“Shall we stop off to see Miss Portman?” Ethan suggested, knowing he at least was going to make a call.
“Let’s,” Jeremiah said. “She will want to know we went swimming, and saved the empire, and ate raspberries.”
“Not in that order.” Ethan did smile at the business of a boy’s summer day. “But she will want to know.”
They found her in her room, addressing a stack of correspondence. She was in her comfortable dress, her braid a little less tidy, her eyes tired but devoid of the choking worry Ethan had seen in them earlier.
“We’ve come to see how you fare,” Ethan said, “and to regale you with tales of the day.”
She smiled and sank onto her settee, patting the cushions on either side of her. “Come and tell me what has passed this day while I’ve languished for lack of the company of my dearest little gentlemen.”
The boys gamboled over like the puppies they were, leaving Ethan to lower himself to the delicate chair behind Miss Portman’s escritoire. Even on short acquaintance, his sons were comfortable with her. They tucked right up against her sides, cuddling in as if she were a favorite aunt—or uncle.
Absently, Ethan’s eyes strayed to the letters stacked on the corner of the blotter. There were a half dozen or so, addressed in a tidy, flowing hand. His gaze fell on the top one, and he wasn’t meaning to read, much less pry, but the name on the envelope was familiar to him.
So what, what in the bloody blue blazes, was Alice Portman doing writing to the private investigator kept on Nicholas Haddonfield’s personal payroll?
Six
My dearest Benjamin,
You will be pleased to see I am no longer immured in the far, distant wilds of Sussex. I am now merely two hours’ ride from you, at the estate of Tydings near Guilford in Surrey. My responsibilities here include two very charming young fellows, ages five and six. They are lively young men but a little more hesitant to go on than they should be, owing to past upheavals in the greater household.
The estate is pleasant in the extreme, my wages are generous, and my employer considerate, if sometimes a little gruff. His children love him, but he is a busy man, and I will endeavor to keep the lads too occupied to miss their father’s attention much. The kitchen has become a bit lax, but this will soon be set to rights, I am sure.
You must be reassured, dear Brother, I fare well. I left the Belmonts on very good terms, but because I had been with Priscilla for almost five years, it was time to allow more scholarly hands to guide her development. I trust I will remain with the Grey children for some time, though I am allowed these first months as a trial period. You are not to put your nose into my situation here, Benjamin, not directly or otherwise. Mr. Grey came with the very highest personal recommendations from the Earl and Countess of Bellefonte, among others. I will be safe here, and you are not to worry.
I love you and miss you, and look forward to seeing you. We are to go into Town for Bellefonte’s investiture. Until then, try not to be too serious or too busy.
Your loving sister,
Allie
Alice was wearing a big, fat, cheery smile when she dragged the boys into the breakfast parlor. “Good morning, Mr. Grey! How fortunate to see you so early in the day.”
“The good fortune is entirely mine.” Ethan reserved the irony in his smile for Alice. “Joshua, Jeremiah, which of us will have the privilege of seating Miss Portman?”
Two little faces regarded Ethan blankly.
“Oh, very well.” He stepped behind their governess, treating himself to a whiff of lemons. “I’ve had my first cup of tea, so I will demonstrate, but I won’t be doing this every day. You fellows must occasionally pitch in. Miss Portman?”
She sank gracefully into her seat with a murmured, “Thank you, Mr. Grey,” for the benefit of their rapt audience.
“Where do we sit?” Joshua asked, frowning.
“In the other two chairs,” Ethan said. “Now, since I am taller than either of you, I will prepare your plates, lest you pull the entire sideboard over while you search out your preferences. Joshua?”
“Can I see it?” Joshua gestured to the buffet laid out just higher than his line of sight.
“Of course.” Ethan scooped him onto his hip. “Let’s inspect, shall we?” He explained each selection to his son, answered more questions than one typical breakfast buffet ought to engender, and reached compromises that created a breakfast of more than just jam and chocolate.
“Jeremiah, you aren’t going to let your little brother be the only one to eat well, are you?”
“I can see it,” Jeremiah groused, though he was only an inch or so taller than his younger brother.
Ethan came down on his haunches and whispered to his son, “How am I to cadge a morning hug without Miss Portman gawking at me?” Jeremiah’s dubious expression confirmed that Ethan was taking a gamble, but then the boy cracked his rare, dear smile and threw his arms around Ethan’s neck.
“Good of you,” Ethan whispered as he stood with Jeremiah on his hip then said in a louder voice, “If you want something that will last you until luncheon, you’d better tuck into some ham or bacon, or at the very least, get some butter on one of those scones.” He soon had Jeremiah sitting before a fairly impressive plate of food, then resumed his own seat.
Ethan sat back to his meal, a queer little hitch in his chest. He’d not had breakfast with his sons before, though they were nearly old enough for such an informal meal, and he’d not known they were joining him today. But here they were, being gently guided toward proper manners by their enterprising governess, and Ethan felt a spurt of pleasure in their company.
They really were good boys.
And what had been wrong with their mother, that she hadn’t seen that?
Breakfast had gone well. Alice assured herself of this as Ethan proposed that their discussion of the boys’ lessons be moved from the library to the shady walking path.
“That will serve. After a good meal, one wants activity.”
And almost any time, it seemed one enjoyed having one’s hand on Ethan Grey’s arm, hearing his precise baritone, and catching his cedary scent.
As they stepped onto the path, Alice launched into a discussion of Latin primers.
“Boys don’t find Latin useful at all,” Ethan interjected. “Men like to toss around the occasional apt phrase, and sprinkle their conversation with wise sayings. It’s the only Latin one uses after university, I assure you.”
“You attended?”
“Cambridge.”
“A rebel?”
“Nick went to Oxford.”
She slipped her arm from his and stopped in the shade of an enormous maple. “The earl didn’t even let you attend the same university? What was wrong with your father?”
“He was being protective, or so I tell myself.”
“He was being an ass,” Alice hissed, hand fisting. “If ever there’s a man who could protect himself from unwarranted advances, it’s your dear little brother, particularly by the time he was sixteen or seventeen years old.” She reined in her temper, since she had no business making such pronouncements. “With respect to French, I find the verbal nuances are better—”
Ethan stood quite near her, his expression amused. “You’re very fierce, Alice Portman. I wish the earl were alive so you might blister his ears with your observations.” He took her hand, and there in the lovely morning air, kissed her knuckles, as a knight might kiss the hand of a lady whose favor he wore into the lists.