Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

Ryland watched his sister monopolize Aurelia's attention from a chair in the drawing room, a glass of brandy in his hand that he hardly sipped from. His ankle was bandaged and a small amount of laudanum had been left by the doctor to ease the pain, but he hadn't bothered to use it unless he needed sleep. The crash had been three days ago, yet he was still feeling the throbbing effects periodically throughout the day. He hadn't broken the ankle, but the sprain was advanced enough that he couldn't yet walk on it comfortably. He could walk, though, which was a blessing.

What sort of man crashed his carriage and landed so hard he gave himself a sprained ankle and a head injury? Ryland wasn't entirely certain how he'd managed it, except that he'd bounced a few times, and it had been a painful, disorienting experience. The entire walk-limp to the house was a blur in his memory, so full of pain he had nearly fainted. Gladly that didn't happen until he'd climbed the stairs to his bedchamber and was within reach of his bed.

Ryland lifted the glass to his lips and took a sip. Not his finest moment, that. He'd been grateful, at least, Aurelia hadn't joined him upstairs. A man wanted to retain some semblance of his manhood.

And yet things were strained between them. He had the unaccountable urge to be alone with Aurelia and discuss the situations which had led to discomfort between them—the moment at the ruins, the ride from Dunder Hill, the conversation in his study—and to apologize for the crash, but he worried that would only serve to make them both more uncomfortable than they already were.

Blast. He hadn't spent this much time thinking about another person in years, let alone a woman.

Raising his gaze, he found Aurelia looking at him, but she averted her eyes the moment they fell upon his.

Edmund ran into the room and straight for Ryland's chair, making him put out a hand to protect his injured ankle.

"Decorum, Edmund," Aurelia said softly, her voice like velvet. "Remember our decorum lesson."

Edmund slowed at once, looking at his governess, then his aunt. He straightened his posture and bowed to each of the ladies. "Good day, Aunt Ruth. Good day, Miss Beswick." He bowed to his father. "Good day, Papa."

Ryland fought a smile. Edmund practicing decorum was darling. "What can I do for you, son?"

The boy lost a fraction of his proper etiquette when light flashed through his eyes again. This was the mischievous face of a child who was up to something. "Samuel is racing soon, is he not? I want to go. Please tell me I can go!"

"How the dev—" Ryland cleared his throat. "I thought we had discussed this already."

"You told me you would consider it. Have you considered it?" Edmund looked hopefully at his father.

Ryland looked at Miss Beswick. "Well . . ." In all honesty, no. He hadn't considered the matter again until this moment. There had been other things on his mind. Things he shouldn't think about—which meant it took even more energy to dispel them from his thoughts than typical. He wanted a private audience with Aurelia, to gather her opinion. But he could not ask for that now, not with Ruth watching closely, her feline gaze only waiting to entrap him.

"Please?" Edmund pleaded.

"I will have an answer to you in one hour."

Edmund was buoyed by this absence of a rejection, a grin slashing over his face. He turned toward Aurelia and Ruth. "Are we going to see Mr. Barnes today?"

Aurelia glanced at the clock. "Yes." She stood, setting her teacup on the small tray. "Thank you for the visit, Miss Wycliffe."

"Ruth," she insisted. "We are well and truly friends now, I hope."

Ryland watched Aurelia for her reaction to this, surprised to see her lips turn down on the ends in a small frown, though she did her best to fight it. "Of course, Ruth. If you think that is acceptable." Her blue eyes flicked to Ryland and away again.

Ah, so she needed his approval. "Ruth collects friends the way I collect good hunting rifles," he said.

"Nonsense," Ruth argued. "I am selective. I do not gather up any old person I see."

He was arguably much more selective than that when it came to his gun collection, but he let the matter drop. He was grateful he was sitting when Aurelia reached for Edmund's hand as though it was the most natural thing, leading him from the room. Ryland's stomach fell clear to the ground as the image of them walking together, of Edmund wanting to hold her hand, captured him. Grief was a fickle friend—sometimes it left for ages, only to return unannounced with an entire party of friends in tow. Something about seeing them in such a simple, intimate situation made Ryland long for Jane again. He missed her. He missed his best friend, his wife, and it hurt that Edmund would never know her well. The boy already knew Aurelia better than his own mother.

It was a fact, undisputable, that Edmund was only enriched by his relationship with Aurelia, that she brought sunlight into Tilton, that Edmund's days were fulfilling. He was learning and playing in equal measure. Aurelia had struck a healthy balance for a boy his age, and yet, despite being thrilled about each of those things, knowing she was filling places in Edmund's heart that his own mother never would both healed and hurt Ryland.

"You look as though you've swallowed an acorn."

"Thank you for bringing me back to earth," he said to his sister, taking another sip of his bourbon. "My head was in the clouds."

"Thinking of Miss Beswick?" she asked.

"Thinking of Jane," he corrected. It wasn't entirely untruthful.

Ruth watched him, silently assessing.

A short knock at the door drew their attention to Pike. "You've a visitor."

"Who?"

"Mr. Oliver Rose."

"See him in," Ryland said, closing his eyes and leaning back in his seat. When a few moments passed in utter silence, he looked at his sister. "You aren't going to disappear? Follow Edmund to observe squirrels or suddenly recall you need to water your flowers?"

Ruth gave him a wry smile. "That was one time."

"It was ridiculous. Anyone could see through such a thin excuse. Your father employs a perfectly respectable gardener."

"I do not need to run from Oliver. He is not overbearing." She arranged her skirts over her knees and smoothed them down.

Oliver entered the room. He was impeccably dressed, as ever, though lacking the foppish embellishment his cousin so often wore. "Ruth," he said, giving her a passing smile and small dip of his head.

"Oliver," she returned, lifting her tea to her lips.

He settled on a chair near Ryland and let out a weary sigh. "How is your ankle?"

"I feel like the heroine of a gothic novel," he muttered. "Could I not have injured myself in a more manly way?"

Oliver shook his head, chuckling. "Be glad it wasn't worse. Your head could be irreparably damaged."

"You could be dead," Ruth added helpfully.

Oliver ignored her. "Instead, you are still here, and your ankle should heal quickly, yes?"

"It is only a sprain, so I don't imagine it will keep me in this chair much longer. I can already apply some pressure to it."

"Good." That was what he liked about Oliver—the man sounded as though he meant it. "Since we know your mind is not deficient, I need your help. You must talk sense in Samuel. He cannot race in all this mud. Surely it is too unsafe." Oliver gestured to him. "You are proof enough of that. Your skill is nearly unparalleled. If you could not keep your curricle on the road, Samuel ought not to race."

Ryland agreed with the danger, but all they needed was a good, sunny day to dry the roads. Samuel was a talented whip. He could be perfectly safe. Ryland shook his head. "I'm not sure what we could do. Every other carriage and horse—including yours—made it safely home from Dunder Hill. It all comes down to circumstance."

Oliver scrubbed a hand over his face and ran it through his dark hair. "I cannot argue that."

"You are prone to worrying?—"

"Far too much," he agreed.

"—but Samuel will likely be fine. The race is not for a few more days. Perhaps the sun will come out and all will be well." Ryland wouldn't count on it, but anything could happen. "I was considering taking Edmund." He waited a beat, noting that neither Oliver nor Ruth thought it odd enough to elicit an immediate reaction.

"I want to go," Ruth said. "Who is racing Samuel?"

"A Locksley chap. Don't know the man myself," Oliver said.

She gave a wicked smile. "If you will take Edmund, surely you can bring me."

He could not argue that point. "Very well," Ryland said.

"Can Miss Beswick come, too?" Ruth asked.

Oliver gave her a subtle glance. There was meaning embedded in the look, though Ryland hadn't the faintest idea why.

"This is turning into quite the affair," he said.

Ruth rolled her eyes. "You enjoy her company. Do not deny it. She is a far more pleasant conversationalist than you could have hoped to have in a governess. Besides, Edmund adores her."

"Does he?" Oliver asked, though he looked strained. Whatever had been bothering him was likely more involved than Samuel and this race. If anything, Ryland imagined he had only mentioned Samuel's race because Ruth was present. "That must be a blessed relief."

"Very much so."

The conversation turned to the new gown Madame Perreau had made for Lady Faversham with such fine embroidery about the hem that it appeared to be made entirely of feathers.

"Trust me," Ruth said. "I saw the gown before she delivered it. Lady Faversham will host a dinner or a ball soon. What other reason would she have for ordering such an exquisite thing?"

"You are gossiping," Ryland said.

Ruth scoffed. "It is not gossip. Madame Perreau showed it to me, Ry. It is factual ."

"Does not make it less of gossip," he muttered.

She ignored him. "I should go. Good day, Oliver. It is always such a pleasure to see you."

"Trust me, the pleasure is entirely mine." He gave an exaggerated bow that made Ruth chuckle before she strolled from the room. The men sat in silence, waiting for the sound of Ruth's steps to recede entirely.

Ryland squared his friend with a look. "Out with it, man."

He sighed. "My grandmother's bouts of lucidness are growing more infrequent, but the one thing she consistently asks for when she is alert is my father." Oliver leaned forward in his seat, rubbing his temples. He dropped his voice. "What do I do? I wrote to him weeks ago and haven't heard anything yet."

"Do you know where he is? Is he reachable?"

"He was supposed to be in Plymouth last month, but he hasn't written, nor arrived. Should I go to Plymouth? Inquire there? I cannot leave my grandmother, yet the feeling of urgency is commanding me to go."

Ryland didn't have enough experience with navy men to understand their schedules or how best to reach them, but he knew Oliver's father hardly ever came home. When he did, he didn't remain long. While Oliver had been raised by his grandmother and certainly held responsibility for seeing she was comfortable in her final stage of life, he was not her only family member in Harewood. She had a son and daughter nearby, along with their families. The entirety of responsibility did not need to rest upon his shoulders.

"Have you spoken to Mr. Rose or Mrs. Harding?" Ryland asked gently. "She is their mother, after all. Surely they will know what needs to be done."

Oliver looked up, frowning. "I could, but they aren't typically much help." He leaned back in his chair and looked through the window. "I will approach them, at least." He yawned, punctuating it with a weary sigh. "If only I was sleeping better, it would not all feel so insurmountable."

"If they aren't any help, you could send Samuel."

Both men fell silent. "That could work." Oliver smiled. "It would prevent him from racing too, perhaps."

"We are praying for sunlight to dry the roads, remember?"

"Ah yes. Sunlight," Oliver said. "I didn't realize you prayed."

"One does not need to attend church to pray."

"One also does not need to attend balls to dance. Do you do that as well?"

"When were you spying on me?" Ryland asked, laughing. Tilly entered the room to clear away the tray. "Will you bring us fresh tea?"

"Yes, my lord. Right away."

"Thank you, Tilly."

When she left, Oliver kept watching him. "How are you? Truly."

Ryland considered sharing his recent feelings—that he'd been thinking of Aurelia in ways that were far from appropriate for a father to think about his son's governess—but if he admitted those things aloud, that would give them credence. Instead, he felt a distraction would suit him and his evolving, confusing feelings better. "I've been considering putting on a hunting party. What do you think?"

Oliver's brow raised. "Grouse? Or partridge?"

"Pheasant."

"October, then."

"The last few weeks, yes. Will you come? I thought to invite Congleton and Smedley. Maybe a few others."

"Smedley was always a bit of a dolt."

"He is a good shot, though, and a pleasant conversationalist occasionally." In truth, Ryland needed the distraction, and the more men he could think to invite, the better they would do at distracting him.

Oliver tilted his head in understanding. "I cannot promise any of my time, but if my grandmother does not need me, I will attend what I can."

"That is all I hope for."

Ryland made it to the top of the stairs, his ankle throbbing, the light on the wall sconce all but guttering. It was useless light, but he didn't need it to find his room. It wasn't even dinner yet and already the sunlight was nearly gone, the persistent rain making it dim. Autumn would be turning to winter before he knew it.

His ankle felt much better, the pain ebbing with each passing hour, but stairs were still something of a challenge. He'd been tempted not to change for dinner, but he was setting an example for Edmund. He'd invited Oliver to stay, but the man had chosen to return to his grandmother instead, leaving Ryland and Edmund to eat alone.

When he made it to his door, he was startled to find Aurelia walking toward him. Why was she on this floor? His heart thudded, taking in her worried expression. "Is everything well?"

She looked behind her, down the corridor. "I was in the long gallery with Edmund, but he disappeared, and I haven't been able to find him. He must be nearby, but?—"

"Give me a moment," Ryland said, stepping past her. If they had been looking at portraits, Edmund had likely wanted to look at the painting of his mother holding him, which was in Ryland's bedchamber.

"Should I continue looking?" she asked, anxious.

"No, I think . . ." He pushed open his bedroom door to find Edmund seated on the floor, his knees to his chest, the gilt-edged frame in his hands. "Here he is."

Aurelia stepped beside him and paused in the doorway. Her shoulders fell with an exhale of relief. "I will leave you."

"I told Edmund he was welcome to come here whenever he wished if he wanted to look at her, but that the portrait was not to leave my room."

Edmund looked up and noticed them in the doorway. "Papa!"

"You wanted to see your mother?" Ryland asked, a twinge of heartache streaking his chest. It was short lived, however, and gone almost as quickly as it had arrived.

"Do you want to see my mother, Miss Beswick?" Edmund rose, coming toward them. "Papa says I look like her."

Aurelia gave him a kind smile. "I would love to see her."

Edmund hurried over and brandished the frame.

"You may come closer to the fire," Ryland said. The rain had darkened the windows and made it exceptionally difficult to see.

Aurelia held the watercolor, walking into the room with slow, guarded steps. She held it to the light and examined it, a line forming between her eyebrows.

Edmund bounced on his heels, peeking over her arm, his hand curled around her wrist. His eagerness to share this portrait with Aurelia was proof enough that the weeks they'd spent together developed a bond between them. Aurelia had almost been with them for a month, but already she had changed their lives.

"She is beautiful," Aurelia said, lifting her gaze to meet Ryland's. She turned her attention to Edmund. "And you were utterly darling."

He grinned. "I was a lovely baby, I think."

"I agree."

Ryland cleared his throat to shove away the emotion suddenly clogging it. "Edmund, have you changed for dinner?"

"Not yet, Papa." He took the portrait from Aurelia and returned it to the mantel, reaching on his toes to do so. "Can Miss Beswick eat with us?"

Aurelia's attention snapped up, catching his. They shared a moment of panic—her because she would have to explain how it wasn't proper, and Ryland because of the feeling that flooded him when Edmund had made the suggestion.

He'd wanted to say yes.

"Please?" Edmund asked.

"It wouldn't be proper," Aurelia said. "I wouldn't wish to encroach on the special time you have with your father, Edmund. Dinner is for the two of you."

Edmund looked prepared to argue.

"The rest of the servants would be sad if they were unable to have Miss Beswick's company for dinner. You spend all day together, so we ought to allow others an opportunity to see her as well."

This seemed to make sense to the boy. He sighed. "Only one dinner?"

"Perhaps," Ryland said, before Aurelia could argue. "But not tonight. A special occasion might warrant it."

"Like my birthday—oh, Christmas! Christmas is much sooner."

"Yes, on Christmas," Ryland said, unable to dampen his smile. "Now run along and change for dinner."

"Yes, Papa." Edmund smiled conspiratorially at Aurelia, like he had succeeded in obtaining a special treat, before disappearing from the room.

She turned to follow him as Ryland searched for something to say, anything that might keep her here a moment longer, but came up short. He watched her disappear with a distinctly hollow feeling, wondering if she could make him feel whole again.