Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
I was given leave to enter Algernon’s chambers and found him in much the same posture as his brother: seated at a desk by the window, shirt sleeves rolled back, hair slightly disheveled.
At a glance, they might have been the same man, but for the fact that Algernon’s hair was noticeably thinner near the right side of his crown.
Then too, Algernon’s cravat was untied about his neck and hanging loosely like a Papist bishop’s stole, whereas Bryson had worn no cravat at all.
“A moment,” Algernon said, holding up a white quill pen with his right hand, while he counted off with fingers and thumb on his left, his lips moving soundlessly. He scrawled something onto a ledger and sat back with a winded air.
“My lord, this is an honor, also something of a surprise.” He rose and strolled to the sideboard. “I saw that little contretemps on the ice. Please don’t think ill of the stable hands because they hesitated to jump in after the boy. I doubt most of them can swim. Brandy?”
“No, thank you, and I apologize for the interruption, but I wanted a private moment of your time.”
He poured for himself. “That sounds ominous. Should Bryson owe you money, I must allow him the honor of repaying his own debts.”
If that was a jest, I found it in mild poor taste. “Bryson owes me nothing.” Except his trust. “As far as I know, he’s solvent.”
“Of course he is.” Algernon gestured toward the desk languidly with his drink.
“You found me doing my daily penance with the ledgers. My mind is fixed on financial matters at this hour. Papa has decreed that I acquaint myself with the Keep’s monetary machinations.
I am not temperamentally suited to the undertaking, and the going is slow. Do have a seat.”
I settled into a comfortable wing chair, while Algernon sat in the middle of a cushioned love seat.
His apartment was a combination of rural coziness and masculine good taste.
The art depicted bucolic landscapes, not a fox or hound to be seen.
The furniture was commodious without being heavy, and the color scheme—green, cream, and blue—put me in mind of spring vistas.
A spray of pink camellias on the mantel lent an elegant touch and scented the air with subtle fragrance.
The only jarring note was a pair of muddy tall boots just inside the door, suggesting they’d be put out for the boot-boy at the end of the day.
“I am in something of the same position at the Hall,” I said.
“While standing in for my older brother, I have learned how to read a dozen letters in less than an hour and to keep three clerks busy with the replies. I would far rather be out on my horse trotting the bridle paths or holed up in the library with a good play.”
“That gelding of yours is impressive.” Algernon rubbed idly at the side of his neck, still pinkish from the constriction of his fashionable cravat. “I’ve half a notion to borrow him when we take out the hounds tomorrow.”
Another joke in poor taste? “See that you don’t. Atlas must be sound enough to get me home to Surrey, and the footing of late has been miserable.”
“So it has.” Algernon rearranged himself on his love seat.
“What is on your mind, Caldicott? You are the first friend of any sort Bryson has brought home to the Keep since he went up to university. He never talks about the war, and we don’t bring it up in his presence.
He seems well enough, but perhaps as a fellow soldier, you can explain why he refuses to come home. ”
“Might he be leaving you a clear field to go courting?”
Algernon sipped delicately. “Possibly. He is that much of a tactician, though I have the advantage over him in any courting sweepstakes simply because I am the heir.”
“You don’t care to marry?”
He turned a toothy smile on me. “You are in line to inherit a dukedom, and yet, you remain unwed.”
Not by choice. “I am engaged to Miss West.”
“Who has been out in Society for quite some time. Best set your foot in parson’s mousetrap, my lord. Tempus fugit and all that.” He set his drink aside. “Do you ever want to take your brother to task for neglecting the succession?”
“Rarely. His Grace is…” How to describe Arthur?
“Truly noble. The title has demanded much from him, and its blandishments offer him little consolation. He’s an exceptionally decent fellow, and matrimony isn’t for everybody.
” Then too, Arthur was still well south of forty.
Society had no business dunning him to marry.
“Regardless of anybody’s matrimonial status, Bryson should come home.
I cannot imagine what allure the Surrey woods hold for him.
He can tromp about the undergrowth here and write poetry in our duck blinds, or whatever he’s doing for that Scotsman.
If he’s truly at a loss, he can take over the wretched, rubbishing books and meet with all the lawyers. Inside work, gentlemanly endeavors.”
“While you do what?”
I expected a witty, even barbed retort. Instead, I got the same sad smile I’d seen so often from Bryson.
“Annoy Papa, of course. Somebody must keep the old boy grumbling. Reynard can’t shoulder that whole burden, especially when the hunting ceases in March.
His lordship used to natter on about the drudgery of keeping the books, a task he abhors.
I called him on that once too often—‘It’s just a lot of schoolboy ciphering!
’—and now find myself having to eat my words. ”
“Your words were the truth.”
The smile faded and with it Algernon’s characteristic air of insouciance.
“Not the whole truth. Papa is the church treasurer, and while I can mind the account adequately, the vestry meetings are a circle of hell Dante should have put in a special appendix for the hopelessly wicked. Papa is also the trustee of record for half the widows, heiresses, and orphans in the district. He is on the Committee for the Peace, and I must sit in and serve as their secretary when they meet to discuss justice over more port and pints than you can imagine.”
“You need not follow exactly in his lordship’s footsteps. You can have successor guardians appointed, avoid the Committee for the Peace—they are after me as well—and delegate the church books to a senior clerk of pious inclinations.”
“Bryson would make an excellent successor guardian—scion of the ranking house in the neighborhood and that sort of thing—but he’s too busy snaring rabbits or selling grouse to the poachers.”
Bryson would not sell grouse to poachers, though I suspected Algernon would. Coin was coin, and people needed to eat. Beneath the casual charm, Algernon was fundamentally pragmatic, which I found something of a relief for the sake of all concerned.
And yet, wouldn’t a practical man have married by now and tended to what most peers regarded as both a duty and a pleasure?
“I suspect Bryson would like to come home,” I said. “Surrey is lovely, though Bryson’s skills are wasted on rabbits and grouse. He knows the land, he knows farming, he knows this area and misses it sorely.”
Algernon finished his drink. “I would dearly love to see him back. He could set up housekeeping at Swan Hill. He owns the place, thanks to Michael, and I’m told it turns a profit.”
“You don’t handle those books?”
“Bry keeps his own tallies. The tenant is competent, though it’s Bry’s hand on the plow, so to speak.
Was there a reason you sought me out, my lord?
You are fine company, but I’m behind with my schoolboy ciphering.
The holidays must fall just as all the yearly tallies are due, and I struggle to keep up. ”
“I am concerned about today’s mishap.”
“On the ice? Ice breaks, my lord. Currents, warm springs, even thawing and refreezing can weaken what looks to be a solid surface. From what I saw, your young man was venturing beyond the swept area and having a fine time doing it.”
“Atticus is small for his station, and Miss West and I might have joined the skaters. If Atticus’s slight weight broke the ice, what of a pair of adults skating close together?”
“And you are no sylph. Well, stay off the ice, then.”
Pragmatic to a fault. “You haven’t had accidents like this in the past?”
He scowled into the bottom of his empty glass. “Not in my lifetime. Bry used to love skating on the new snow. He’d make exact circles and perfect spirals. He has always had an eye for precise shapes and distances. Never puts his horse in a bad spot before a jump.”
“A good skill to have in the cavalry.” Not of much use in the Rifles.
“A good skill to have in life. I thought the beast was the one finding all those perfect distances. I borrowed Bry’s mount one fine fall morning and learned the error of my ways. Limped the whole five miles home.”
“And the horse?”
“He and Bry had a good laugh at my expense. Your mama hasn’t sent regrets for the banquet, has she?”
Not the subtlest change of topic. “No, nor will she, short of a raging case of ill health. The duchess can be relied on to do her duty.”
“Good to know. The disappointment would be immeasurable if she hides from us on Twelfth Night. The ladies are all aflutter because it’s an informal occasion.
No assigned seats so they can all claim to have shared a meal with Her Grace, or enjoyed dessert with Her Grace, when, in fact, the duchess only nodded at them in passing from across the ballroom. Life in the shires.”
“Will I be danced off my feet?”
“’Fraid so. Quiggy has saved her good-night waltz for me, but she might let you lead her out for the supper waltz.
I am promised to Miss Philomel for that honor, may heaven note my noble sacrifice.
Our Philomel can talk twice as fast as she dances.
Miss Wren is a fine dancer as well. I will happily stand up with Miss West if she’s in want of a partner. ”
“Miss West speaks for herself when it comes to dancing partners. Who serves as hostess for this gathering?”