Retreat From Love (20 page)

Anne coughed delicately into her hand. Brett’s lips thinned.

“Absolutely not.” Mrs. Goode backtracked and kissed Anne on the top of her head.

“I won’t have a scare like I did last winter. Anne shall stay here and set my mind at ease.”

Anne smiled angelically, which made Brett grind his teeth. He bowed to Mrs.

Goode and then to Anne. “Then I shall take my leave. When the duke is free later and you have returned, Mrs. Goode, we shall stop by.”

Mrs. Goode looked horrified. “I did not mean to drive you away, Mr. Haversham!

As I told you that first time you called, we do not stand on formalities here. Please stay and keep Anne company and look through Ash’s books. When the duke arrives I daresay he shall interrogate you about what you have learned.”

Mrs. Goode’s choice of words reminded Brett why he was there. He was to occupy Anne while Freddy questioned Stephen. With a sigh he realized he was grinding his teeth again. At this rate, he’d have none left by next Sunday. He bowed sharply. “As you wish, ma’am.” He offered his arm, fighting for any excuse to postpone being alone with Anne. “Let me at least see you to your carriage.”

Mrs. Goode linked her arm with his and laughed. “You do it a great honor to call it such, Mr. Haversham, but I am not ashamed to call it a simple pony cart.”

Brett chanced a glance back at Anne to find her watching him with an amused quirk to her lips. He wished he didn’t find even her amusement at his expense desirable.

Freddy rode up to the parsonage, unprepared for the memories that assaulted him.

He hadn’t spent very much time here. None at all, really, not like Bertie. But what memories he did have were pleasant. No, they were more than pleasant. They were glimpses into the life he wished had been his. Mr. and Mrs. Goode had loved one another, something he found infinitely strange. His parents could barely stand to be in the same room together for five minutes at a time. He remembered wondering what it would be like to live in a house so happy. Ashton Park was beautiful, but it didn’t ring with laughter like the Goode Vicar’s house. And when Freddy’s father was at the parsonage, he was happy. He was never happy at Ashton Park. It had taken years for Freddy to realize that his unhappiness was not Freddy’s fault.

“Ho, Freddy!”

Freddy turned to the right, to the large garden adjacent to the parsonage. He saw Stephen standing there smiling and waving and he smiled and waved right back.

Quickly tethering his horse, Freddy made his way past the small gate and into the garden. Stephen met him with a handshake.

“I was wondering when I might see you,” Stephen said. There was no rancor in his tone, just enjoyment at seeing Freddy. That was one of the things that Freddy liked about Stephen. He took people as they were. He seemed to have no expectations 100

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waiting to be disappointed. Rather uncommon for a vicar. But with his acceptance of people with all their flaws he brought a peace with him wherever he went. Freddy hoped to find a little of that here today.

“I’m sorry we haven’t been by, Stephen.” Freddy wondered for a moment why they hadn’t. It seemed as if once they’d found Anne everything else had paled in importance, even old friends.

Stephen smiled and winked. “Well, I hear you’ve had other things on your mind.”

Freddy raised an eyebrow. “Have you? And what might they be, pray tell?”

Stephen laughed. He had a nice laugh, rich and full. When Stephen laughed, he laughed with you not at you, and not to be polite. “Well, one of them might possibly be a very pretty vicar’s daughter who lives down the lane.” Stephen spoke over his shoulder as he turned to walk back down the row of plants he’d been working.

“Don’t you have someone to tend this for you?” Freddy asked curiously. “I can certainly send someone over from the Park.”

Stephen shook his head as he kneeled down again. “Don’t bother. Not now, at any rate. Perhaps at harvest time.” He flashed Freddy a grin. “Was that a very poor attempt to change the subject?”

“Actually, no.” Freddy looked around, and with nowhere else to go finally sat on the ground near Stephen. Stephen grinned at him. Freddy stared, daring Stephen to comment on his seating arrangements as he bent his legs and rested his arms on his knees, his right hand clasping his left wrist to hold them in place.

Stephen just shrugged. “Sorry, I left the elegant furniture in the parlor today.”

Freddy was startled. “Have I become so high in the instep then?” God, Freddy didn’t want to think he was becoming like his mother. She was so conscious of her social position. Freddy had become weary of trying to obey all the dictates required, according to her, to maintain that station. He looked at the parsonage and it occurred to him that his father hadn’t obeyed those dictates at all. No wonder he and the duchess never got along.

Stephen stopped digging and readjusted the large farmer’s hat he was wearing.

Freddy was surprised to discover that he found Stephen appealing in that hat. Stephen had the blond, blue-eyed, ruddy good looks of a country squire, solidly built with a delicate jaw, broad cheekbones and a deep chest. The hat made him appear younger, coquettish almost, in a strange way. That wasn’t really a term Freddy would ever have applied to Stephen before today.

Stephen had his jacket off and his sleeves rolled up. His forearms were muscular and tan, the hair gilded by the sun. Freddy was struck by the warmth and solidity of that arm, the slight smudge of dirt across the freckled skin there catching his eye.

“Not at all, Freddy,” Stephen replied, adding more dirt to his arm as he shoved his sleeve higher. “You are the most democratic duke I’ve ever met.”

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Freddy tilted his head as he moved his gaze from Stephen’s arm to his amused face.

“Am I? And how many dukes do you know?”

Stephen looked thoughtful for a moment. “As of today? One.”

Freddy laughed. “I shall take the compliment at face value.”

Stephen reached out and patted his arm, and then he stood by putting his hands on his knees and pushing up. It was such a pedestrian gesture, and yet Stephen looked so much a part of his surroundings as he did it. How must that feel, Freddy thought, to be so at home in yourself, in your life? “Come on, I’m thirsty,” Stephen declared as he walked toward the parsonage, taking off his gloves, “and I want to sit down.”

“There’s plenty of room here,” Freddy said, and Stephen turned around to see him spreading his arms in invitation, indicating the dirt all around him.

Stephen laughed again. “That might be elegant enough for a duke, but I require a chair.”

Soon they were sitting in the shade of a large tree behind the house, a pitcher of ale, glasses and a plate of biscuits on the table between them provided by Stephen’s housekeeper.

Stephen took a drink and reached for a biscuit. “What’s on your mind, Freddy?”

Freddy pulled off his glove and reached for a biscuit. “How did you know I had something on my mind?”

“You’ve been unusually quiet.” Stephen took a bite, clearly in no hurry to rush the conversation. When he finished that small bite he smiled apologetically. “Sorry. I’m famished.”

Freddy waved at the biscuit. “Please, finish it. I’m in no hurry.”

“Good.” Stephen had two more biscuits in quick succession before he sat back and regarded Freddy. “All right. Go ahead. I’m all yours.”

“Brett and I—”

“How is Brett?”

Freddy was startled by the interruption. “He’s fine. Why do you ask?”

“He isn’t with you.” Stephen stated the obvious as if Freddy would understand its implications.

“We are not attached like a circus attraction,” Freddy said irritably.

“All right. Then
where
is he? I suppose I asked the wrong question.” Stephen took off his hat and set it next to his chair. Freddy was sorry to see it go.

“He is at Anne’s by now, I suppose.” Freddy didn’t like how irritable he still sounded.

“Ah,” Stephen said.

“What does that mean?” Freddy put his half-eaten biscuit on the table.

Stephen shrugged as he ran a hand through his hair, which had been flattened by the hat and sweat. Freddy noted rather dispassionately that if he weren’t in love with 102

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someone else it might have been exciting to seduce Stephen. The wayward thought surprised him.

“It means that now I understand the rather odd mood you’re in,” Stephen told him as he relaxed against the back of his chair and looked at Freddy. Freddy didn’t like the sympathy in his eyes.

“Do you?” he snapped. “And what do you understand?”

“That you are upset that Brett appears to be courting Anne Goode. She’s quite popular these days.”

Freddy stood and paced a short distance away, stopping by the tree. He turned to face Stephen and pointed a finger at him. “Then you would be wrong,” he told him smugly. “As a matter of fact, I am encouraging it. The only obstacle is Brett’s reluctance.”

“I beg your pardon?” Stephen looked shocked.

“Brett is in love with her. He has been ever since the war.”

“What?” Freddy found Stephen’s incredulity satisfying for some reason. “I wasn’t even aware they knew each other.”

Freddy marched back over to his chair and sat with a flourish. “They didn’t, not really. Only through Bertie’s letters.” He reached out and gripped Stephen’s arm. “Brett doesn’t know that I know, so don’t tell him.”

Now Stephen just looked confused. “Doesn’t know you know what?”

“That’s he’s in love with her.”

“Then how do you know?”

Freddy was reluctant to reveal more. He waved his hand dismissively. “It doesn’t matter. All that matters is I know, and I am determined to see them together.”

Stephen was shaking his head. “I think it matters a great deal.” He sighed and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “Freddy, I don’t like the sound of this. Have your feelings for Brett changed?”

Freddy sank back against his chair, suddenly deflated. He couldn’t look at Stephen.

“No. My feelings for Brett will never change, Stephen.” Freddy’s arms lay on the chair arms, his hands dangling off the ends as he stared at his lap. “That is why I want him to be happy.” He took a deep breath and turned to Stephen. “Anne will make him happy.

He wants Anne.”

“I know he reciprocates your feelings, Freddy. I’m not sure how he feels about Anne, but I do know he cares for you.”

“Did he tell you that?” Freddy’s question was sharp.

Stephen answered reluctantly. “No. But Freddy, he just needs more time.”

It was Freddy’s turn to be incredulous. “More time? I’ve given him five years, Stephen. How much more time does he need to realize he doesn’t love me?”

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Stephen clasped his hands together between his knees and stared at them. “Do you know how Bertie died?”

The sudden change of topic made Freddy wary. “No.” He answered slowly. “I

know it was at Salamanca, that he was next to Brett when the cannonball landed near them. That’s all I know. Brett won’t talk about it. No one will, really.”

Stephen rubbed his right thumb and forefinger over his eyes, pressing so hard Freddy thought it must hurt. “Bertie shoved Brett out of the way, Freddy. He saved Brett’s life.” Stephen’s voice wavered. “The ball landed on an ammunition wagon. I was there. I saw it. Bertie was broken in so many pieces. And Brett dragged himself across the ground, his shattered leg behind him, to try to put the pieces back together.”

Freddy’s gut clenched and tears filled his eyes. He hadn’t known. Christ, why hadn’t anyone ever told him that?

Stephen rubbed his eyes harder, and Freddy realized it was unconscious, as if Stephen were trying to wipe out the memory. “By the time I got over there they were trying to pry Bertie out of his arms. Brett was trying to hold his guts in and put his head back together.” Stephen’s voice was shaky. “Thank God Bertie was dead already. He died instantly. But Brett…” Stephen paused to swallow. “He wouldn’t listen. He wouldn’t believe us. He was screaming when they took him away. Screaming that we were going to kill Bertie. I think he blames me.”

Stephen stood suddenly. “Christ that was a bloody awful day.” He stood there silently a moment, with his hands on his hips staring off in the distance. “A man doesn’t forget that kind of thing easily, Freddy,” he said quietly, not turning around. “He doesn’t forget a sacrifice like that.”

Freddy thought he might be sick. He closed his eyes for a moment. He’d been better not knowing, better imagining a cleaner death for his brother. But he understood Brett a great deal better. That thought alone made him sit up and take a deep breath.

“That’s why he’s running.”

Stephen turned back around and unashamedly wiped the tears from his cheeks.

Freddy understood something else at that moment. He understood that Stephen couldn’t forget easily either. His tears for Bertie and Brett made him dearer in Freddy’s eyes.

“Running?” Stephen asked. “What do you mean?”

“Anne was Bertie’s fiancée. That misguided fool must think he’s betraying Bertie with any feelings he might harbor for her.”

Stephen nodded thoughtfully. “And you. That’s a possibility. If you’re right, tread with care, Freddy. Bertie and Brett were inseparable during the war, closer than brothers. If Brett believes his feelings for you or Anne are a betrayal of Bertie…”

Stephen just shook his head. “Just be careful. Brett is not as strong as he likes us to think he is.”

Stephen sat down again, having regained his composure. “And what about you?

What are your feelings for Anne?”

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Freddy smiled. “I was walking with Anne and Brett to the village the other day and remembered a time when she and Bertie and I did the same thing. She was the first woman I ever loved.” He turned to look at Stephen. “A man doesn’t forget that sort of thing easily either.”

Stephen was smiling. “No, he doesn’t.” Stephen picked at the arm of his chair for a moment. “What are you going to do about your mother?”