Page 45 of The Virtuoso
As St. Just continued to flirt and charm his way to the table, Val was left to watch and simply appreciate. Ellen was blushing, but she was also slowly letting St. Just’s Irish wit and charm draw her in and tempt her into flirting back.
It was lovely and dear and sad in a way. Axel and Abby took up the slack in the conversation and left Val time to regard his host and hostess a little more closely. Ellen had been right—they had a closeness between them that put Val in mind of St. Just and Emmie, Gayle and his Anna.
David and Letty.
Nick and Leah.
Blazing hell.
“You’re quiet.” St. Just turned piercing green eyes on his brother. “This has never boded well with you. It means you are hatching up mischief.”
“If I’m hatching up mischief, it’s because Belmont’s scamps have led me astray. Do you suppose I might ask for seconds on the green beans?”
“The ones swimming in chicken broth and slivered almonds?” Axel passed him the bowl. “Noticed yours disappeared in record time, and you aren’t even setting a good example for Day and Phillip.”
“He needs a hothouse.” Abby smiled at her guest as he dug into his vegetables. “I’m sure you have some plans around for something modest, don’t you, Axel?”
“I have plans.” Axel grinned at his wife. “Modest, immodest, and everything in between.”
Abby rolled her eyes at Ellen. “See what I put up with? Let’s leave these reprobates to discuss the state of the realm, Ellen, and take our dessert on the terrace.”
“Splendid notion.” Ellen rose, bringing the men to their feet, as well.
“Abandoned.” Axel sighed. “Well, let them eat cake.”
“The last person reported to say that lost her head rather violently,” Val pointed out.
“I’ve quite lost my head, as well.” Axel leered at his wife’s retreating figure.
Val rolled his eyes. “Open a window. I need some air.” Or perhaps he just needed some privacy with Ellen.
***
For reasons of his own, Darius Lindsey had made an agreement with himself that he could spend the summer, riding Val Windham’s coattails, hiding here in the wilds of Oxfordshire. He expected there would be an element of penance about the whole thing, even if there was also a much greater element of benefit to him.
To his surprise and chagrin, he was enjoying himself immensely. In some ways, it was turning out to be the most pleasurable summer of his adult life. He swung out of his hammock and stretched slowly, seeing Val’s army of workmen and cleaning ladies were knocking off for luncheon.
No. It was Saturday, so they’d be heading home for the day no later than one of the clock, leaving the premises unoccupied.
By the time Darius had demolished a serving of raspberry pancakes with butter and preserves—Val had taught him how to prepare this meal earlier in the week—each and every laborer had departed for home. The afternoon stretched, perfect for lazing by the pond with a book and dozing in the wonderful silence of a hot summer day.
God bless Axel Belmont, Darius thought as he gathered towels, soap, clean linen, shaving kit, and a jug of cold mint tea.
“Hullo, the house!”
Well, hell. Darius stepped from the springhouse and spied a man on a handsome chestnut gelding. The rider was blond, blue-eyed, sat his horse like he knew what he was about, and wore the kind of ensemble that was comfortable because of its exquisite tailoring and fine fabric.
“Greetings,” Darius answered evenly, towel over his shoulder, shaving kit in his hand. “Darius Lindsey. Welcome to Mr. Windham’s property. And you might be?”
“Just in time for a swim, it appears. Or a bath.” The man swung down uninvited and extended a hand. “Sir Dewey Fanning, at your service, Mr. Lindsey. I believe Mr. Windham might be expecting me. We discussed a call when we met at market on Wednesday.”
“He mentioned it,” Darius said, taking his guest’s hand briefly. “And my swim can wait. Val said you’re serving as magistrate?”
“I have that honor.” They stabled Sir Dewey’s horse and were shortly up the ladder. “So from whence fell your stones?”
Darius showed him around then obliged further inquiries by giving Sir Dewey a tour of the house.
“Francis would be pleased,” Sir Dewey remarked as they reached the kitchen. The counters were being redesigned to accommodate a huge cookstove that sat squat and black in the middle of the room. Glass fronts had already been installed on the upper cabinets, and a new pump graced one end of a long, glazed porcelain sink.
