19. A Serious Discussion

CHAPTER 19

A SERIOUS DISCUSSION

M eanwhile, in the master bedchamber in Ellsworth Park

“What did our son want?”

Dozing for a moment, her mind on how good it felt to have her husband’s prone body keeping her warm in the morning chill, Barbara slowly opened her eyes.

Will had awakened with a start, apparently surprised to discover he was still atop his wife. His gaze immediately went to the clock on the mantel. “Apologies. I didn’t mean to sleep for so long. Or to crush you as I did so,” he murmured.

“I didn’t mind,” Barbara replied with a lazy grin. “Besides, weren’t you up all night?” she asked as she watched him rise to his hands and knees. “You must be exhausted.”

Will’s dark blonde hair, now mostly dry, was mussed and had him looking rather rakish. The rest of him, still naked—except for his stockings—made him appear anything but a gentleman. In London, he would have been mistaken for a pugilist given his muscled arms and the width of his shoulders.

“Not quite,” he replied before kissing both her nipples. He rolled off the bed. “We had all the cutting done yesterday, but only half of the hay baled and none of the wheat. When the clouds rolled in, Mr. Cavanaugh noticed and warned Henry. They thought it best we get everything under cover. Keep it dry.”

Not for the first time, Barbara wondered how Will could speak so coherently first thing in the morning about such mundane topics as wheat and the harvest. “You baled in the middle of the night?” she asked in awe, imagining how many torches it must have taken to light up the fields so the tenant farmers could see. Given the cloud cover, the moon wouldn’t have provided much light, and it had probably rained at some point during the night.

He chuckled. “Not exactly. We piled it onto a few carts and covered them with tarps,” he replied. “Some of it went into the greenhouses...” He paused when he heard her hiss. “...and we made sure the plants inside weren’t crushed.”

“Hannah will have Henry’s hide if her lime trees have been damaged,” Barbara warned, referring to Will’s only sister. Hannah had been married to the Earl of Gisborn for nearly thirty years, and despite having been raised in London, she had settled into the life of a country aristocrat’s wife without so much as a peep of protest. Her former acquaintances in London would be shocked to learn that Hannah was essentially a farmer’s wife.

Barbara blinked. Anyone in London who might still remember her would have a hard time believing that she, too, was now more comfortable living in the country than in the capital.

A few years older than her sister-in-law, Barbara had lived in Oxfordshire all of her adult life, although not by choice. At least, not at first. Her father, the Earl of Greenley, had thrown her out of his London home, Pendleton House, when he discovered she was pregnant with Will’s child.

Although she had secured a promise of marriage from Will prior to his departure from England—his naval duties kept him away for eight years—it didn’t matter. Her father’s incessant gambling and drunken episodes had him behaving erratically.

Thanks to Andrew S. Barton, Esq., the earldom’s man of business, Barbara was provided an unentailed property the solicitor had arranged on her behalf. About four miles from the Gisborn properties near the village of Broadwell, the rundown cottage had been her home for seven years before Will found her and their son, Donald, half-starved and in desperate straits.

The memory of how she had grown to despise Will Slater during those seven years flashed through her mind, and she winced. He’d had no way of knowing his letters never reached her. No way of knowing where she was or what had happened to her.

When he did appear, relieved to find her and stunned to discover he was a father, Will had set to work making a life for them in Oxfordshire. Aided by Henry—the earl had offered him a position as a foreman—they had moved into Ellsworth Park, a country manor house located on part of the Gisborn lands. A few years of renovation later, and Barbara knew she would live at Ellsworth Park for the rest of her life.

Or until Will inherited the Devonville marquessate.

She rather hoped his father would outlive all of them and they would never be forced to move to the capital.

Barbara gave a start when one of Will’s hands passed in front of her face.

“Allow me to put you back to bed,” he said as he moved to lift her.

“I’m not the least bit tired,” she protested, stepping away. “Unlike for you, I find lovemaking rather invigorating,” she added with an impish grin. Remembering what had sent her into her reverie, she added, “You didn’t damage anything in the greenhouses, I hope?”

Built on fallow land near Gisborn Hall in 1815, along with a modern irrigation system, the two greenhouses had been Henry’s idea. They had been the reason the Gisborn earldom had survived the Year of No Summer. Despite the awful weather, the greenhouses had provided the means to grow fruits and vegetables as well as citrus trees for the nearby village of Bampton.

“Not to worry. I made sure there was plenty of room for the carts before we wheeled them in,” Will replied as he disappeared into the dressing room. His voice muffled, he asked, “Now, what does our son want? And which son are we talking about?”

Securing her petticoats, Barbara decided it was best to answer rather than wait until breakfast. The sooner she brought it up, the sooner they could adapt to the idea of not having the boys about for a year or two. The resulting discussion would no doubt go on all day.

Besides, there had been the letter she had found in the study, one she knew Will couldn’t read given the language in which it was written. If her interpretation of its contents was correct, then much of Donald’s behavior of the past six years could be readily explained.

“David would like to go on a Grand Tour,” she stated, referring to their second son and Will’s legitimate heir. Nearly one-and-twenty years of age, David had completed his studies at Oxford at the end of the last term.

Will chuckled. “He and his cousins must have been talking,” he said, referring to Henry’s two middle sons, Randy and Tom. “Tom mentioned he had brought up the topic with Hannah when we were loading hay into the greenhouses.”

Barbara held up her dress, about to pull it back on when she remembered all the buttons were torn off. She tossed it onto a chair and joined Will in the dressing room, inhaling softly at seeing her husband dressed in only a pair of pantaloons. “Are you going to try and talk him out of it?”

Will pulled on a shirt and began tucking the hem into his pantaloons. “No. I think he should go. I think they should all go.” He paused in his task, his gaze watching for her reaction.

Grinning, Barbara rushed up to him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “Thank the gods,” she murmured, reaching up to kiss him on the cheek.

Shocked by her response, Will stared at her a moment before he allowed a brilliant smile. “I would have thought you’d want David to remain in England,” he commented.

Barbara gave a shrug. “Other than helping Henry with the farm, there’s nothing for him here,” she replied. “At least, not now. If he doesn’t go to Greece or the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies, he’ll insist on moving to London, where he’ll vex your stepmother and have every young miss pining for him after his first ball,” she explained as she plucked a fresh corset from a drawer and pulled it on.

Will paused in buttoning up his waistcoat to tie her corset strings. “Why do you say that?”

Rolling her eyes, Barbara disappeared into a sprigged muslin day gown, rather enjoying how Will watched when she raised her arms. “Because he looks like you did when you were that age, and I was one of those young misses who pined for you after my first ball,” she said when her head poked through the top of the gown.

“Remind me why it is we employ a lady’s maid for you,” he said, a grin lighting his face as she took the white silk cravat from his hands and began pleating it.

“To do my hair, of course.” She wrapped the silk around the back of his neck and then wound it around twice on each side before tying the ends into a perfect knot. “Remind me why it is we employ a valet for you.”

“To shave me, of course,” he replied, a dimple appearing in the base of his left cheek.

Barbara’s eyes widened when she realized he had been intending to hold off putting on the cravat until after he’d been shaved. “Here, I’ll undo?—”

“Not necessary. I can go a day without a shave,” he said before he kissed her on the forehead.

A shiver shot through Barbara just then. She was no doubt reminded of how his whiskers had scraped her thighs only the hour before when he had practiced what he claimed was a Roman art. Although she didn’t know whether or not to believe him—she had thought whatever he did more a skill than an art—Barbara had been left wondering if all Roman men knew that particular skill.

Did her sons know of it? Had they employed it on any women? Had Donald done so with the woman in the letter she’d read?

Will’s hand passed in front of her face and she gave a start. “Has David been with a woman, do you suppose?” she asked suddenly. “In... in that way?”

Will blinked. “Are you asking if he’s bedded a woman?”

She nodded.

“He’s been at Oxford for three years,” he stated, as if that would be answer enough.

Staring at him, Barbara continued to wait for a response.

“Well, I don’t know for certain,” Will hedged, “but I rather imagine he’s had a tumble or two.”

“And Donald?” She winced even before the query was out of her mouth. Their oldest at nearly nine-and-twenty years of age, Donald was illegitimate. She had given birth to him seven years before Will had returned from serving as a master and commander in the British Navy. He had lived with them at Ellsworth Park until he left for his Grand Tour.

Upon his return at the age of three-and-twenty, he took up residence in the Gisborn dowager house, a charming stone cottage located on the corner of the Gisborn lands closest to Bampton. He saw to the Gisborn horses, spending part of his days in the stables and the rest in his cottage writing of his travels in Greece and the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies.

He was also unmarried, a situation Barbara had hoped he would rectify when he returned from his Grand Tour.

That had been six years ago.

In the meantime, he hadn’t courted anyone, nor had he been to London to attend the usual entertainments.

Perhaps the reason was the woman who had written the letter.

Will sighed. “I have reason to believe he had an affaire when he was on his Grand Tour,” he murmured. “Probably thought it was harmless fun until he returned and discovered he had feelings for the girl.”

Her eyes widening in alarm, Barbara asked, “Where was this?” as she turned her back to him, intending for him to do up her buttons. “Greece? The Kingdom of the Two Sicilies?” Her gaze darted to the side. “Egypt?”

Instead of answering her or moving to secure the buttons, Will pushed aside her long hair. He dipped his head and kissed her on the nape of her neck, which had frissons skittering down her back.

“If you continue what you’re doing, our breakfast will be cold,” she warned even as she inhaled softly. “Do you know if he writes to her?”

Will’s kisses had migrated to the top of her shoulder. “He who?” he whispered, one of his hands grasping her upper arm.

Giggling, Barbara pulled away slightly. “That tickles,” she complained, her grin belying her words. “And I was referring to your son, Donald.”

Will dropped his forehead to the top of her head. “Promise me we can continue this later today. Or tonight,” he murmured.

Barbara turned around in his arms. “I promise,” she replied, lifting her eyes to meet his. Before she could say anything else, Will’s lips touched hers, and she was lost in his gentle kiss. When he finally ended it, she had forgotten whatever it was she had asked him.

Hunger did that sometimes.