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Robbie’s gaze went blank, and Nathaniel at first thought his brother was having one of his staring spells, but no. Robbie’s eyes were intently focused rather than empty, and he wasn’t blinking.
“You should call on her again.”
“I can’t.”You know why I can’t.Except that Nathaniel wasn’t sure exactly how much Robbie comprehended. He was a singularly intelligent man, but his experiences had left enormous bogs in his mental terrain. He grew muddled, his memories colliding and blending in odd ways. His staring spells took a toll, and he’d suffered at least one blow to the head in childhood that had had disastrous and lingering consequences.
“Pay a call on her, Nathaniel. You did it once, you can do it again.” Robbie flung out those words with all the glee of one sibling hoisting another on his own petard. Nathaniel had frequently invoked the same logic to inspire Robbie to repeat accomplishments such as leaving his room, opening a window, or venturing to sit on a bench in the walled garden.
“Robbie, such an overture could be misconstrued.”
“By whom? You won’t misconstrue it. If she’s as bright as you say, she won’t misconstrue an occasional chess match. You have extolled the virtues of fresh air and sunshine to me for years, Nathaniel, until I had no choice but to take Mama’s garden in hand. Now I suggest you trot a mile down the lane, and you haven’t the courage for it.”
Robbie speared another slice of cheese as if landing a touch on an opposing fencer’s breast. Clearly, he was pleased with himself, while Nathaniel was torn.
For Robbie to confront anybody about anything was unheard of. He was painfully agreeable, a trait learned at the hands of well-paid jailers professing to act in the captive’s best interests. To suggest that Nathaniel leave the estate on a social call…
That went so far past unheard of as to be suspect.
“Why should I call on Lady Althea? She could well think to reciprocate the courtesy, and then we must turn her away. Rudeness causes talk.”
“You’ve already turned her away—twice. Tell her the usual tale: The Hall is falling down around your ears, your staff has more than enough to do, and you are out of the habit of entertaining.You haven’t a hostess.”
Long, long ago, Robbie had been a normal boy. He’d teased Nathaniel, been his only playmate, and his partner in endless mischief. That had all but ended when Robbie had turned eleven. Papa had insisted his heir graduate from a pony to a full-grown horse. A bad tumble had followed, and life had changed for all concerned.
Not for the better, but now a glimmer of that confident, mischievous boy showed through in Robbie’s words:You have no hostess.
“You know why I have no hostess.” Why Rothhaven would never again have a hostess.
“Indeed, I do, but that does not explain why you must deny yourself even a game of cribbage, Nathaniel. The moors are dangerous when we attempt to navigate them alone. You and I ventured out there regularly long ago. We took the dogs, we had walking sticks, we were careful. Lady Althea is alone, and people can be nasty. Go play the duke and let her win a few hands of cards. The neighbors will call on her just to quiz her about you, and you can get back to being the curmudgeon in residence.”
Nathaniel considered that scheme—raising Lady Althea’s standing by paying her a visit or two, imparting a bit of the guidance she was so keen to gain from him, and for once allowing Robbie to be the older brother dispatching the younger on an errand.
From those perspectives, another call on her ladyship made sense, and would even be gentlemanly. She sought a husband, and Nathaniel could boost her a few steps along the path that led to her goal.
He could and he should provide her that assistance, but like Robbie locked in his windowless room, Nathaniel did not want to depart from the safe and narrow way he’d been treading for years. He’d spoken the partial truth when he’d told Robbie he admired Lady Althea’s fortitude.
The rest of the truth was that he found the woman attractive, and that was a sentiment more dangerous than all the bogs and moors in Britain combined.
Chapter Four
In the three days since Constance’s departure for London, Althea’s usual solitude at Lynley Vale had taken on a curious weight. When she and Constance had first returned to the north and they’d both been busy with households to put to rights, visits back and forth had been frequent.
As Constance had become acquainted with Thorndike Manor’s neighbors, time spent with Althea had figured less prominently, until this past year, when Althea had bided with her sister over the Yuletide holidays and not since.
“Perhaps she has a special friend.” Althea offered that suggestion to Septimus, the pantry mouser. He regarded his duties belowstairs as purely honorary. Witness, he’d wandered into Althea’s sitting room, after following her around the manor for most of the day.
“Shall we read our evening away?”
Septimus leapt onto a hassock and commenced his ablutions.
“No reading, then. Shall we pen a letter to Jane explaining that expiring of boredom in Yorkshire is preferable to expiring of mortification in Mayfair?” And how could a ladybebored when running an estate meant she always had more to do than the day allowed?
The cat curled at an angle to undertake an indecent maneuver involving its nether parts.
Jane was owed some explanation for Althea’s decision to avoid the social Season, and a letter sent tomorrow would arrive in London before Constance did. Althea had taken the chair at the escritoire by the window and was casting about for an innocuous way to begin her epistle when something clicked against the glass of the French doors.
The wind this time of year could be fierce, and an occasional twig or acorn might be blown against the windows. Birds, confused by reflected sunlight, had been known to dash themselves against a pane, but the sun had set an hour ago.
The sound came again, a cross between a ping and a thwack.
