for years, but it is high time I was my own man.”
I did understand. Families were known to adopt close friends of sons or daughters and care for them for life, and some gentlemen would envy Travers his position. I, with my independence and pride, however, had empathy for Gareth’s frustration.
“Do not pull against it too much,” I advised. “Make certain you are voluble in appreciation for what the family has done for you. Indicate that being able to live independent of Leland does not slight the Derwents in any way. In fact, explain how much you would be able to help them , perhaps—with whatever is this means you speak of …”
“A windfall,” Gareth said quickly. “A fine one.”
He was not going to tell me, but I could speculate. He could have received a bequest from a distant relative—Gareth could be charming; perhaps he’d charmed an elderly auntie to leave him a sum in her will. Or he’d found a job of some sort, a way to make a living. It was ungentlemanly to work for pay, and perhaps this rankled Leland.
I continued. “Explain to him how you wish to use this windfall to show your appreciation. With a donation to one of Sir Gideon’s charitable projects, perhaps.”
Gareth brightened. “Ah, now, that might be just the thing.” He moved in his seat, as though anxious to jump up and run out on the spot to carry out my advice.
“Go,” I said, barely hiding my exasperation. “I am content to sit here alone.” Refreshingly alone.
Gareth surged to his feet. His brown eyes were bright, his face flushed with hope. He held out his hand. “Thank you, Captain. And I am truly and deeply sorry for offending you. I shall never do such a thing again. It was foolish.”
Gareth was young, and had plenty of time in his life to do something equally as foolish, but I only shook his hand, accepting his apology.
He leaned close. “You’ll say nothing, will you?” His eyes held anxiousness, and I remembered his white-faced horror at the man in the stocks.
I released his hand and sat back. “I have already said there would be no more words on the matter. That means no words to anyone.”
“Yes,” Gareth said, a bit breathlessly. “Thank you, Captain. Thank you very much.”
He snatched up his hat, shot me a grin, and spun for the door, his coat whirling. He hurried out and banged the door behind him, earning the disapproving looks of the other patrons over their newspapers.
I sat back and enjoyed my ale, bloody glad the mess was over and done with.
*
That evening, I returned to my rooms in the lane off Covent Garden, still working on putting things to rights there. Donata had gone off with some of her close friends for a light supper and gossip before moving on to the opera, and I left her to her feminine delights.
Covent Garden market was crowded when I reached it, though the sun had already gone down. Vendors loudly called out their wares, and women and girls, servants and boys swarmed the place, bargaining, arguing, shouting. I purchased an apple that looked as though it had sat in a barrel all winter, and munched it as I moved through the market.
As I walked, I reflected upon how much more pleasant it was to stroll these lanes when my boots were whole, my body fresh from a bath, and with the knowledge that I could return home to a welcoming wife. Even the blustery wind that started to blow, bringing rain, didn’t dampen the effect.
I tossed my apple core to a stray dog as I turned from Russel Street to the cul-de-sac of Grimpen Lane, where I rented rooms. I fumbled keys out of my pocket and unlocked the door next to a bakeshop. Behind this door was a flight of stairs, which led to the chambers that had housed me since my return to London in 1814.
The rooms were a bit bare now—I’d moved many of my things to Donata’s house—but I kept the writing table, armchair and footstool, small shelf of secondhand books, and the chest-on-frame, which was an old-fashioned but useful piece of
I did understand. Families were known to adopt close friends of sons or daughters and care for them for life, and some gentlemen would envy Travers his position. I, with my independence and pride, however, had empathy for Gareth’s frustration.
“Do not pull against it too much,” I advised. “Make certain you are voluble in appreciation for what the family has done for you. Indicate that being able to live independent of Leland does not slight the Derwents in any way. In fact, explain how much you would be able to help them , perhaps—with whatever is this means you speak of …”
“A windfall,” Gareth said quickly. “A fine one.”
He was not going to tell me, but I could speculate. He could have received a bequest from a distant relative—Gareth could be charming; perhaps he’d charmed an elderly auntie to leave him a sum in her will. Or he’d found a job of some sort, a way to make a living. It was ungentlemanly to work for pay, and perhaps this rankled Leland.
I continued. “Explain to him how you wish to use this windfall to show your appreciation. With a donation to one of Sir Gideon’s charitable projects, perhaps.”
Gareth brightened. “Ah, now, that might be just the thing.” He moved in his seat, as though anxious to jump up and run out on the spot to carry out my advice.
“Go,” I said, barely hiding my exasperation. “I am content to sit here alone.” Refreshingly alone.
Gareth surged to his feet. His brown eyes were bright, his face flushed with hope. He held out his hand. “Thank you, Captain. And I am truly and deeply sorry for offending you. I shall never do such a thing again. It was foolish.”
Gareth was young, and had plenty of time in his life to do something equally as foolish, but I only shook his hand, accepting his apology.
He leaned close. “You’ll say nothing, will you?” His eyes held anxiousness, and I remembered his white-faced horror at the man in the stocks.
I released his hand and sat back. “I have already said there would be no more words on the matter. That means no words to anyone.”
“Yes,” Gareth said, a bit breathlessly. “Thank you, Captain. Thank you very much.”
He snatched up his hat, shot me a grin, and spun for the door, his coat whirling. He hurried out and banged the door behind him, earning the disapproving looks of the other patrons over their newspapers.
I sat back and enjoyed my ale, bloody glad the mess was over and done with.
*
That evening, I returned to my rooms in the lane off Covent Garden, still working on putting things to rights there. Donata had gone off with some of her close friends for a light supper and gossip before moving on to the opera, and I left her to her feminine delights.
Covent Garden market was crowded when I reached it, though the sun had already gone down. Vendors loudly called out their wares, and women and girls, servants and boys swarmed the place, bargaining, arguing, shouting. I purchased an apple that looked as though it had sat in a barrel all winter, and munched it as I moved through the market.
As I walked, I reflected upon how much more pleasant it was to stroll these lanes when my boots were whole, my body fresh from a bath, and with the knowledge that I could return home to a welcoming wife. Even the blustery wind that started to blow, bringing rain, didn’t dampen the effect.
I tossed my apple core to a stray dog as I turned from Russel Street to the cul-de-sac of Grimpen Lane, where I rented rooms. I fumbled keys out of my pocket and unlocked the door next to a bakeshop. Behind this door was a flight of stairs, which led to the chambers that had housed me since my return to London in 1814.
The rooms were a bit bare now—I’d moved many of my things to Donata’s house—but I kept the writing table, armchair and footstool, small shelf of secondhand books, and the chest-on-frame, which was an old-fashioned but useful piece of
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