Page 11 of The Virtuoso
“You two.” Belmont scowled at his sons. “No dessert if you don’t make some pretense of domestication immediately.”
“Not that.” Day rolled to his back, letting his arms and legs twitch in the air. “Phil, he uttered the Worst Curse, and we’ve hardly done anything yet.”
“May I finish your sandwich?” Phillip reached for his brother’s uneaten portion.
“Touch it”—Day sat up immediately—“and it’s pistols, swords, or bare-knuckle rules.”
Darius accepted the pie Val withdrew from the hamper. “And to think, Valentine,” Darius drawled, “your mother raised five of these, what are they? Boys?”
“Demons,” Belmont muttered. “Spawn of Satan, imps from hell.”
“Beloved offspring,” Dayton and Phillip chorused together.
“Hush,” Belmont reproved. “I haven’t sprung Nick’s plan on Lord Val yet, so you’ve made a complete hash of my strategy.”
“Oops.” Dayton glanced at Phillip. “Let’s go check on the horses, Phil. You swear you’ll let us have a piece of pie?” He drilled his father with a very adult look.
“Honor of a Belmont. Now scat.”
They went at a run that nonetheless included elbows shoved into ribs and laughter tossed into the building heat. The sense of silence and stillness left in their wake was slightly disorienting.
“And you’ve another on the way,” Val reminded him. “I suppose you want to leave your beloved offspring with me for a bit?”
“How did you guess?”
“He’s canny like that,” Darius said, munching on a chicken leg. “And desperately in need of free labor.”
“Don’t kid yourself.” Belmont examined his hands while he spoke. “They will eat every bit as much as you would spend to hire such as them, but they do work hard, and Nick thought you might not mind some company.”
“Nick.” Val heaved a sigh. “He sent poor Lindsey here to be my duenna. He ought to be too busy with his new wife to meddle like this.”
Val understood Axel Belmont was being polite, offering a way for Val to accept help—and dear Nicholas’s spies in his camp—without losing face. Well… there were worse things than taking on a pair of adolescent brothers.
“I will be pleased to have the company of your sons,” Val said, opening his eyes and sitting up, “but we’d better cut that pie before they come charging back here, arguing over how to cut the thing in five exactly equal pieces.”
“Better make that six,” Darius murmured as his gaze went to the path through the woods.
“Six is easy,” Val replied, but then he followed Darius’s line of vision to see Ellen FitzEngle emerging from the trees. “Six is the easiest thing in world,” he concluded, helpless to prevent a smile from spreading across his face.
***
Ellen was wearing one of her comfortable old dresses and a straw hat. She was also wearing shoes, which Val found mildly disappointing. Since the day he’d first met her—barefoot, a floppy hat on her abundant, chestnut hair—he’d pictured her that way in his imagination. And though she was shod, today her hair was again down, confined in a single thick braid.
“You were drawn by the noise.” Val rose to his feet and greeted his newest guest. “Ellen FitzEngle, may I present to you Mr. Axel Belmont of Candlewick.”
“Mrs. Fitz.” Belmont bowed over her hand, smiling openly. “We’re acquainted. I am a botanist, and Mrs. FitzEngle has the most impressive flower gardens in the shire.”
“You flatter, Professor,” Ellen said, “but I’ll allow it. I came to see the massacre, or what surely sounded like one.”
“You heard my sons,” Belmont concluded dryly. “As soon as we cut the pie, you’ll have the pleasure, or the burden, of meeting them.”
“Won’t you join us?” Val gestured toward the hamper. “Mrs. Belmont sent a picnic as a peace offering in exchange for suffering the company of her familiars.”
“How is your dear wife, Mr. Belmont?” Ellen asked, sinking onto a corner of the blanket.
“Probably blissfully asleep as we speak. She will be eternally indebted to your neighbor here when I return without the boys.”
Ellen smiled at Val. “You’re acquiring your own herd of boys. A sound strategy when the local variety could use some good influences. That looks like a delicious pie.”
