The Truth About Dukes (Rogues to Riches #5) - Grace Burrowes Page 0,67

mouth and passed it back. “He’s actually a decent fellow, if somewhat indelicate about expressing his tender sentiments.”

Walden capped the flask. “To quote a man who appears to have earned your esteem, Sister, I do not appreciate being spoken of in the third person.”

Constance stuck her tongue out at her brother, Walden became fascinated at perhaps the millionth sheep-dotted pasture he’d seen, and Robert allowed himself a smile.

“It was only a seizure, you two, and a relatively mild one. If I’m not to hide away at Rothhaven Hall for the rest of my days, I will occasionally fall prey to my illness in public. Life goes on.”

And that was something of a revelation. The seizure in York had been embarrassing, the seizure in the church aisle unfortunate, but what life didn’t include a bit of mortification or misfortune? Was avoiding either worth hiding away year after year?

Maybe not. When a man could leave behind his self-imposed prison, tool about the countryside with his coach’s window shades up, contemplate marriage to the dearest woman in creation, and twit a hopelessly self-important peer, maybe the time to hide had finally passed.

“Are we expecting guests?” Walden asked, pushing the curtain on his side of the coach all the way aside. “Whoever has come calling drives a very modest conveyance.”

Constance sat forward, the better to peer out Robert’s side of the coach. “I’m not expecting anybody. That horse has come a distance, and on the Sabbath.”

A gig sat at the foot of Lynley Vale’s front steps, the bay in the traces dusty, its coat matted with sweat. The beast was more sturdy than handsome, as was the vehicle. Travel on the Sabbath was reserved for emergencies, and some of Robert’s unexpected good cheer ebbed.

“Perhaps it’s a friend of Stephen’s,” Constance said. “He has all manner of interesting associates.”

When the coach came to a halt, Walden descended first, then handed his sister down.

“I’ll see who it is,” she said, trotting up the steps without benefit of an escort.

“Do you need assistance?” Walden asked, as Robert negotiated the coach’s steps more slowly than Constance had.

“I can manage.” Though in truth Robert wasn’t quite as steady on his pins as he would have liked. “A seizure leaves me slow, mentally and physically, but the effects fade soon enough.”

“Stephen has been training a horse for you. The beast is learning to stop and stand if the rider becomes at all tentative in the saddle. Revanche also stands on command. You tell him to halt, and he plants his hoofs as if Gainsborough were painting his portrait.”

Walden was babbling, probably giving Robert time to get his bearings, and that was almost endearing.

“I doubt I will have the nerve to ever again sit a horse,” Robert said, as the coach rattled off toward the carriage house, “but the thought is appreciated.”

“With Stephen, one is often left to appreciate the thought. Why don’t you use a damned cane?”

“I do, but some idiot forgot to bring it along when he stashed me into my coach.” The steps had a railing on one side, which was fortunate because that railing spared Robert from taking Walden’s un-proffered arm.

Robert had no sooner gained the front terrace than Constance came barreling out of the house.

“Robert!” She tucked into him, her arms tight about his waist. “Oh, Robert, Miss Abbott is here, and she’s brought the most wonderful, wonderful news.”

“Tell me.”

“We’ve found her! We’ve found my darling girl, and she’s living not thirty miles distant.”

Robert embraced his beloved, the joy vibrating through her resonating with his own. He’d been the exile, the imperfect son banished to the shadows. To see mother and child reunited would heal that wound somehow, and make right so much that had been put wrong.

“I’m glad,” he said, as Constance nearly squeezed the stuffing from him. “I could not be happier.”

Walden watched this scene with a furrowed brow, then directed a groom to take Miss Abbott’s vehicle to the carriage house.

“All over again,” Quinn said, “I am the incompetent older brother who was too busy worshipping at the altar of mammon to notice that my own baby sister was in harm’s way.”

Stephen watched Quinn pace the length of the game room, a display of pique Stephen would never be able to indulge in. Over the Sunday meal, Quinn had been the gracious host, while Althea and Jane had shared hostess duties. Miss Abbott had joined the family at table, and for the eternity of the weekly feast, all the talk had been of