Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
“Ialmost thought she was Catherine.” Harold sipped his port that night with an eye still on the door Adelaide had just passed through, leaving the brothers to their own devices after the dinner Mrs. Mindel had valiantly rallied together after their arrival.
“I can certainly see why you noticed her right away.”
Harold’s words might echo what Richard himself had thought once upon a time. But at the moment, he had half a mind to knock the glass out of his brother’s hand.
Instead, he exercised an officer’s self-control and contented himself with an exasperated sigh.
As a rule, Richard loved his family. He was concerned for their welfare, and he harbored fond memories of the years all five of the Avington boys had shared idyllic childhoods in Beniton Hall, play acting in the sprawling acres of their family estate.
But having Harold descend upon Granville just when Richard thought himself at the verge of making a significant step forward with his wife was testing his patience.
“She is not at all like Catherine beyond a passing likeness. They are distant cousins at best.” Richard responded between sips of his own drink.
Perhaps, if he drank faster, they would be able to remove to the parlor before Adelaide retired for the night.
“When did you send word about your visit again, brother dear?”
“Two days ago,” said Harold cheerfully. “Although perhaps my letter got rerouted to London.”
“Whereas you came directly here.”
“Yes, so much easier traveling without the womenfolk.”
Richard agreed with the sentiment to a certain extent, although he refused to acknowledge it with words. He downed nearly all of his temperate half glass and slid the empty vessel back onto their comfortable, if modest, dining table. “And your wife and daughter are well, I take it?”
“Brilliant.” For once, Harold softened into the more sentimental artist Richard remembered from his pre-soldiering days.
“With Lady Rodworth nearing her latest confinement, the Nottingham sisters were determined to recruit all the extra female company they could get their hands on. I suppose four sisters aren’t enough. ”
“And your daughter joined them?”
“Rachel is three, and a miracle she is, after all these years. Neither Clara nor I can sleep easy without her being in the same house with at least one of us.”
“I suppose I can understand that.”
Richard tried to recall what he could about Harold and Clara’s story.
He had been younger then and entirely distracted by his infatuation with Catherine Pershing.
But he remembered Harold at his worst, lost to despair, painting and destroying one canvas after another, before he’d rediscovered hope—and Clara.
Perhaps joy did come in the morning.
Richard’s mind drifted through the walls to wherever Adelaide was. Was she sitting pretty in the parlor, waiting for them? Or had she already removed herself and her maid from the main floor, back to her shell in her own room, as if their entire London trip had never happened?
His heart ached.
“And here I was, hoping that your silence was an indication of oblivious, marital bliss,” said Harold.
“What was that?”
Harold shook his head as he sighed. “Alfred and Edgar had been right to worry.”
Richard frowned. “Pray, tell, what our brothers have anything to do with my marriage?”
“You married so quickly.” Harold spoke with the freedom afforded him as family.
Gone was the light-hearted conversationalist he’d been throughout dinner.
Now, he sounded almost as doting as Mother.
“We were glad to hear that you had found a suitable spouse, of course, but the haste was unexpected. And when your correspondences began to dwindle, we could not help but worry. You wrote more often when you were fighting a war.”
“We? What are you—a lot of gossiping matrons?”
Harold managed to smile at that. “Not quite. But no one wants a reprise of my dark days.”
“My days are not dark.”
“But nor do they appear particularly bright.”
That was something Richard could hardly argue with.
He sank deeper against his chair with a sigh. “Is it so excessively obvious?”
“Only to a married man,” Harold said compassionately. “Your new bride is courteous, of course, hardly a harpy. But things between you appear almost too courteous, if I may say so.”
Richard groaned. It was difficult to decide if having Harold around rubbed salt into his wounds or at least provided him a person with whom to voice his true thoughts. And yet the thought of admitting to the deficiencies of his marriage settled ill with him.
“My marriage is my own concern,” Richard said, more coldly than he’d expected to.
The concern lingered in Harold’s eyes for another few seconds before being replaced by his former cheer.
“Very well.” He shoved himself to his feet. “Shall we join Mrs. Avington?”
His neighbor’s wheat fields blended increasingly into a blur as Richard raced Onyx faster.
Harold kept pace a slight distance away.
Sunlight, hoofbeats, and the smell of the morning invigorated his senses.
It was not, perhaps, the wisest course of action to pretend the imperfections of his marriage did not exist. But Richard figured a bruising ride was a better distraction than pursuing other vices.
He had seen enough former soldiers fall into what Harold described as ‘dark days.’ He refused to be counted amongst them.
They took the long circuit, racing around the entire breadth of Granville’s property before circling back towards the stables.
Harold might not have been the strongest horseman among the brothers, having long been drawn to his oils and brushes more than the sweat and grime of exercise.
But years of managing his own estate seemed to have altered him, and he kept impressively close until the last few yards.
“Halt! Halt!” The groom ran after Harold when his horse failed to stop entirely, while Richard dismounted readily on his own.
“A good ride, Mr. Avington?” The new stable boy asked, all innocent curiosity.
Richard huffed, his breath heavy from the exertion. Spending his mornings away from Adelaide was not his most preferred schedule, but that hardly negated the quality of their ride itself. “Yes. Quite good. Thank you.”
The servants, having successfully calmed Harold’s borrowed mount—the only other riding mount in Granville’s stables—soon busied themselves with the horses, leaving the brothers to head indoors themselves.
It had been a week since their return from London, and since the beginning of Harold’s visit. And while Richard might have felt frustrated with his brother’s presence at the start, he was thankful for the company now.
Who was he to think that things would be different with Adelaide just because he had rescued her sister? She had always made it clear that she thought Richard heroic.
She just never indicated her ever thinking him romantic, or desirable in any personal way. One passionate embrace stemming from a burst of gratitude hardly counted as genuine devotion.
Harold chose to speak just then, his cheerfulness helpfully chasing Richard’s unmanly self-pity away. “I must say the Crown has been more generous than I thought. Granville is almost as large as Everhope.”
Everhope—it was a striking name. It was a contrast, Richard supposed, from the estate’s previous name of Everstone. And given the pains Harold and Clara had gone through to breathe new life into their home, the title felt more like a triumph than mere empty ideals.
“I have been fortunate to be of service,” said Richard.
“I’m sure Alfred is all upset at having to change the names of so many deeds and titles.” Harold laughed. “Father might have been the one determined to provide a property for each of us, but it’s our brother dearest who gets the brunt of the work.”
Richard felt his own lip twitch. “Father likely thought very little of our ability to find our own places to stay.”
“My place was to be at Cornwall! Perish the thought! I cannot imagine ever living so far from London.”
“And yet you did—for a while.”
Harold paused at the reminder. His features turned wistful. “And yet I did—but only because Mother banished me, mind you. But I can’t begrudge it, given how things turned out.”
Richard nodded. The past few days had reacquainted him with Harold’s journey—of love and loss and love again. If not for the discomfort of his brother’s dark days, there might never be joy, never be Everhope.
Richard reminded himself to hope.
Perhaps there was time to turn his future around still.