The Passing Bells by Phillip Rock Page B

all of them.
    â€œTerribly busy, my darling?”
    She gave a little jump of surprise and turned on her chair to see the earl standing behind her.
    â€œOh, you startled me. I didn’t hear you come in, Tony.”
    He bent his head and kissed her softly on the nape of the neck.
    â€œOf course not. I’m quite skilled at sneaking into boudoirs.”
    â€œThat isn’t a skill a gentleman brags about.”
    He kissed her once more through the river of hair. “I am not always a gentleman, Hanna.”
    â€œNo.” She laughed, reaching up for his hand. “You’re quite a rogue sometimes.” She gave his hand a quick squeeze and then turned back to her work. “Pull that armchair over, Tony, and let me go over these guest lists with you.”
    â€œHeaven forbid. That’s your province, Hanna . . . invite whom you like. You’ve never made a wrong choice yet.”
    â€œIt’s a little more important this year and you know it. Do you realize that these papers probably contain the name of our future son-in-law? That’s a sobering thought, Tony, and I’d like to talk to you about some of these young men.”
    The earl frowned and walked slowly to the window and gazed down at the garden, his hands folded behind his back.
    â€œI’m not concerned about Alexandra. I know that you will pluck just the right fellow out of the pack and that she will be happy over the choice. I have all the faith in the world in your ability to do that. No, I have no worries about Alex. It’s Charles who disturbs me.”
    Hanna picked up a gold pencil and tapped it lightly against the edge of the desk.
    â€œHe’s just going through a phase, Tony.”
    Lord Stanmore smiled wryly. “That’s what Fenton said about Roger . . . going through a phase.”
    â€œFenton? Is he here?”
    â€œYes. Got in last night. He’ll be staying a few days. Damn glad to see him. Why is it that I can talk to Fenton and I can’t talk to my own son? There’s such a wall between us, Hanna.”
    â€œYou were both chatting away at dinner last night.”
    â€œOh, we talk. That is, we open our mouths and words come out . . . but that wall is there and we both know it . . . and we both know what that wall is. Or rather I should say who that wall is.”
    Hanna pressed the pencil against her pursed lips and then stood up and walked over to stand next to her husband.
    â€œHow pretty the garden is,” she said quietly. “So wonderfully ordered and neat. It’s a pity that lives can’t be arranged in the same manner, but they can’t and you know that they can’t. We can merely guide people . . . train them . . . and I believe that we’ve trained Charles very well. He will never do anything that isn’t the right and proper thing to do. He’s infatuated by Lydia, and always has been, but I know in my heart that when it comes to a decision, he will make the right one, the one that pleases you and me.”
    â€œPerhaps,” the earl grunted, eyes fixed on the geometric plantings below.
    â€œBut we mustn’t press him . . . at least, you mustn’t press him into building this wall you refer to any higher. It was a mistake inviting Mary and Winifred. I told you that.”
    â€œWinifred’s father is—”
    â€œA fine and honorable man,” she cut in. “Yes, I know all that, and it would be wonderful if Charles fell in love with the girl and married her. But let me put in a little Yankee common sense, if you don’t mind. You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink. Charles feels nothing for Winifred. Nothing at all. In fact, he probably hates the poor girl by now and if he does we’re to blame. I made up my mind last night when I saw the expression on Charles’s face when you suggested that he take Winifred down to see the new gazebo. I