Epilogue
Sing, O muse, of the rage of Achilles, son of Peleus, that brought countless ills upon the Achaeans. Georgiana translated in her head as Andrew read The Illiad to their son. In Greek.
She looked up from her work and frowned at the pair sitting in a comfortable chair in their shared office. “Honestly Andrew, I’m glad he can’t understand it.”
Andrew smiled down at the toddler in his lap. “Are you sure? He pays attention. Who is to say he can’t understand it?” Andrew retorted.
“Richard is eighteen months old! He likes the sound of his father’s voice.”
Andrew shrugged. “It gets Aeneas used to the sound of the words.” Andrew insisted on calling their son by his middle name, if only to avoid confusion with Georgiana’s brother.
At the name, Georgiana shook her head. She was losing that battle. The boy would be Aeneas for life. “Will and Catherine are hoping for a cricket team. You’re trying to raise a classics department.”
“Not at all. Perhaps the next one will be a physician.” His smile brought color to her cheeks. The next one would make an appearance in December if all went well.
The little one patted his father’s face, rubbing the scar that crossed it, and pointed to the book. Georgiana smiled. “It is a good thing we have a patient child.”
A knock at the door interrupted them. Their butler, Simpson, announced, “The earl and countess are here, Ma’am. I put them in the drawing room and ordered tea.” He didn’t need to specify which earl. It would be the Earl and Countess of Chadbourn.
Georgiana was on her feet immediately. “Have they brought Artie?”
At “Artie,” Aeneas wriggled down from his father’s lap and started for the door.
“They did indeed bring their lad. Shall I have Agnes take the boys to the nursery?” Simpson’s frown, though slight, was obvious.
He considered the Mallets failure to employ a nurserymaid a breach of protocol.
The Mallets had kept the house in Cambridge, but had settled in a modest townhouse in Bloomsbury.
They employed few servants: Simpson, Agnes the maid of all work, and a cook.
“Give us a bit of time, Simpson, but alert Mr. Harley that the boy is here,” she replied. Harley, who remained as Andrew’s personal servant, managed whatever needed doing, and was the closest they had to a nurserymaid. Aeneas adored him.
Andrew swung Aeneas up into his arms and they walked down the hall together. “This is unexpected,” Georgiana murmured.
Andrew nodded. “I expect Will to be tending his fields this time of year; he stayed in London longer this year. It is always good to see them, though.” The distance in the men’s friendship had disappeared with the arrival of their sons.
A quick glance at the faces of Will and Catherine Landrum, the earl and countess, however, made it clear the visit had a serious purpose.
Before anyone could speak, Aeneas wiggled down and ran to his friend. He and Artie Landrum began marching around the room and giggling in some greeting ritual understood only by toddlers.
Will didn’t even watch their antics. “We need to talk, Andrew,” he said without preamble.
The arrival of a tea tray with Harley right behind it delayed any response. Georgiana was once again astounded at Harley’s quick wit and insight. He sized up the atmosphere in the room immediately, gave a sardonic bow, and scooped up one laughing boy and then the other.
“There are new blocks in the nursery, lads. Shall we see who can build the tallest tower.”
Aeneas wrapped an arm around Harley’s neck. “Walls o’ Troy,” he announced imitating his father. His precocious vocabulary never failed to astonish Georgiana.
Harley glanced down at Arty. “What do you think lad? Tower o’ London?”
The door closed and silence settled on the room. Georgiana wished her stomach would settle as well.
* * *
Andrew didn’t like the expression on the earl’s face. Catherine’s wasn’t much better.
Will glanced at Georgiana. “Maybe we should leave the ladies to their tea.”
“I don’t think—” Andrew started.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Georgiana said at the same time.
“It is about your brother, Georgie,” Catherine put in, frowning at her husband.
“Has he finally offered for Lady Sarah Wharton as our parents wish? All London has been holding its breath,” Georgiana said.
“No! The gossip is that her father gave him an ultimatum and he declined to offer.” Catherine told her.
“That sounds like Richard,” Georgiana said. “He doesn’t take kindly to coercion.”
“Have you seen him,” Will asked.
“No. Not— What is going on?” Georgiana demanded.
“He’s gone missing.”
“Ridiculous!” Andrew said. “The Marquess of Glenaire does not just go missing.” Richard would never do anything so thoughtless.
“Have you spoken with his minions, Roger Heaton and Walter Stewart?” Andrew asked.
“I cornered Heaton at Whitehall, and he was evasive,” Will answered.
“There you have it. Richard is off on some secret government mischief,” Andrew said.
Will shook his head. “Heaton looked nervous. Worse, worried. I don’t think they know where he is.”
“Are you implying my brother ran off without Castlereagh’s directive?” Georgiana demanded.
“That is exactly what I’m saying.”
Andrew studied his wife’s worried face. “He wouldn’t run off to avoid gossip like some men would.”
“Never,” she agreed. “He’s been obsessed with the Volkov business. And Lilias Thornton.”
Will nodded “I’m worried. This is not like him.
A disturbance at the door interrupted them and Roger Heaton himself barged in before the butler could announce him. His bow, even to the earl, was perfunctory.
“Forgive my rag manners,” he said, hesitating. “I thought—that is—” He ran a hand though his hair.
“It is my brother the marquess, isn’t it?” Georgiana said.
“He has disappeared. Is it Volkov? Tell us what you know,” Andrew demanded.
Heaton looked harried, but came to a decision.
“The Marquess left on the Gibralter packet from Portsmouth yesterday. We lost track of Volkov. He may have gone in pursuit, he’s been that determined to stop the man.
I thought—that is I hoped he left word with family, but His Grace, your father, dismissed it as nonsense. ”
“He left no word with us,” Andrew said, taking Georgiana’s hand.
Heaton nodded sadly, made his apologies, promised to bring word if there was any, and left.
“What do you think, Andrew? Gibraltar?” Will asked.
“I don’t like this any more than you do. If the issue is private…” Andrew murmured.
“He may prefer the help of friends over officials.” Will finished.
“If he’ll take help at all,” Andrew muttered.
Andrew turned to his wife. “He may need help, Georgie, no matter what quest he’s gone off on by himself. He would—”
“Yes he would help any of us. Besides, Will will go without you if you don’t follow him,” Georgiana replied. She smiled sadly at Catherine.
Things happened quickly then. Catherine gave Georgiana a swift hug and went to fetch Artie. The Chadbourns left, and Andrew went to pack.
An hour later he stood by the door and took his wife in his arms. The Chadbourn carriage waited on the street. “It may be a goose chase, Georgie. If so, we’ll be back in two weeks. If he needs us… Well, I’ll be back on time,” he said patting her belly.
“Be safe,” she whispered.
Andrew felt a tug on his trousers and looked down to find Aeneas lugging their copy of the Illiad.
“Αχιλλ?α?, γιο? του Πηλ?α, Papa,” Aeneas said plaintively—Achilles, son of Peleus. “More.”
Andrew grinned at his wife. He knelt and drew his son into his arms. “Papa must go on a trip with Uncle Will. Be good to your mama and perhaps she’ll read to you as well. When I come back we’ll finish the book.”
A swift but powerful kiss saw him on his way.