Page 63 of The Ruin of a Rake
“You’re funning, Uncle Courtenay,” Simon said. He was a grave child, but a content one. And about twice as clever as he needed to be. He’d start school again soon enough and then there’d be no telling what he’d become.
“You caught me.” Courtenay ran his fingers through Simon’s hair, as golden in the sun as his mother’s had been. Happier and luckier than Isabella ever had been, surrounded by a small regiment of adults intent on spoiling him silly. Simon would have what Isabella never had, what Courtney himself had to fight to learn—he’d know that he was loved, he’d know that he deserved whatever joy his life would bring him, he’d know his worth and never doubt it.
There came the sound of hoof beats and carriage wheels, and a curricle came into view, being driven at an alarming pace before it stopped short. Two gentlemen descended. One of them, Courtenay immediately recognized as being some relation of Lady Montbray’s—same guinea-gold hair, same general air of refined prettiness. And indeed, she threw her arms around the man, greeting him as Oliver. So, this was her brother, the scapegrace. Didn’t look like much of a hellion. The other man, though, had none of Oliver Rivington’s sunny smiling cheer. He looked like he had been brought to Carrington Hall as a hostage.
Except... Courtenay narrowed his eyes. Rivington wasn’t touching the dark, scowling fellow. But the way they weren’t touching was familiar to Courtenay because it was the way he and Julian didn’t touch one another in public. Leaning a bit close, gazing a bit too long, reaching out but pulling back at the last minute. It was as if they were deeply conscious of all the ways they could have been touching but weren’t. Well, well. This was shaping up to be a profoundly irregular picnic. Courtenay strolled across the lawn and got a better look at the new arrivals.
At that same moment, Radnor’s secretary approached and gripped the scowling man’s shoulder. “Jack, I had no idea to expect you. Did you mean to surprise me?” he asked, beaming.
“I’m the one who was surprised,” the scowling man, Jack, said. “Oliver put me in his bloody curricle and didn’t stop until we got here.”
“Well done, Rivington,” the secretary said, clapping Rivington on the back. And then to Jack, “I haven’t seen you in weeks.”
“That’s because I’m in London, with everybody and everything a reasonable person could possibly want to see. And where are you? First Cornwall and now frolicking in some kind of fucking glen?”
“I believe it’s a bowling green, but I won’t stand on particulars.”
“Place is crawling with gentlemen.” Jack was a larger, rougher version of the secretary. And, sure enough, when Julian introduced Rivington, who then presented Jack to Courtenay, it turned out they were indeed brothers.
And if the secretary hadn’t arranged for his brother’s visit, that meant Julian must have done so. Courtenay found Julian in the growing crowd and raised a questioning eyebrow. Julian responded with a satisfied little smile. This gathering was his gift to all of them; he had assembled a group of people who were all, Courtenay realized, safe with one another. They all shared the same secret, or could be trusted to keep that secret for their loved ones. Nobody was likely to be free with their affections—servants were always at hand, gossip was always a commodity—but it was worth something to know that one was loved for one’s entire self, without any need to hide anything in the shadows.
Courtenay shook hands all around and settled back into his chair, tilting his face up to catch the sun and watching the company from beneath half-lowered eyelids. All around him were the sounds of happy conversation, people who cared about one another sharing a moment of their lives. There would be more like that, moments when he would be dazzled by the joy around him. He must have dozed off for a bit, lulled into a happy stupor. When he opened his eyes, the sun was slightly lower in the sky and he had a kitten resting against his boot. He could hear Eleanor and Radnor engaged in a friendly debate—likely an argument about explosives or something about rocks—and slightly closer he heard Simon trying to teach Lady Montbray’s child Italian while the boy’s mother and her companion strolled in the distance. Standish and Julian were sitting on the garden steps, the secretary was smoking a cigarillo he had filched from Courtenay’s stash while eying Radnor, and Jack Turner’s scowl was now replaced with laughter as Rivington tried to persuade him to take home a cat.
Julian caught Courtenay’s eye at that moment and flashed him a helpless smile that was just for him. Courtenay grinned lazily back and got to his feet to stand by his beloved and enjoy the gift of this summer afternoon.
