annoyance of her parents, hers.
James offered a tour of the stables, much to the delight of both Henry and
Angelique. After inviting the boy to go riding in the morning he regretfully
excused himself to go inside and find Algers, his agent, waiting for him in
the study. Simon had done a fine job with Abbonley, but there were still
details that needed to be taken care of, things that had been delayed until his
return and that he now wanted done. The school in the village of Esterley,
which sat on the edge of his land, had been erected in his absence, but awaited
his approval before it could be occupied. It was a special project of his, and
he determined to visit it before the end of the week.
Finally Algers, burdened with enough tasks to keep him busy for a
fortnight, departed. James sat back with a sigh. It used to be that he detested
taking care of the details of the estate, especially in the year right after
his father's death when he had returned from London to find Abbonley in disarray,
and the countryside mourning the death of Richard Faring and dreading having
his wild son ensconced in his place.
Now it was a task he rather enjoyed, seeing the progression of things he
had planned. The school was a prime example. His neighboring landowners might
think him a fool for educating the laborers on his property, but he hadn't seen
any evidence that keeping them ignorant did any good.
Simon knocked and leaned into the room. "Is Algers gone?”
James chuckled. "I told you, you don't have to deal with him any
longer."
His cousin came into the room and seated himself. "It's only that he's
so opinionated. Made me feel every decision I made was going to send Abbonley
sliding into the lake."
James pushed against the window sill. "We still seem to be anchored
fairly firmly," he said with a grin. "Which reminds me. What
happened to the rowboats I used to have?"
"Heavens, I don't know. They've probably been beached somewhere along
the lake." Simon sat back and crossed his ankles. "You surprised me
when you gave in to Grandmama, you know. I'm pleased you've finally decided to
allow guests into Abbonley."
James gazed out the window. "Being alone isn't quite as attractive as
it used to be." He took a seat, mulling over whether or not he should
bring up a subject that had been nagging at him for several weeks. "Why
didn't you ever tell me that my . . . antics were damaging your reputation; as
well?"
Frowning, Simon rose halfway to his feet. "Now look, James—"
James gestured at him. "I'm not implying anything. I was just curious.
Because you can't tell me that my being your relation didn't have something to
do with the Grahams putting off this wedding for as long as they could
possibly manage."
Simon slowly took his seat again. "I don't know, James. I suppose I
didn't think you would listen."
The marquis looked at his cousin for a long moment. "I probably
wouldn't have.” He stood again, pacing back to the window. "But what if I
don't want to be the Devil any longer, Simon? What if I want to change?"
"Change?" Simon repeated skeptically. "You've been not
changing for five years. More than that if you count your, and my, misspent
youth."
"Well, I'm trying now," James returned. "I haven't had a
drink in six months, and I've been doing my damndest to behave."
"I didn't know that," Simon said after a moment.
"Didn't know what?"
"That you'd stopped drinking. Now that you mention it, I should have.
Your temperament has been more even since you returned from fighting Bonaparte.
I wasn't expecting . . . " he trailed off, looking embarrassed.
James shrugged. "You had no reason to notice. But I recently had a
great deal of time to do some thinking; and decided I didn't particularly like
where I was heading."
"In the army hospital?"
He shook his head. "Before that, mainly." He cleared his throat.
"When . . . when I was wounded at Waterloo, I slid down into a damned
muddy ditch. One of my sergeants landed across me with a lance
James offered a tour of the stables, much to the delight of both Henry and
Angelique. After inviting the boy to go riding in the morning he regretfully
excused himself to go inside and find Algers, his agent, waiting for him in
the study. Simon had done a fine job with Abbonley, but there were still
details that needed to be taken care of, things that had been delayed until his
return and that he now wanted done. The school in the village of Esterley,
which sat on the edge of his land, had been erected in his absence, but awaited
his approval before it could be occupied. It was a special project of his, and
he determined to visit it before the end of the week.
Finally Algers, burdened with enough tasks to keep him busy for a
fortnight, departed. James sat back with a sigh. It used to be that he detested
taking care of the details of the estate, especially in the year right after
his father's death when he had returned from London to find Abbonley in disarray,
and the countryside mourning the death of Richard Faring and dreading having
his wild son ensconced in his place.
Now it was a task he rather enjoyed, seeing the progression of things he
had planned. The school was a prime example. His neighboring landowners might
think him a fool for educating the laborers on his property, but he hadn't seen
any evidence that keeping them ignorant did any good.
Simon knocked and leaned into the room. "Is Algers gone?”
James chuckled. "I told you, you don't have to deal with him any
longer."
His cousin came into the room and seated himself. "It's only that he's
so opinionated. Made me feel every decision I made was going to send Abbonley
sliding into the lake."
James pushed against the window sill. "We still seem to be anchored
fairly firmly," he said with a grin. "Which reminds me. What
happened to the rowboats I used to have?"
"Heavens, I don't know. They've probably been beached somewhere along
the lake." Simon sat back and crossed his ankles. "You surprised me
when you gave in to Grandmama, you know. I'm pleased you've finally decided to
allow guests into Abbonley."
James gazed out the window. "Being alone isn't quite as attractive as
it used to be." He took a seat, mulling over whether or not he should
bring up a subject that had been nagging at him for several weeks. "Why
didn't you ever tell me that my . . . antics were damaging your reputation; as
well?"
Frowning, Simon rose halfway to his feet. "Now look, James—"
James gestured at him. "I'm not implying anything. I was just curious.
Because you can't tell me that my being your relation didn't have something to
do with the Grahams putting off this wedding for as long as they could
possibly manage."
Simon slowly took his seat again. "I don't know, James. I suppose I
didn't think you would listen."
The marquis looked at his cousin for a long moment. "I probably
wouldn't have.” He stood again, pacing back to the window. "But what if I
don't want to be the Devil any longer, Simon? What if I want to change?"
"Change?" Simon repeated skeptically. "You've been not
changing for five years. More than that if you count your, and my, misspent
youth."
"Well, I'm trying now," James returned. "I haven't had a
drink in six months, and I've been doing my damndest to behave."
"I didn't know that," Simon said after a moment.
"Didn't know what?"
"That you'd stopped drinking. Now that you mention it, I should have.
Your temperament has been more even since you returned from fighting Bonaparte.
I wasn't expecting . . . " he trailed off, looking embarrassed.
James shrugged. "You had no reason to notice. But I recently had a
great deal of time to do some thinking; and decided I didn't particularly like
where I was heading."
"In the army hospital?"
He shook his head. "Before that, mainly." He cleared his throat.
"When . . . when I was wounded at Waterloo, I slid down into a damned
muddy ditch. One of my sergeants landed across me with a lance
Similar Books
