Chapter 29
ARDEN
Marl was waiting to receive Arden when the carriage pulled up.
“Your Grace,” he said. “Allow me to welcome you back to Avendene.”
“Thank you, Marl. It’s good to be home.”
Home.
He’d called it that when he was talking to Lassit, and as he now stood in the vast, arched stone doorway of Avendene, with the long winding drive behind him and the warmth and security of the huge, bustling house ahead, Arden felt that it truly was home.
He stepped into the Great Hall and allowed Marl to sweep him off to the morning parlour to take refreshment while the footmen saw to unloading the carriage and carting his luggage upstairs.
Arden had broken his fast at a posting inn five hours ago. He was more than ready to be swept and refreshed.
Mrs Foley herself came in, with Garvey behind her carrying the tea tray, and she contentedly sat to drink a cup with Arden.
She proceeded to catch him up on all the happenings on the estate since he’d left, finishing up with a casual, “And I hope we won’t be losing you to Greylag, Your Grace?
It is indeed a lovely place. I’ve been there myself once or twice. My cousin is the cook.”
“He is? Oh, he makes the very best strawberry tarts I’ve ever tasted.”
“I’ll be sure to let him know,” she said. “Although, Avendene’s cook makes tarts equally delicious. In my opinion, at least. I hope you’ll try them, and take that into consideration before deciding on whether Greylag or Avendene will be your primary residence.”
It took another moment for Arden to understand what she was really, and very delicately, asking. He flushed.
He didn’t think he would ever get over the mortification of being the last to know that he was in heat. Or that Marl had had to roust Beckett from his bed and ask him to take Arden through it, and everyone knew it had gone so badly that Arden, their new duch, had run away.
Cheeks now throbbing, he said, “Although I’m looking forward to returning to Greylag next spring, I do plan to be here for the foreseeable future.
” And then, because along with the mortification of everyone knowing his business, he was aware that people might perhaps have looked upon Beckett with judgement even though none of it was his fault, he added, “Where I l-look forward to spending time with my husband. And my…and B-Beckett.”
She inclined her head with a pleased smile. “Do you have any idea when we should expect them?”
He sighed wistfully. “No. Jack had more Council business—”
Mrs Foley made a disapproving sound that had Arden nodding along.
“—but hopefully it won’t take too long. He said perhaps a week.”
“It always takes too long,” she said darkly.
“As soon as he’s done one bit of business for them, they oblige him to take on more.
Luckily he has Nolan to help, but it would be nice if they’d at least allow him to enjoy being a newlywed.
You’ve been married months now, and he’s spent mere days with his new duch! ”
Arden’s cheeks were going to be red all day, it would seem. “He visited me at Greylag,” he offered. “With Beckett.”
“He did?” she said, pulled a comical face when she realised how she’d let her curiosity slip, then laughed.
“Well, that’s something at least. And here’s something to tide you over until you see them again.
” She drew an envelope from her voluminous skirt pocket and stood.
“It arrived this morning.” Arden politely stood as she did.
She paused as if surprised before bestowing a bright smile on him.
Taking his hand, she gave it a gentle squeeze.
“We are all so happy you’re home, Your Grace,” she said, and bustled out.
Arden looked down at the envelope. His name was scrawled on it in rich indigo ink, in what was now very familiar writing, and was sealed with Jack’s crest.
Arden’s crest, too.
Hapton clattered in to collect the tray, saw that Arden was still there, and reversed his steps.
Arden gave him an awkward wave. “Hello, Hapton. Do please carry on.”
Hapton gave him a cheerful half-bow in return. “Your Grace.”
As Hapton gathered the empty cups and plates and loaded the tray, Arden took the envelope over to the window. He broke the indigo wax seal and slipped out the letter.
My beloved Arden, it began.
He smiled softly as he read the first few lines, skimmed ahead to the bottom because he was the sort who liked to know how things ended so he could really enjoy the journey, and choked, his cheeks flaming all over again.
“Your Grace? Are you well?” Hapton paused on his way out of the door.
…inside you, my darling, and watch you come apart…
“Yes,” Arden said faintly, flattening the letter to his chest and pressing it there as if the words would fly free and hover in the air for Hapton to see if he didn’t. “I’m fine.”
Hapton’s lips twitched as he nodded and left.
As soon as he was out of sight, Arden bolted across the room, shut the door, and placed his back to it.
My beloved Arden,
It is not three hours since we left you and already I am impatient to see your lovely face again. I write this from our chamber at The Hare’s Rest. You may recognise the name of the inn. Perhaps you stayed here on your way to Greylag?
This letter will be short and, by the time you read it, four or five days old.
And, Arden, by the time you read it, I very much hope that Beckett and I will already be on our way to you, having completed business in Sevennis and set out for Avendene.
Our bed here is vastly uncomfortable, made all the more so by the great lout who takes all the covers for himself, and—
Here the elegant penmanship cut off in a brief spatter of ink.
It was easy for Arden to imagine what had happened: Jack, propped up against a pile of pillows and stretched out long on the mattress, writing with his travelling desk on his lap.
Beckett, leaning over and asking Jack to read back what he’d written, then punishing him for it with a brief scuffle that perhaps ended in a harsh kiss.
—but since this state of affairs is not unknown to me, I shall nobly endure, as I have often done in the past and shall in the future.
Tell me, my darling, that you are not also greedy with the bedclothes?
If so, I shall have to heap my bed high with them, just to have a mere handkerchief’s worth of cover in the cold nights of winter.
Although if you and Beckett are with me, I doubt any of us will be cold.
I must go. Tomorrow we start at first light, as the sooner we arrive in town, the sooner we will be able to leave. And I am eager to hold you in my arms once again. To take you as my husband. To be with you, and inside you, and watch you come apart for me as sweetly as you did for our lover.
His cheeks still hadn’t recovered from the first time he read that, when Hapton was bustling about with the tea things.
Our lover, who asks me to add a message from him.
Arden closed his eyes and prepared himself. If Jack was this brazen on paper, he could only imagine what raw thing Beckett would say.
Oh. Oh. Not brazen at all.
Beckett looks forward to walking with you in the gardens and perhaps down by the river or the lake, if his taskmaster allows him the time off.
He is talking of Marl here, Arden, as he knows full well I would have him give up—
Here the ink spattered again and Arden laughed softly.
Enough. I must say farewell. Know that I long to see you, and send you my love and Beckett’s.
Yours always,
Jack
Arden stood there against the door and read the letter three times over.
He took it upstairs with him to his bedchamber and slipped it under his pillow, bringing it out to reread twice more in the course of the day, and then again before he snuffed his candle.
He lay in the moonlit chamber, watching the silver light creep over the dark, polished boards and wondering if they’d come home tomorrow. It was too much, perhaps, to hope for.
Arden, however, was nothing if not hopeful.
Tomorrow, he told himself, there would be a stir outside, and Arden would rush out to stand on the front steps and welcome them, as Marl had done for Arden.
First Jack would dismount from his travel-weary horse and stretch his lovely tall body, and then…no.
First Beckett. Then Jack.
Beckett would sling a leg over the pommel, jump down, and be unstrapping the luggage before Jack even made it off his horse. He’d scoop up their bags and cases, ready to carry it all into the house and up to Jack’s chamber.
Jack would be annoyed with Beckett for slipping back into the role of footman, even as he strode up the steps to greet Arden with a wide smile and a kiss. And Beckett—
Oh. Hmm.
Perhaps Beckett wouldn’t don the mantle of servant straight away.
Perhaps…he blushed to think of it, to think that he, Arden, might be the one to make a difference here, but…
Beckett would see Jack greeting Arden. He’d see them kiss, and he’d set the luggage down to march up the front steps and demand a kiss of his own.
Arden rolled quickly onto his front with a gasp, pressing his face into the pillow and smiling. He pulled the covers over his head.
He was being silly, of course. Much as he yearned for it, they wouldn’t be here tomorrow. It was too soon.
But maybe the day after?