20. A Decision is Announced over Breakfast

CHAPTER 20

A DECISION IS ANNOUNCED OVER brEAKFAST

M eanwhile, in the Ellsworth House breakfast parlor

Having arrived in the breakfast parlor before anyone else, David Slater, youngest son of Will and Barbara, and heir to the Bellingham earldom and eventually the Devonville marquessate, took a seat in the breakfast parlor and helped himself to the copy of The London Times that had been placed next to his father’s place setting.

A footman saw to his coffee and placed a plate filled with that morning’s fare in front of him before disappearing into the kitchens.

David had nearly finished reading the newspaper and eaten most of his eggs and bacon when his older brother, Donald, appeared on the threshold. Despite the difference in their ages, their resemblance to one another was apparent. Sandy blonde hair, blue eyes, and square jawlines along with similar builds had their identities occasionally mistaken for the other.

“How do?” David said as he straightened in his chair. He set aside the paper, attempting to make it appear as if it hadn’t been opened since its placement on the table.

“I’m starving,” Donald replied, taking the chair opposite his brother’s. “Been in the stables since before dawn.”

David nodded. “At least it’s the last time we’ll have to do that for a while,” he replied as the footman once again brought coffee and food to the table. “Are the horses all right?”

Donald nodded. “They are. Thought Frank was lame—he seemed to be limping last night—but he’s fine,” he commented, referring to one of the draft horses that had been used to pull the carts of wheat into the greenhouses.

“They’re not used to working in the middle of the night,” David said.

“You say that as if we are.” There was barely a hint of humor in the older brother’s comment.

“So it’s a good thing the harvest is done,” their father said as he entered the room behind their mother, obviously overhearing Donald’s comment.

“Good morning to you both,” Barbara said, her arrival signaling the footman to deliver more food and coffee.

“Good morning, Mother,” her sons said in unison. Both young men stood and waited until she had taken her seat before they returned to their chairs.

“David, I spoke with your father, and yes, you can join Randy and Tom on their Grand Tour,” Barbara stated, knowing her words would be both welcomed and a surprise.

His fork dropping to his plate, David stared at his mother in shock. “I can?”

“There’s only the matter of a cicerone,” she added, turning her gaze on Donald. “Would either of you be adverse to you taking on the role of tour guide? I know you kept journals from your Grand Tour. You’re the family expert on the subject since your father didn’t exactly do one in the usual manner.”

Will Slater’s eight years in the British Navy had him visiting several of the countries usually included in a Grand Tour, but he had rarely traveled beyond their port cities.

Donald’s eyes widened. “You’re serious?”

David guffawed. “You’re not joking?”

Chuckling, Will thanked the footman who saw to his breakfast and coffee. “My sweet, you certainly know how to bring joy to a man’s morning,” he said with a wink.

A blush coloring her already rosy cheeks, Barbara was about to scold him for his comment when Donald repeated his query.

“You’re serious? You’re saying I can go back to the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies?”

Barbara exchanged a quick glance with her husband before she asked, “Are you sure you want to take on the responsibility of your brother and two cousins for the next year or so? You’ll have to return them in one piece given there are heirs involved.”

She always hated referring to her younger son as the heir. It wasn’t fair to Donald. Will was the father of both young men. But the laws of inheritance were clear. She and Will hadn’t been married at the time of Donald’s birth, so he couldn’t be Will’s heir.

“I understand, Mother,” Donald assured her. He had long ago accepted his place in the family as well as in Society. If his father wasn’t the heir to a marquessate, most wouldn’t even know he was illegitimate. “The timing could not be more perfect. I have finished my book on the topic of the Grand Tour?—”

“Book?” Will interrupted.

Donald turned his attention on his father. “Yes, sir. I’ve been transcribing my travel journals. It’s what I do when I’m not seeing to the horses,” he explained. “I have compiled what I believe to be a young man’s comprehensive guide for traveling in Greece and Italy.”

For a moment, Will Slater simply stared at his oldest son. “And here I thought you were entertaining young women in your cottage,” he teased.

A red flush crept up over Donald’s face, and he dipped his head. “No, sir. Other than Mrs. Oxblood, there have been no women in the dowager cottage,” he claimed, referring to the Ellsworth Park housekeeper.

Will quickly sobered. Given what he remembered from their conversation upon Donald’s return from his Grand Tour, he had often wondered if his oldest would ever marry. Donald never talked about the young lady he had left behind in Catania, nor had he courted any of the young ladies who lived around Bampton. He had never put voice to the idea of living in London during a Season so he could meet and marry a young lady there.

In the capital, Donald would have had the opportunity to attend any number of entertainments—balls, soirées , musicales , card parties, and the theatre—as well as dinner parties. Cherice, Marchioness of Devonville and his grandmother, would no doubt see to it he was introduced to every young lady in search of a husband—at least those who wouldn’t mind being wed to a bastard.

“Are you in search of a publisher?” Will asked, deciding it best he return the conversation back to the travel guide.

“Three were interested, but I have accepted an offer from Chapman and Hall.”

Barbara and Will exchanged expressions of awe. “Congratulations,” she said. “Aren’t they the ones who publish the monthly magazines and journals? They print Mr. Dickens’ fiction, do they not?”

“They do,” Donald affirmed. “But they’re also creating a library of travel books,” he explained. “My proposal arrived at a good time, I suppose.”

“My brother the author,” David said with a huge grin.

“Nothing is in print yet,” Donald warned. “In fact, if I’m to return to the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies, then perhaps I should hold off and update my manuscript with any new information I might discover.”

“Can they wait that long, though?” Will asked, reminding his oldest son that he would be away from England for at least a year and probably more like two years.

“I will write them today of my news,” Donald replied. “Even if they don’t approve of an extension, I can always send them what I have now and provide a new edition when I return.”

“Careful, or you’ll find yourself offered positions to act as a cicerone for other young aristocrats,” his father warned.

Donald guffawed. “You say that as if it would be a bad thing.”

David gasped. “It would be for the Gisborn stables,” he countered. “Who’s going to take care of the horses in your absence?”

“We can find a new groom when it becomes necessary,” Barbara said, secretly glad for her oldest son. His writing might provide him an income in addition to his allowance. Make him more likely to take a wife.

“We will have to when these two are gone,” Will countered. “Good thing there are some young men in Bampton looking for positions. The Cavanaughs have a couple boys who are about the right age.”

Donald chuckled. “I’ve not even left England, and you’re already looking to hire my replacement,” he complained, although he grinned as he made the comment.

“You can have it back when you return,” his father said, “but something tells me you’ll be making a living as a travel writer.”

Unaware of his mother’s gaze on him, Donald tucked into his breakfast, his mind on a certain woman in Catania.