of a night of carousing, Simon still managed to keep his wit. “When we’re done here, I’m taking you to your room so you can sleep. You can make your grand entrance this afternoon.”
“That’s the best idea I’ve heard yet. Many thanks, brother.”
Simon ate the eggs and successfully kept them down, then Lucas helped him circumvent the rest of the family and got him to his bedroom. “Sweet dreams, baby brother,” he said before shutting the door to Simon’s room.
Simon shot him a withering look.
Lucas was enjoying being home with his family. He really should have come sooner. He’d delayed only a few extra weeks, true, but he could feel his guilt over the matter returning to nag at him again.
He forced it back.Enough of guilt. And enough of feeling inferior to his brothers and their accomplishments. Lucas had made his choices. He could not undo them; his life was what it was. It was time for him to look to the future and choose again.
It was past time.
* * *
After sneaking Simon up to his bedroom so he could sleep off his inebriation, Lucas went to the breakfast room in search of Thomas and Isobel.
They were not there, however. “Sarah had a nightmare last night and was inconsolable,” Rebecca explained as she delicately separated the yolk from her coddled egg and proceeded to eat the white part only. “She dreamt her mama and papa were fighting, and poor little Sarah would not believe them when they told her it was just a dream and that everything was all right.”
“I see,” Lucas said. And he did see—more than Rebecca herself did, for she’d been but twelve when Lucas had left for the army. She may have known about his and Isobel’s youthful attachment, but she would have assumed it was ancient history by now.
But the tension between Thomas and Isobel in the wake of Lucas’s return had been evident in both their faces. Little Sarah must have sensed the emotions of the adults, and it had given her nightmares, poor thing.
He pictured the little girl. His niece. She was the spitting image of her mother—delicate, blonde, and blue-eyed. The perfect little English rosebud. He was relieved to discover he did not feel the slightest prick of regret that she was not his and Isobel’s daughter.
Lucas made his way to the nursery and briefly introduced himself to Mrs. Wynn, who was busy with Isaac and Clara’s four children. The elder two were working on their letters, and the younger two stacked blocks and knocked them over, laughing and beginning the process all over again.
Thomas and Isobel were at the other side of the room. Isobel was seated in a child-sized chair at a child-sized table that Lucas remembered from his own days in the nursery, reading a story to Edmund and Sarah, who were seated on either side of her. Thomas sat in the window seat nearby, which was the only spot in the nursery that could accommodate Thomas’s height.
Isobel stopped reading when Lucas walked toward them.
“May I beg a moment of your time? Thomas? Isobel?” he asked in a low voice so as not to disturb the children at the other end of the nursery.
Isobel glanced at Thomas. “Of course,” Thomas replied. “Edmund, Sarah—Mama and I are going to speak to Uncle Lucas for a few minutes. We shall leave the book right here so Mama can finish the story when we return.”
The children looked at Lucas and then scampered off to join their cousins, little Sarah appearing to have gotten over her nightmare satisfactorily. Thomas and Isobel followed Lucas out into the corridor and then to a nearby room where they would have privacy while they conversed.
