17

 

Madeline threw her arms about Justain’s shoulders. “How did you know that these strange places make me uncomfortable? Of course, you would. My knight would.” She shuddered.

“Knight, humph.” He moved her hands back to the mattress and kissed her forehead. “I’ll sit with you until you fall asleep.” His eyes clouded as if another burden dropped upon his shoulders. Justain leapt up from the bed and tied tight his robe. “I’ll read to you until you drowse.” He pulled a chair close and picked up his tattered book of poems from the night table.

She smoothed the blanket. “You know what I want?”

His brows arched.

She studied those mysterious sky-blue orbs. “Tell me about Richard.”

“He cheated at cards.” Justain lowered his head and thumbed through a few pages.

How to make him gaze at her? Words would have to do. “Tell me about his other nature?”

Justain lifted his head. “What, his drunken one? He was a mean drunk.”

She shook her head. “I don’t want to hear about his weakness. Unless that’s what changed him, made him so reckless.”

“Pardon me?” He rubbed his neck.

She pushed up higher onto the pillows. “Did drink control him?”

“No more than it does anyone. Well, Richard did say it was for medicinal purposes. Everyone has pain, even a starchy miss.”

“My father changed.” She looked away to the window. If she squinted, Madeline could picture her father pacing, throwing a goblet at the low wall on the patio. Step-mother knew how to provoke him.

“You miss him, the duke?”

“Yes, very much.” She turned, examined Justain’s face, the tiny scar on his chin. “Was it a woman that changed him?”

“You want to know about Devonshire’s, I mean Richard’s womanizing?” Justain closed the book. “Those tales of conquest aren’t fit for feminine ears.”

“Then tell me a story that is fitting about Richard.”

He rubbed the piping of his lapel. “We used to play knights of the realm. I was his armour bearer. Richard and I trailed the woods of Devonshire almost every day when we were children, looking for kingdoms to conquer. I remember him keeping me upright on Zeus, his chestnut Exmoor, whose coat was as thick as a beaver’s. It took forever for my feet to grow into the stirrups.”

Justain fussed with his thick sleeve. “That pony moved like the wind. I still remember the day I finally held the reins myself. Mason hung my saddle next to Richard’s that evening.” His voice radiated.

He must’ve loved his brother.

“The old man was so pleased.” His voice soured. “My father gave me a filly to ride. My Athena.”

“Somehow, you, coaxing a female about Devonshire seems fitting.”

Justain chuckled. “Richard and I were inseparable. I was his faithful servant. There was freedom racing betwixt the tors, skirting the tree line, looking to vanquish the enemy.” His hands tightened on the ends of his sash as if they were upon his horse. “The scent of lilacs and heather was strong; it hung in the breeze.”

The intensity of his feelings for Richard and Devon seemed to match the apathy he held for his own father. She wanted to ask, but stayed with tidbits he offered. “You were close to Richard.”

“One does begin to rely on someone heavily who’s always there to mop up the broken pieces. We shared a passion for the outdoors. He’d miss all types of appointments to take another ride about Trenchard’s grounds and the craggy vistas of the moors. Richard loved the change of seasons. For a few days in the fall, the great house is framed with orange-red leaves. The green hills are endless with colour.”

Justain was ebullient. The love of his home etched in his smiling countenance. She wanted to think of Avington like that but couldn’t. Her home hadn’t seemed that wonderful for many years.

He pulled out a timepiece from his pocket. “It’s getting late.” He stood and stretched. His long arms almost hit the ceiling.

“You’re at ease telling stories. If my father talked more, I’m sure his spirit wouldn’t be burdened. He’d deal better with his pain.” She bit her lip. She shouldn’t have revealed that.

“Always making observations. I like your naiv—conclusions.” His eyes were kind, though she could fill in the shortened word, naivety.

She patted the bed for Justain to sit next to her. “I don’t suppose I could coax you into another tale, my good sir.”

“Another time. I’ll tell you about going hunting with Devlin and Richard.”

“A minister with a gun?” Madeline yawned. “That’s hard to picture.”

“Oh, lass. He’s the best Delveaux by far. He split a viper between the eyes at sixty paces.” Justain put back the walnut chair and approached the bed.

His gaze fell upon her. It felt warm as if the sharing of confidences began a bond. She should be more honest with him. She sucked in a breath. “Justain.”

A solid knock pounded along the door. “Lord Devonshire, a post has come for you.” Mr. Winton’s voice held an urgent tenor.

The lazy smile upon Justain’s face disappeared. “I’ll join you in a moment, Mr. Winton.” Justain leaned over her and kissed her forehead. “I’ve more tales. The sordid details of a few of my scouting expeditions for Lord Wellesley, the Marquis, now Duke of Wellington. They’ll curl your toes. But not tonight. My wife needs to sleep.”

He straightened and marched out the door as if he were soldiering to battle. Something brewed.

She pulled her hands in prayer. “Abba Father, let the work You’ve begun in our lives continue to grow. Reveal to me the obstacles which burden our path.” A sour taste swirled in her stomach as she lay against her pillows. Not all answers to her prayers coated the tongue.