Page 17 of The Soldier
“Lovely, and that bed looks like it will serve for a much-needed nap while my bathwater is heating.”
“I’ll leave you to it, then.” The earl glanced around the room, hoping it was adequately prepared. “We keep country hours here, and it will be just the three of us at dinner.”
It wasn’t until Douglas was soaking in a lavender scented bath that it occurred to him to wonder just who thethree of usat dinner might be.
***
Leaving his guest, the earl struggled with a sudden, irrational temper. He liked Amery as well as he liked any man of his acquaintance, save his brothers, of course, but he didnotlike having the peace and privacy of his new home destroyed. He didnotlike unannounced visits from distant relations by marriage. He didnotlike having his routine upended; he didnotlike…
He wasn’t in the kitchen, where he’d intended to go. He’d been so lost in controlling a seething, disproportionate irritability, he’d taken himself to the stables, where all three geldings, along with Amery’s bay, were lounging in their stalls to avoid the worst heat of the day. He stepped into Caesar’s stall and rested his head against the horse’s muscular neck.
“Steady on,” he reminded himself, taking a deep breath. God above, if his men could only see him now. Raging over nothing and going two years without so much as thinking of bedding a woman. The malaise in him included his poor sleeping, too, he supposed. In active service, he’d slept in trees, on church benches, and frequently on his horse. Now he couldn’t find sleep in a damned canopied featherbed. And when he did sleep, the nightmares came.
But it was getting better, he assured himself, stroking the gelding’s neck. The rages weren’t so frequent, and they were more swiftly over. There was an occasional decent night’s rest, and just this afternoon, at the pond…
It was definitely getting better. He never expected to be quite the man he was, or the man he’d thought he’d been, but Fairly, who served more or less as the family physician, had been right: He wasn’t going mad. He was recovering slowly from years of serving his nation.
On that reassuring thought, he turned his steps to the kitchen, there to inform Cook they would be three for dinner for the foreseeable future.
Three
“Of course I can’t make you go to services.” Douglas glared at his host over what passed for Sunday breakfast. “But you are a grown man who should at least be on nodding terms with his Creator, for pity’s sake.”
The earl marshaled his patience while he subdued a stale scone with more butter, then forced himself to consider Douglas’s “advice.”
“You will tell Her Grace I am not going to services. Not very sporting of you, Amery.”
“I will not tell your mother you are acting like a petulant eight-year-old boy,” Douglas shot back. “But can’t you consider this in the way of reconnaissance? Your neighbors won’t call on you until you make the first move, so services are a simple way to get the lay of the land.”
“I’ll go, but I will be damned if I’m dragging Winnie along with us, so don’t even try. She has the lay of the land, thank you very much.”
“I would not dream of imposing on Miss Winnie’s time.” Douglas sat back, but then his eyes narrowed. “You don’t want to bring Winnie along because you don’t know if the good folk of Rosecroft will accept her.”
The earl dragged a hand over his face. “In deference to the Lord’s Day, Amery, and your august presence, I have not yet ridden on this fine summer morning. You try my patience with your insights, well intended though they are. Perhaps you could wait until I’ve graced the back of at least one horse before you start peering into my soul?”
“My apologies.” Douglas poured them both another cup of tea. “I do not mean to pry, but rather to commend your caution. For the first five years of her life, Rose had not one playmate. She was not taken to services, she did not attend family functions, she existed only in the confines of the Oak Hall estate and within the ambit of her mother’s love. Winnie hasn’t even had that much. You are right not to let the world get an open shot at her just yet.”
“The world will never get an open shot at Winnie, if it’s left to me.”
“Nor at Rose. When do we depart for church?”
St. Just glanced at the wall clock. “About thirty minutes, which gives us time to finish dressing and tack up.”
“I’ll see you in the stables, then.” Douglas withdrew, leaving the earl to frown at his tea.
A raging cockstand yesterday, church today, the earl thought with a pained grin. Somehow both were related to fixing what was wrong with him, but he’d be damned if he could figure out how.
***
“I am off to compose an epistle to my wife,” Douglas announced as the horses were led back to their stalls two hours later. “Also one to my daughter. Might I enclose something from you, as well?”
“Don’t seal your missive.” St. Just sighed, knowing Douglas would wear him down. “I’ll dash something off tonight for my niece.” The words “my niece” felt odd on his tongue. Not bad, just odd. “But how does one write to a little girl?”
“One writes clearly and sincerely. She’ll never enjoy correspondence if you don’t make it an honest exchange, and I can assure you, you will receive a reply.”
“I have never aspired to correspond with the ladies,” the earl said as they wound through the neglected gardens. “My sisters received some efforts from me, but Bart was a better correspondent.”
“According to your brothers, you have all but given up doing anything with the ladies.” Douglas paused to sniff at a lone rose. “I could do something with these gardens, if you like. Rose and I share an interest in ornamental horticulture. Miss Winnie might like to join me, as poking at the dirt has ever fascinated most children.”
