Neither food nor companionship held any appeal, but Lewis had eaten nothing since leaving the vicarage that morning, and whatever shock he felt at the moment, Sir John must be suffering far more. The man deserved Lewis’s time and some rational conversation. Besides that, Lewis had questions of his own.
He found Sir John in the library, gazing into the fireplace. Lewis could not see his expression, but the slump of his shoulders spoke of fatigue that sleep alone would not cure.
“I apologize for keeping you waiting, sir. You must be ready to eat an entire sheep.”
Sir John turned, his mouth curving into a smile. “Oh, it’s not so bad as that. We had a bite at Otley before setting out. This is still my first brandy—you’ll join me?”
Lewis accepted the glass Sir John poured for him and they surveyed one another as they drank.
“You look well, Lewis. You’ve added a few much-needed pounds. Some color too. I see why you were so eager to come home.”
“And you, I believe, have lost the weight I gained. Did Lady W put you on a reducing diet?” Or had anxiety done the damage, painted him thinner, grayer, balder?
Sir John groaned and patted his well-rounded belly. “I could lose a good bit more without anyone worrying that I’ll waste away.”
With the servants in attendance, they talked of unexceptional topics over dinner—the predictable trials of winter travel, Lewis’s work with the vicar, Cassie’s doings in Bath. Nevertheless, Lewis’s spirits lifted. In the past three months, he’d eaten too many meals with only Milton or Pope or Edward Gibbon for company.
They didn’t linger at table, instead returning to the comfort of the library. With a roaring fire and brandy to keep them warm, Sir John broached the subject they’d been avoiding.
“How does Jack seem to you, Lewis?”
“Very well, at first. Talkative and happy.” As Lewis went on to describe Jack’s tantrum in the dressing room, Sir John’s scowl deepened.
“It sounds like he went to some trouble to show you the whole range of his moods.”
“I’m sure the traveling played a part, sir. I’m glad to have missed it. Must have been exhausting.”
“It certainly was for me. But Maggs is a godsend! The man is quite imperturbable. His chatter gets tiresome at times, but he says it helps calm Jack down. I’ve seen it work.”
Lewis nodded. “I wondered if it might be a role he plays. When we talked privately, he spoke like a man of sense.”
“His accent is unfortunate since he must go into company with us, and that annoying laugh, but we can hardly expect the language or manners of an aristocrat. He came into this line of work after a brief career as a pugilist.”
“That explains his nose and his—er—solidity. I imagine he has some stories to tell about his past.”
“Yes indeed. Jack finds them very entertaining. So do I, though for me,” Sir John said, “one iteration would be sufficient.” Not much later, he pushed himself to his feet, groaning as he did so.
“I’m for bed,” he said. “I’ll be closeted with my man of business most of the day tomorrow.”
“Goodnight, sir. I’ll just finish my brandy, and then I’ll be up myself.”
At the door, Sir John turned around. “I forgot to tell you, your parents are coming for dinner tomorrow. They invited us to Aubrey Hall, but we thought it best to do it here. You can help, if you would, by keeping Jack upstairs until a footman lets you know they’ve arrived. Afterward, Jack can retire whenever it seems advisable.”
Lewis grimaced. His parents, the new Jack, and his nurse? Not a happy combination. “How much do they know, sir?”
“Only that he’s been ill, with a long recovery ahead.” Sir John’s voice hardened. “Not that they haven’t poked for details. Your family doesn’t deserve you, Lewis!”
Lewis sat bolt upright and searched Sir John’s fierce countenance. It was the first outright criticism of his parents he’d ever heard the man utter. They had been friends, once upon a time. The ladies still were. “Good lord, sir, I’m a poor enough specimen of a son. I think we’re well-matched.”
“They planted that rubbish in your head. Their letters are filled with aspersions—you’re ungrateful, think you’re too good for your parents. Ha! For them to call you prideful is—” He broke off, rubbing one hand across his scalp as if he were scrubbing a stubborn stain.
Lewis rose and strode toward him, put an arm awkwardly around his shoulders. “Sir, there’s no reason for—”
“I’m sorry, Lewis, I’m just so tired.” Sir John drooped. “I wish Margaret and I had realized sooner how wretched they made things for you. When you were five, or ten, or fifteen.”
“Honestly, Gideon was the bigger problem. If they had exercised the least restraint over him… But it was their job, not yours. You could not possibly have done more, sir, and I am more grateful than I can say. Would that I could do more for you.”
“Stay Jack’s friend, that’s all I ask.” Avoiding Lewis’s gaze, Sir John pulled gently away from his embrace and gave him a pat on the arm. “You’re a good lad. In any event, we were bound to see your parents sooner or later. Just as well to get it out of the way.” He opened the door and stepped across the threshold. “Should be quite an adventure.”
Lewis awoke the next morning, anticipating an early ride in honor of old times. Jack slept until noon, however, and by the time he had dressed and breakfasted it was too late for the kind of ride Lewis had in mind.
“Probably for the best,” Maggs confided to Lewis as they waited for Jack to finish eating. “Go slow with it. He’s not been on a horse since before he fell sick, and it seems like whatever sense regular folks have about how they touch things, he’s lost it. Like the way he hauled you up that grand staircase yesterday?”
Lewis nodded as though he understood. But he didn’t. Not really.
“I ain’t no horseman, mind. But mebbe a nag what’s got a thick skin? And stick close to home. Best if he had time for a rest before that fancy dinner.”
Did he mean that Jack could not be trusted to manage a horse? Impossible. From the time they’d learned to ride in the paddocks and pastures at White Oaks, Jack had been the first to conquer every new gait, the first to jump his pony over each successively larger obstacle. “Come on, let’s go!” he would call, and Lewis went. Jack was the best rider he knew.
Yet Maggs had told the truth. Even the placid, elderly mare took exception to Jack’s rough handling of the reins.
They returned in plenty of time for Jack’s rest. They would ride again, of course they would—but not before a careful review of riding basics.