Chapter Fifteen
P
Arabella could not remember ever being so cheerful while simultaneously so ill. Linus had managed the impossible.
“Why do you not seem as interested in this as I am?” He held up his book on land management, eying her with an expression of disdain that she didn’t believe for a moment. “Is it not absolutely riveting?”
Even the maid sitting near the door for propriety’s sake didn’t bother hiding her amusement at his jesting question.
“I will confess,” Arabella said, “the bit about soil type influencing the frequency of changing one’s crop did set my heart racing a bit.”
“I believe I was asleep for that part.”
She shook her head at his intentional nonsense. “I happen to know you were paying very close heed to what you were reading, focusing very intensely.”
“Mostly because it felt like reading a foreign language.” He set the book on the floor beside his chair. “That does not bode well for my future as a landowner, does it?”
She coughed, something she couldn’t seem to stop doing.
Linus’s sister who lived in Lancashire had sent instructions for tisanes and tonics to aid the children’s illness a week earlier as well as information on adjusting the dosages should adults be likewise afflicted.
Arabella felt better than she would have without that help, but she did not feel truly well.
“This might be an unforgivably personal observation,” she said once she’d regained control of her voice and breathing, “but you do not seem very enthusiastic about your responsibilities.”
“And this might be an unforgivably sullen response, but . . . I’m not.” He absentmindedly waved a hand as if dismissing the confession. “This was never meant to be my responsibility. I cannot seem to fully resign myself to it.”
“You told me during our garden walk that you were the younger son.”
“My brother and I both served in the navy during the war, but only I survived.” He made the admission quickly, quietly.
“How long ago?”
“Almost eleven years. At times, it feels like only eleven days.” The look he gave her clearly communicated his belief that she would find the continued rawness of his grief ridiculous.
“Someone I loved very deeply, someone infinitely dear to me, died eleven years ago. While I have more or less stopped expecting to see him in the places he once frequented, I do not miss him any less than I did then.”
“Your father?”
That was not a question with a straightforward answer. And she knew that was not what he was truly asking. “I told you that both of my parents died when I was six. Do you truly believe I am only seventeen?”
He smiled broadly. “I never guess a lady’s age.”
“I have only the vaguest memories of my parents,” she said. “This gentleman was . . .” She had never before attempted to explain the role he had played in her life. “He was a surrogate. He was family to me, the only family I have ever known.”
“What of your aunt and uncle?”
She dropped her gaze. Her voice quieted as well. “They never considered me family.”
“The Jonquils think of you that way, you know. Lord Lampton was fierce in his care for you. The dowager interrogated Dr. Scorseby for a full quarter of an hour the night you took ill. Charlie drove to Collingham to obtain a particular variety of herb my sister insists is most efficacious. Lady Lampton decreed that none of the guests are to disturb you without your express invitation.”
Even Lady Lampton had come to her defense? “This illness has meant I haven’t been very helpful to them.”
“Arabella. You are far more to them than a helpful companion. You are far more than that to—” He cleared his throat and didn’t finish the thought.
How tempting it was to create her own ending. She didn’t dare. Life had disappointed her too many times to invite more heartache.
“More than that to the club?” Laughing was a far better option than tearing herself apart over Linus’s possible feelings for her.
“Yes.” He emphasized the word all out of proportion. “You are drafting our bylaws, after all. The club depends upon you.”
“I will fulfill my duties to the best of my ability.”
Still sitting casually in his seat, he snapped her a very smart salute. “I have every confidence in you.”
“I thank you, Lieutenant Lancaster.”
His mouth twisted. “I miss being called that.” There was loneliness in the admission.
Her heart ached for him. “We could make it a club rule that you are always called Lieutenant Lancaster during meetings.”
His smile was one of gratitude more than anything else. “What ought we to call you?”
“I’ve never been called anything but Miss Hampton or Arabella.”
“You could be Captain Hampton.” He laughed. “The tongue gets a bit caught on that.”
“If I’m a captain, don’t I outrank you?”
“Do you mean to start giving me orders?”
She nodded solemnly. “Of course. I will be insufferable.”
“Excellent.”
Seeing him lighthearted once more lifted her spirits.
“What is your first order, Captain?”
“I will require you to reread your text on switching out crops,” she said. “I have heard a rumor that you were sleeping at that point.”
His features settled in an expression of distaste. “Couldn’t you just have me flogged instead?”
“Do you really dislike the topic of land management so much?”
He pushed out a heavy breath. “I probably wouldn’t mind the reading if it weren’t the predecessor to being a staid, boring landowner.”
“If you will be miserable in that role . . .” She wasn’t certain how to end the thought. She wouldn’t suggest he walk away from his duties, yet she hated the thought of him being unhappy.
“The land was my father’s,” he said. “The home was my family’s. I won’t leave it to the care of yet another steward. I will do what is expected of me.”
“But you will be unhappy.”
“I am not a man of many talents,” he said, “but I have a knack for finding satisfaction even in less-than-ideal circumstances. I’ll manage it again somehow.”
“Would you rather be at sea?”
He thought on it a moment. “At the risk of sounding terribly demanding—”
“It’s far too late for that, Lieutenant.”
He snorted. “You’re troublesome, do you know that?” It was a good-natured remark, one filled with cheer.
“What is your ‘terribly demanding’ position on being a landowner versus returning to sea?”
“Only that I think I would be happier in a role I chose for myself. I’ve never been granted that. I went to sea all those years ago because my family was destitute. I’m returning to land now because I am the only son my family has left.”
How well she understood his frustration. “Life is far more difficult when one is forced onto a path not of one’s choosing.”
He nodded slowly. “I’d feel a little less helpless if I had choices.”
“You may not have an alternate path,” she said, “but you can choose how you intend to walk the one you are on. Find a way to make life more your own, something more appealing and familiar to you, something you can feel excited about.”
He made a show of pondering. “How difficult would it be to rebuild the family home as a ship of the line?”
“Easiest thing in the world,” she said with a laugh.
“Do you know, I’m beginning to doubt the dowager’s word. She told me you were terribly quiet, and she never once mentioned how funny you are.”
She must have blushed all the way to her hairline. “Most people would say I am quiet. I don’t know that I’ve ever been described as funny.”
That seemed to surprise him. Why would it?
“Perhaps it is the result of your influence on me,” she suggested.
He fought back a smile. “Are you saying I’m loud?”
“I’m certainly not saying you’re funny.”
He laughed. How she loved the sound, especially knowing she had inspired it.
A closeness had developed between them during the days of her convalescence.
He visited her regularly. They talked and laughed.
Despite her illness, she smiled more than she had in recent memory.
What would she do when he left for Shropshire?
“I can see your thoughts are wandering,” he said, “no doubt back to the land treatise. I can begin reading it if you’d like.” His humor faded a bit. “Or I could go, if you’d prefer to rest.”
She shook her head no. In a voice just louder than a whisper, she said, “I’d like you to stay.”
A sparkle entered his eyes. He leaned forward in his chair. His fingers brushed the very edge of hers. She tried to breathe, but her lungs fought the effort. His hand slid over hers, their fingers intertwining. Her pulse thrummed through her.
They sat thus—hands held—for long minutes, talking, smiling, enjoying each other’s company.
Only when the time came for her to take the prescribed tisane did he rise to leave.
Watching him go, her heart sank. Her gaze remained on the door, hoping to see him step inside again.
As the day wore on, she watched for him, longing for his company.
She, who had been so alone for so long, had found someone with whom she felt she belonged.
q
Under normal circumstances, Linus would have more or less enjoyed an evening of impromptu dancing and interacting with guests. Though he was not the most social of gentlemen, he did appreciate conversation and friendly company.
But Mrs. Blackbourne had been on his scent for hours.
Dodging her required more of his time and effort than he would have preferred to spend.
The remainder of his energy he poured into helping Harry ease their brother-in-law’s misery in order to lessen Persephone’s worries.
He would rather have spent the evening talking with Arabella. Holding her hand. Seeing her smile.
His visits with her the past few days had been the highlight of the house party for him.
She enjoyed his stories of the sea, and though she had never left the immediate vicinity of Collingham, she was an observer of people and nature and had shared with him fascinating stories of her own.
She helped him sort out his difficulties, and he hoped he had offered her support in return.