Page 53 of It Takes Two to Tumble
Ben watched with dawning comprehension as Walsh and Alice exchanged a long glance. Apart from the picnic, Walsh had been noticeably absent from Barton Hall these past few days, and Ben had wondered where he had gotten to. Now he gathered he had the answer. He sat on the low wall that edged the garden.
“I’ll be back for supper.” Walsh kissed Alice’s hand, tipped his hat at Sedgwick, and strode out of the garden.
When he was out of earshot, Ben cleared his throat. “Peter, eh?”
Alice shot him a quelling glance. “Don’t make too much of it.” She made a great show of rinsing off a paintbrush and making herself busy. “Yet,” she added, not meeting his eyes.
“You’re fond of him?” he asked. “I’m asking as your friend, not as your former betrothed.”
“I’m very fond of him. And he seems to be fond of me. Now, why am I being coy? He’s dreadfully fond of me, which is so gratifying, Ben, I can’t even tell you. But I’m just as fond of him, which seems impossible, but there you have it. In any event, he asked me if I’d mind his speaking to Father, and of course I said I didn’t mind. And Father will likely faint with relief to have me off his hands, so I suppose I’ll be getting married. Wish me happy!”
He kissed her cheek. “I wish you all the happiness.” His voice was thick and his eyes were prickling with tears. “I hope you don’t mind me telling you that I’m quite sickeningly jealous.”
“Of Peter?”
“No, no, nothing like that. Of both of you.”
She eyed him shrewdly, but not without compassion. “You, Benedict Sedgwick, are a mess.”
“I can’t argue with you there.”
“Find a nice girl who you actually want to kiss behind hedgerows—”
“Dare I even ask what Walsh has been doing to you behind hedgerows?”
She waved a dismissive hand. “Find this nice girl, and then get over whatever ethical scruples are bothering you. You can’t possibly believe that God wants you to spend your life alone.”
“Some people are very happy on their own,” Ben ventured.
“Of course they are. But you’re not one of them.”
He didn’t know how to answer that, so he stayed silent and let her words seep into his mind.
“When you go back to Barton Hall, will you take this to your captain?” She handed him a sketch of Phillip, Peggy, and the dog on a picnic blanket. Phillip had an arm around Peggy, who was feeding tidbits of cold meat to the dog. On the surface it was a sweet domestic scene. But Phillip’s gaze was directed at an object just off the edge of the paper. “I thought he might like to have it when he returns to his ship.”
“That’s very thoughtful. He’s selling his commission, though, and staying on at Barton Hall.” His mouth could barely form the words, and he could hardly tear his gaze from the drawing of Phillip’s face, which had an expression of almost painful tenderness and devotion. It had been Ben himself that Phillip was looking at. Ben had been on the edge of that same blanket. If he hadn’t already realized that Phillip’s feelings for him were a mirror of Ben’s own toward Phillip, he would have known it then. It struck him that if Phillip was in want of money or a house, Ben would give him whatever he could, and gladly. And there would be no shame in Phillip accepting it, because that was what it meant to have a life together. It meant holding hands and jumping together into an unknown future.
Phillip was half asleep on the library sofa when he was roused by the sound of hoofbeats on the gravel drive. It couldn’t have been Ned, because he would have ridden out from the stables, and Ben walked everywhere. At the sound of hasty, booted footsteps in the hall, Phillip got to his feet.
Sir Martin Easterbrook appeared in the doorway, glowering and carrying what looked like a bag of rags.
“I tried to stop him, Captain,” said a flustered housemaid who was barely visible behind the visitor.
“Quite all right,” Phillip said evenly. “Shut the door, Mary, please,” he added, gathering from Easterbrook’s stormy expression that there was about to be a scene. But then he noticed that the oddly-shaped bundle under the man’s arm appeared to be wriggling.
“This,” Easterbrook said, placing the bundle on the ground, “is the last time I return any of the inmates of this house.” Out of the sack emerged the twins’ dog.
“Oh,” said Phillip. “That’s... kind of you, Easterbrook.” He tried to keep the astonishment out of his voice. “I’m in your debt.”
“Damned right you are.” Easterbrook made a noise of frustration. “Every blasted day this mongrel is sniffing around my kennels. I gather he must have been carrying on a romance with one of my hounds.” A look of shame and regret passed over the young man’s face. “But they’re all sold off and this idiot hasn’t caught on.” The idiot in question was dancing happy circles around the baronet’s feet.
“I didn’t realize he was missing,” Phillip said. “The twins had a bit of a late night so they’re still asleep.”
Easterbrook snorted. “I found one of them roaming the hills yesterday. Looked like he was off to take the king’s shilling or join up with a traveling circus.”
“You were the man who sent him to Alton Sedgwick,” Phillip said.
“Figured even Fellside Grange is better than falling into a gorge,” the baronet said, looking both annoyed and bashful.
