Page 44 of The Lord Meets His Lady
Samuel nudged his horse closer. “Three years in the army, and you were gone. Your service done. That’s what I mean.”
“The same for you.”
“Because my mother and father died. For you, it was an irresponsible escapade, getting your mother to purchase your commission behind your father’s back. All to goad him.”
“How good of you to remind me,” he snapped and rode on.
“Marcus…”
“And now,” he yelled over his shoulder, “you’re counting on myirresponsiblegambler’s skills to boost your place in the world.”
“And yours,” Samuel shot back.
Winds kicked up. Strands of hair blew loose from Marcus’s queue. Vermilion cloth flashed from the Pallinsburn woods. Miss Turner. The bright spot in his life. Their flirtation had been reduced to few words, so exhausted was he each night. His patient housekeeper gadded about, skirts swaying as she put the cottage in order, patching plaster walls and renewing the garden. He could find no fault with her. The food was decent, the bath hot, and his hip boots clean by morning.
But there were no more friendly conversations, such as their bath-time scullery talk. He missed it. He missedherdespite living under the same roof with Miss Turner.
After dinner, he’d yawn before the parlor fire, reading a broadsheet until he nodded off like some boring country squire. One evening puff was all he allowed himself before grinding out his cheroot, for fear of setting his breeches on fire.
At the rate he was going, that’d be the only scorching activity in his breeches.
Samuel had the right of it. Marcus had joined the army for adventure and for the chance to escape the Northampton shadow; Samuel had joined for duty to king and country. His friend quit to look after his brothers; Marcus had come home to look after himself, spending time in pleasurable pursuits.
His vision narrowed on the empty country road winding beyond the pasture. The comparison wasn’t pretty.
Cold wind whistled past his ears. Leather creaked in his hands. Khan’s head tipped skyward, his nostrils flaring. The reins. Marcus’s gaze dropped to his lap. He pulled the straps hard. Uncoiling the leather, he stroked Khan’s neck, murmuring soothing words as Samuel rode up.
“Prime opportunities like this don’t drop in a man’s lap every day,” Samuel argued. “How else will we come up with enough quid in so short a time?”
“I’ll consider it.”
“It’ll be more work, but the rewards will come,” Samuel said with granitelike certainty.
Marcus slanted a look at his friend. “Planning to drive me to an early grave?”
“You’ll adjust. London made you soft. If you’re not careful, this place will grow on you.”
Northumberland? Grow on him?
Aloof northern climes trifled with the senses, the land wide open, yet frigid. Magpies pecked at cracks on the stone fence. The sun lit iridescent blues in their tail feathers. A long-ago ramble with his grandfather along this same fence passed before his eyes… The summer sun and laughter, his grandfather pointing out whinchats and warblers, pretty red-legged partridges and scarlet rose finches with his gnarled walking stick.
Marcus had forgotten about those simple wonders.
Pallinsburnwasgrowing on him, the way moss took over shadowed crevices. If he wasn’t careful, he’d become entrenched the same as the ancient stone fences.
“Wind’s picking up.” Samuel pointed at clouds stirring. “Rain’s coming. We need it.”
Marcus swallowed, the parched sensation lingering. The craving grew weaker every day, her siren calls few and far between. His vision drifted lower. The leather gloves he wore. The chilblains were nearly gone too. Miss Turner reminded him nightly to rub on the slick unguent. Calendula ointment she’d called it. Each morning his gloves sat in a neat pile on the entry-hall table. Those thoughtful gestures, small yet significant, whispered of her care.
Or was he becoming an infatuated simpleton over gloves and calendula unguent?
“Marcus? Are you well?”
“A bit off today,” he said, taking in the ranging clouds.
“Perhaps we have been working too hard. Joining Baron Atal’s house party for a hunt and a card game or two might be what you need.”
Marcus shook his head, choosing silence. Samuel was, if anything, persistent.
