hands shook and he had a tendency of losing his train of thought mid-sentence. Lord Loxley saw to it first that he was fed, bathed and barbered, freshly appareled in the best second-hand clothing that they could get on short notice, and then packed back into the carriage to snore contentedly on their way out of London.
Friendly but confused, the Baron seemed perplexed as to who Fitz was and where they were going, but he was overall pleased to be out of the Fleet and traveling through the countryside. Fitz reassured him whenever he was awake, fed him often, and repeated frequently his explanation that they were going to Loxley Manor to see Miles and that there was going to be a wedding.
“Fitz!” Sarah cried when the carriage pulled up, coming out to greet him. She met him with a hug, fussing over him at once. “Fitz! So you are back safely. I was worried. Did you—oh!”
Startled as she saw Baron Rochester, Sarah looked over the strange old man in confusion and gave a hurried curtsey by way of greeting.
“Sarah, this is Baron Alexander Rochester, Mr. Rochester’s father. Baron Rochester—Baron Rochester? This is Miss Sarah Meriwether.”
The Baron gave her a very friendly smile and bowed to her. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Meriwether.”
“Is Mr. Rochester back?”
“No,” Sarah said. “I’m afraid not, Fitz. Did you expect him?”
“I suppose not,” Fitz said, swallowing down his disappointment. “Mr Egby, will you see Baron Rochester to a guest room, please? Probably on a rather semi-permanent basis.”
“Yes, sir,” the houseman said, and led off Baron Rochester.
Sarah hooked her arm through Fitz’s as they watched them go. “That poor man.”
“Yes,” Fitz agreed. “And it may break Miles’ heart anew to see him so addled. But we shall feed him, and care for him, and it is my hope that his wits will improve with time, care, and the return of his wife and son.”
“His wife!” Sarah echoed. “Fitz, what have you done?”
“Oh,” Fitz said, realizing he should have mentioned that. “I invited her to the wedding.”
“ Fitz ,” Sarah groaned, and spent the next hour scolding him for not telling her about having invited additional wedding guests, not to mention putting himself at risk and haring off across the country on mad schemes.
Fitz endured it good-naturedly, since most of the scolding happened during and after he’d been provided dinner and ale, and he found that he really quite enjoyed Sarah’s sisterly fussing, having not had any family but Lady Mathilda Loxley to worry over him since age thirteen.
Chapter 8
T he wedding had almost started when Miles arrived.
Fitz was near to panicking, retying his neckcloth for the hundredth time. When Miles walked through the door, Fitz seized him. “Miles!” he cried, and then released him and set about blushing over his hasty embrace. “I had feared you were not coming.”
“I did promise,” Miles said, taking it upon himself to tie Fitz’s neck cloth properly. “Come on then, let’s see you wedded.”
“I would speak to you after the wedding,” Fitz said. “Urgent business matters. Don’t go anywhere.”
“I will be right here, my lord,” Miles vowed.
“Good,” Fitz said. “Now go and sit with your parents.”
Fitz got to enjoy the shocked look on Miles’ face for a brief moment and made his escape before Miles had a chance to react.
Despite Fitz’ title and the Meriwethers’ money, the wedding was a simple country affair, sprawled across the manor lawn in the June sunshine. Sarah looked pretty in a light blue dress, although Fitz rather suspected that she was eager for it all to be over. He didn’t dare look towards where Miles might be sitting, having not had the chance to explain to him about the arrangement with Sarah and his feelings toward Miles. If he looked, he knew he might see hurt on Miles’ face or, worse, a blank coldness.
When the ceremony was over and the guests had
Friendly but confused, the Baron seemed perplexed as to who Fitz was and where they were going, but he was overall pleased to be out of the Fleet and traveling through the countryside. Fitz reassured him whenever he was awake, fed him often, and repeated frequently his explanation that they were going to Loxley Manor to see Miles and that there was going to be a wedding.
“Fitz!” Sarah cried when the carriage pulled up, coming out to greet him. She met him with a hug, fussing over him at once. “Fitz! So you are back safely. I was worried. Did you—oh!”
Startled as she saw Baron Rochester, Sarah looked over the strange old man in confusion and gave a hurried curtsey by way of greeting.
“Sarah, this is Baron Alexander Rochester, Mr. Rochester’s father. Baron Rochester—Baron Rochester? This is Miss Sarah Meriwether.”
The Baron gave her a very friendly smile and bowed to her. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Meriwether.”
“Is Mr. Rochester back?”
“No,” Sarah said. “I’m afraid not, Fitz. Did you expect him?”
“I suppose not,” Fitz said, swallowing down his disappointment. “Mr Egby, will you see Baron Rochester to a guest room, please? Probably on a rather semi-permanent basis.”
“Yes, sir,” the houseman said, and led off Baron Rochester.
Sarah hooked her arm through Fitz’s as they watched them go. “That poor man.”
“Yes,” Fitz agreed. “And it may break Miles’ heart anew to see him so addled. But we shall feed him, and care for him, and it is my hope that his wits will improve with time, care, and the return of his wife and son.”
“His wife!” Sarah echoed. “Fitz, what have you done?”
“Oh,” Fitz said, realizing he should have mentioned that. “I invited her to the wedding.”
“ Fitz ,” Sarah groaned, and spent the next hour scolding him for not telling her about having invited additional wedding guests, not to mention putting himself at risk and haring off across the country on mad schemes.
Fitz endured it good-naturedly, since most of the scolding happened during and after he’d been provided dinner and ale, and he found that he really quite enjoyed Sarah’s sisterly fussing, having not had any family but Lady Mathilda Loxley to worry over him since age thirteen.
Chapter 8
T he wedding had almost started when Miles arrived.
Fitz was near to panicking, retying his neckcloth for the hundredth time. When Miles walked through the door, Fitz seized him. “Miles!” he cried, and then released him and set about blushing over his hasty embrace. “I had feared you were not coming.”
“I did promise,” Miles said, taking it upon himself to tie Fitz’s neck cloth properly. “Come on then, let’s see you wedded.”
“I would speak to you after the wedding,” Fitz said. “Urgent business matters. Don’t go anywhere.”
“I will be right here, my lord,” Miles vowed.
“Good,” Fitz said. “Now go and sit with your parents.”
Fitz got to enjoy the shocked look on Miles’ face for a brief moment and made his escape before Miles had a chance to react.
Despite Fitz’ title and the Meriwethers’ money, the wedding was a simple country affair, sprawled across the manor lawn in the June sunshine. Sarah looked pretty in a light blue dress, although Fitz rather suspected that she was eager for it all to be over. He didn’t dare look towards where Miles might be sitting, having not had the chance to explain to him about the arrangement with Sarah and his feelings toward Miles. If he looked, he knew he might see hurt on Miles’ face or, worse, a blank coldness.
When the ceremony was over and the guests had
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