Chapter 13
ARDEN
Arden left Jack with a smile on his face and a curious fizzing in his stomach.
His body was wrung out from the wildly unfamiliar exercise he’d put it through and his emotions were scattered, but the foremost emotion was happiness.
Plain and simple. He’d almost forgotten what it felt like, or perhaps he simply hadn’t been this happy before.
He certainly hadn’t been happy the day Jack married him.
He’d been grieving.
He’d been afraid.
They’d buried Arden’s father that morning, and whatever Arden had expected from a now-murky future, it wasn’t to end up married twelve hours later, and taken away from his childhood home forever.
He’d never expected Lassit to do what he did, either.
Arden had stood with his siblings at the family mausoleum as the sun rose over the ancient trees behind the ornate golden stone building and the traditional funeral songs were sung.
The old earl’s children were all dressed in deep mourning grey, flanking the arched doorway of the mausoleum to stand witness as the coffin was carried in on the shoulders of blank-faced servants in their best livery.
The well-kept grounds that the mausoleum sat in were filled with the earl’s friends and acquaintances, many of whom had travelled up from Sevennis to stand witness alongside Arden’s family.
Although he hadn’t been able to stop the tears coursing down his face, Arden had managed not to make a sound.
He’d kept his eyes firmly on the dew-spangled grass, not wanting to see the sympathy or the judgement of the gathered mourners.
Not wanting to see the impatience of his siblings, either, all of whom were doing an excellent job of appearing fully in control of their emotions.
To the extent that Arden wondered if they even cared.
He chastised himself for the unkind thought. Just because they weren’t making a spectacle of themselves, it didn’t mean they cared any less than he did.
After the ceremony, he washed his face and presented himself in the drawing room as Lassit had instructed, where he did his best to mingle along with the sweet wine and dainty cakes being served to the mourners.
Very few people spoke to him, other than a handful of Papa’s local friends.
They were the only people he recognised.
Although none of the unfamiliar guests spoke to him, Arden couldn’t seem to shake the feeling that they were staring at him.
Of course they weren’t staring at him.
Why would they? What possible interest could they have in him?
Most of them probably didn’t even know who he was.
In fact, no one would notice if he slipped through the crowd and out of the room, walked sedately until he was out of sight of guests and servants alike, and then ran to the safety of his small, homely parlour.
And that, Arden decided, was his duty done.
Papa was the last person who would have insisted he go down to dinner. He’d always discouraged Arden from showing himself to visitors, anyway.
Unfortunately, Papa was no longer the Earl of Dalbryn.
Lassit was.
And Lassit had no patience for Arden and his shyness.
Arden was curled up in a comfortable old wingback chair, gazing wistfully into the dancing flames in the hearth, a book lying open and unread on his lap, when the door opened with an abrupt bang and Lassit strolled in.
“There you are, mouse,” he said as he came to a stop before Arden’s chair. “I think you’ve hidden away for more than long enough now, don’t you?”
Arden, drowsy from the fire and from what had been a very long and trying day, blinked up at Lassit sleepily and shook his head.
“No?” Lassit reached out and ruffled Arden’s hair.
Arden wrinkled his nose. “I think I’ll order some coddled eggs and toast for supper, and go to bed.”
“No, Arden. You won’t do that. You’ll get dressed properly, and you’ll come downstairs and join our guests for the evening.”
“But I don’t want—”
“It wasn’t a request,” Lassit said in that mellow baritone of his that was so confusing. He’d said such awful things to Arden in that lovely voice, always with a lovely smile on his handsome face. “It was an order.”
“But I don’t want to see anyone. I barely know—”
“Mhm. What you want doesn’t matter, brat. Not when there are plenty of people downstairs who are eager to see you.” His smile wasn’t lovely now. Arden didn’t know what it was, exactly.
Just that he didn’t like it.
“I’ve…I’ve already seen everyone, though.”
One long arm went over Arden’s head to brace against the high back of the seat beside his temple. Lassit bent down, bringing himself a scant two inches away. Arden looked up in astonishment and stared straight into Lassit’s blue eyes.
He glanced away, then stiffened when Lassit gripped his chin and forced his attention back.
Lassit’s lips were curled in a sharp smile. “You haven’t seen everyone,” he said. “You will come down. You will smile for my guests.” He squeezed Arden’s chin. “You will do as I say.”
It hurt. Arden tried to twitch away. Lassit didn’t let go. He squeezed harder, sending Arden into a sudden flailing, slapping panic.
Lassit laughed, slid his hands beneath Arden’s armpits, and plucked him clean out of the chair.
Arden yelped, shocked at how easily he could be moved against his will.
Lassit turned him and shoved him over the arm of the chair, face in the cushions.
He held Arden there with a hard hand at the back of his neck.
Arden kicked out. Lassit laughed again.
He sounded delighted.
Arden finally stilled.
Lassit gave a satisfied grunt and he held Arden there until he’d wrung a soft, confused whine from Arden’s throat.
“Ready yourself for dinner,” he said, releasing him one finger at a time. “I expect you to present yourself downstairs in no less than half an hour. Do it, Arden. Or I’ll have the footmen drag you down.”
Arden didn’t move.
A hand skated the length of Arden’s spine to rest briefly, heavily, at the very small of his back. “Don’t make such a fuss. It’s just a dinner. Just one night. Jack will be here.”
The promise of seeing Jack was the only thing that got Arden out of the door in the end.
He changed from the comfortable old clothes he wore in his private apartments into a clean, crisp shirt, breeches, and a fine, dark plum frock coat. It clashed with his fox-coloured hair, in Arden’s opinion, but his mother had insisted it suited him.
On his reluctant way down the long corridor on the second floor that ran the length of the Hall, he paused at one of the large windows to gaze out at the drive below.
It was filled with carriages, dancing torchlight, and loud voices. Laughter. As he watched, one carriage moved off and another drove up to the steps to take its place. The footmen in their finest livery darted forwards to open the doors and hand down the occupants.
Arden frowned. It was good, he supposed, that there were so many here for the dinner to celebrate Papa’s life, but…there were so many.
His gut rolled queasily with nerves. Steadying his breathing as best he could, he made his way downstairs before Lassit sent the servants to come and collect him. It was always better to pretend that he had a choice.
As soon as he stepped into the large drawing room, he wished he’d chosen to hide in the attic as he used to when he was a child.
It was packed, even more crammed than it had been this morning after the interment.
Arden paused on the threshold and thought about backing quietly away before anyone noticed him. There was still time to run and hide like a coward, and—
Lassit was watching him from across the room.
Their eyes met. Lassit gave a single, warning shake of his head.
Pasting on a smile, Arden strolled into the room as if he hadn’t a care in the world, recalled that this was Papa’s memorial dinner, for godssake stop smiling, and hunted around for a familiar face.
It took a while. He’d never seen so many strangers. He’d had no idea Papa was this important. His funeral had drawn what looked like half of the capital to their home.
As soon as Arden spotted someone he actually knew, he directed his steps over to join him.
Talbot was a neighbouring squire, a gruff and impatient alpha in his forties whom Arden had only spoken to on a handful of occasions.
The alpha had been frowning around the room, as out of place in his plain country clothes amongst the glittering crowd as Arden felt.
When he saw Arden, he smoothed out his expression, startled Arden with a firm, pleasant greeting, and suggested that he stick close by.
Arden accepted the small glass of sherry Talbot offered him, and was even more startled and grateful when Talbot positioned himself with his bulk between Arden and majority of the room before launching into an excessively dull monologue on the importance of crop rotation to maximise harvests.
Arden did his best to keep up, although he had very little to add. He didn’t know the first thing about crops.
Thankfully, Talbot directed most of his conversation to the two other local landowners with him, both of whom had also frowned at Arden before blocking him from the rest of the room.
They blocked him so well that Arden didn’t see Jack arrive.
He had no idea Jack was even there until he was seated for dinner, and even then, it took some time for Arden to register it, since he was busy reeling at where he was seated.
Practically at the head of the table.
The footman guiding him to his chair almost had to poke him to get him to sit down. In the end, Hodge had hissed in his ear, “Sir, sit. His Lordship was very clear that this was to be your seat.”
His Lordship. Lassit. Not Papa.
“Are you certain?” Arden had hissed back, glancing up into Hodge’s tight face.
Hodge had pressed his lips together and nodded, then sent a look of distaste at the head of the table, where Lassit was already lounging. “Yes, sir.”