Page 3 of Map of a Lady's Heart
“I recall you agitating to leave Hampshire,” he said instead. “Your mother told me you were wild to be away.”
The boy’s mouth pulled sullenly. “Not this far away.”
That was what his mother had feared. Anne was Wes’s oldest sister, and she knew exactly what her son wanted, so newly grown to manhood and so abruptly possessed of his father’s title. Justin had barely finished university when his father died, leaving him the new Viscount Newton. Instead of the Grand Tour he had been promised upon completing his studies, Justin had gone home to New Cross House to console his mother and sisters and lay his father to rest.
But mourning soon grew tiresome for a young man of high spirits and energy. If he couldn’t sow his wild oats in Italy or Spain, Justin was determined to sow them somewhere. He fell in with a crowd of young dandies who spent their time racing carriages, dicing, and drinking at the local pub. When the local miller called on Anne to complain of young Lord Newton’s attentions to his daughter, Anne wrote to Wes and commanded him to take charge of his nephew before the boy was hopelessly debauched.
He’d gone at once; he had to. Anne might be a decade older than he, but he was still the head of the family. Privately he didn’t think Justin was in as bad a way as Anne claimed, but his sister was grieving her husband, and rationality had never been her strong suit anyway. It seemed obvious to Wes that the best course was to separate the restless son and anxious mother.
On impulse he decided Justin should come with him to Kingstag Castle in Dorset. Wes had his eye on a particular old atlas, and he strongly suspected the duke had recently acquired it. The only way to be certain was to see it himself, and his sister’s demand that he deal with his nephew provided all the excuse Wes needed to set off for Dorset at once. Not only would it give Anne a respite from worrying about Justin, he reasoned, it would remove the boy from the miller’s daughter as well as his wastrel friends for a fortnight, and allow Wes a chance to influence his nephew for the better.
Rarely had he regretted anything more.
“Where did you want to go?” he asked, wondering what had made him think he could act as a mentor to this sulking young man. Had he been this odious when his own father died?
“Italy,” said Justin at once. “Rome. My father promised me I would see all the sights.”
“That’s an even longer journey,” Wes pointed out. “Some of it aboard ships, which can be even more beastly than the roads.”
“At least the destination is worthwhile,” flung back his nephew. “I’ve nothing to do with the duke—”
“And you can only be civil and cordial to someone you’ve known for ages?” Wes raised one brow. “You’ve got a lot in common with Wessex, you know. He also inherited young. You might find him an interesting acquaintance.”
The expression on Justin’s face was just shy of incredulous. “I doubt it. He’s old enough to be my father.”
Not quite; Wessex was only a few years older than Wes, if memory served. “Your father would be pleased for you to know him,” he said instead.
Justin did not reply. He turned to gaze moodily out the window again. After a few minutes, Wes drew out his travel atlas. He smoothed open the pages and his irritation subsided. The illustrations were remarkable, and he was able to locate their location to within a few miles. The travel guide provided plenty of description of the surrounding countryside, and he lost himself in vignettes of Roman ruins and splendid castles and manors.
“It’s snowing,” Justin muttered.
Wes turned a page, still reading about the stone circle found not far from here. “We’re almost there.”
“What if we have to stop and become snowed in at some dreary little inn on the side of the road?”
“I doubt that will happen.”
Justin was quiet for a moment, then burst out, “We’ll be trapped at Kingstag, won’t we?”
Wes glanced out the window. It was indeed snowing, but not hard. “It’s not likely, this far south. We’re not in Russia.”
“Might as well be,” was the grumbled retort.
“You have no idea what Russia is like.”
“Nor am I ever likely to!”
Wes closed the book with a snap. “Your behavior is the reason,” he warned. “This is why your mother wanted you to come with me—I daresay she was sick to death of listening to you complain.” He glared at his nephew. “If you wish to be treated as a man of sense, worthy of respect, you might begin acting the part.”
Justin gaped at him. “I didn’t ask for my father to die!”
“Neither did I,” Wes retorted. “I was only five years older than you when my father died. Don’t imagine I’ve forgotten what it was like.” He softened his voice as Justin’s eyes grew round and his lower lip jutted out. “Life serves us all some hard turns. Carousing at the pub and chasing the miller’s daughter isn’t something you are owed, and either one can cause long-lasting regret. Do you want to cause your mother even more anguish, on top of her sorrow at your father’s death?” Justin jerked his headno. “I should hope not.” With that stern pronouncement, Wes sat back and opened his book again.
For the next hour Justin said nothing. Once or twice Wes stole a glance at him under pretext of checking the weather, but Justin was simply staring out the window, shoulders hunched. He hoped his nephew managed to comport himself graciously at Kingstag. Wes didn’t know Wessex personally, and his mission would be greatly complicated by a surly nephew. If Justin behaved like a moody child and cost Wes a chance to get that atlas... He breathed deeply and assured himself that would not happen; he would not allow it to happen. One way or another he would rein in Justin.
Finally the carriage slowed to turn into a winding oak-lined avenue. Wes put the book aside for good; it had grown too dark to read anyway, even with the lamps lit. Outside the window, one of the outriders galloped past on his way to announce them at the house. “I believe we’ve arrived.”
Justin nodded.
