The Season
Page 9
Blackmoor saved his friend from having to finish his apology, with a dry interruption. “No harm done, Kit—you’ve never been the most tactful in the family. I expect such from you periodically.”
William chuckled at his brother’s expense. “I’m just happy that he’s skilled with numbers—gives him something to do besides talk himself into a corner. Do you have any port in this house?” The future Duke of Worthington redirected the conversation artfully, the way he had been trained to do since birth, easing the situation for both his friend and his brother.
Blackmoor gave a last glance at the billiard table, recognizing that Will was poised to win as usual, and turned toward a section of bookshelf. “Port is a capital idea. Right this way, gentlemen.” Throwing a hidden switch, the Earl swung a section of wall back, revealing the room that had been the seat of the male Blackmoor line for generations. The study was enormous, occupying a rear corner of the townhouse, boasting two full walls of floor-to-ceiling windows that framed luxurious views of the property’s perfectly manicured side and rear gardens.
As Nick and Kit burst into the room, Will and Gavin stopped just inside the door to the study. Turning a knowing look on his old friend, Will said quietly, “It just doesn’t feel right, does it?”
Blackmoor’s expression shuttered. “No. Although I haven’t much choice but to adjust to it.” He followed the younger Staffords into the study, his gaze falling on the enormous mahogany desk and the man seated behind it—who immediately stood and began organizing the papers he was reading.
“Uncle Lucian.” Blackmoor looked in his direction and waved an arm indicating the others in the room. “I don’t believe you have formally met my friends. May I introduce William Stafford, Marquess of Weston; Nicholas Stafford, Earl of Farrow; and Christopher Stafford, Baron Baxter? Gentlemen, my uncle, Captain Lucian Sewell.”
In turn, the young men stepped forward to shake hands with the captain, who, seemingly eager to escape them, greeted them each with a quick “my lord,” and addressed his nephew curtly. “I will leave the four of you in peace, Blackmoor. Shall we speak tomorrow about my discoveries relating to the estate?”
“Certainly, Uncle. Tomorrow it is.” Blackmoor offered his uncle a warm smile. “Good evening. And thank you.”
“Of course. Until tomorrow.” And with a short bow to the Stafford boys, the older man took his leave.
Kit took a seat in a soft leather chair. “So that was Uncle Lucian? He seems rather solemn.”
Blackmoor moved toward the sideboard to pour several glasses of port. “He’s a quiet sort. My father always said he was proof that still waters run deep. Apparently, they were never very close while they were boys, but Lucian rushed to be with us as soon as he received word of…what happened.”
Will nodded solemnly. “No matter the differences between them, brothers are brothers. I would have expected nothing less.”
Blackmoor crossed the room and handed his friend a glass. “That sentiment was never more true than three months ago. It was a remarkable show of familial loyalty. At the time, I was quite surprised. I hadn’t seen Lucian more than a handful of times since I was a child. As a captain in the Navy, he’s been at sea and at war on the Continent during much of the past decade. I never would have expected him to drop everything and join us so quickly.”
He gazed into his glass, watching the amber liquid swirl inside the heavy crystal. Shaking himself out of his contemplation, he continued, “But he has been a remarkable boon, considering. Whatever I might think about his personality—for, in all honesty, he’s not the most engaging of characters—he has helped me a thousandfold in the past few months. As you know, I was less than ready to assume the duties of the earldom—it’s nice to have someone around who knows the trappings of the estate so well.”
Nick broke in. “Lucky, too. Considering he’s been at war. What happened that brought him home? Was he injured?”
Blackmoor shook his head. “To my knowledge, no. I was at Oxford when he returned, so I was not privy to the circumstances of his leaving his post. I know that he was a hero at the Battle of Lyngor. Will would know more about it than I would, I suspect.”
Nick asked, “Lyngor…wasn’t that in Denmark?”
Will nodded at his younger brother. “Well remembered. I’m afraid I don’t know much about your uncle at all, Blackmoor. I began my tenure at the War Office several months after that battle. What I do know is that Lyngor was particularly bloody and one-sided. The Danes were roundly defeated there and lost more than their fair share of men that day. They pulled out of the war immediately, leaving Napoleon with one less ally on the sea.”
“Unfortunately, that hasn’t seemed to stop Bonaparte from pressing on. It doesn’t seem like this war is ever going to end.” Kit spoke this time, referencing the French general’s recent escape from forced exile and the rekindling of the two-decade-long war. He shot a pointed look at his eldest brother.
“You know I’m prohibited from speaking about it, Kit. All I can say is that British troops are the best trained and British intelligence is top-notch. We have set Napoleon back once…we will do so again.”
“One might argue that Napoleon has bested us before, and he might do so again,” the ever-logical Kit pointed out—deliberately provoking his brother’s ire. “He’s already escaped from exile and overthrown King Louis, all while picking up troops and supporters from every corner of France. It seems we’re not doing an excellent job of ‘setting him back.’”
William chuckled at his brother’s expense. “I’m just happy that he’s skilled with numbers—gives him something to do besides talk himself into a corner. Do you have any port in this house?” The future Duke of Worthington redirected the conversation artfully, the way he had been trained to do since birth, easing the situation for both his friend and his brother.
Blackmoor gave a last glance at the billiard table, recognizing that Will was poised to win as usual, and turned toward a section of bookshelf. “Port is a capital idea. Right this way, gentlemen.” Throwing a hidden switch, the Earl swung a section of wall back, revealing the room that had been the seat of the male Blackmoor line for generations. The study was enormous, occupying a rear corner of the townhouse, boasting two full walls of floor-to-ceiling windows that framed luxurious views of the property’s perfectly manicured side and rear gardens.
As Nick and Kit burst into the room, Will and Gavin stopped just inside the door to the study. Turning a knowing look on his old friend, Will said quietly, “It just doesn’t feel right, does it?”
Blackmoor’s expression shuttered. “No. Although I haven’t much choice but to adjust to it.” He followed the younger Staffords into the study, his gaze falling on the enormous mahogany desk and the man seated behind it—who immediately stood and began organizing the papers he was reading.
“Uncle Lucian.” Blackmoor looked in his direction and waved an arm indicating the others in the room. “I don’t believe you have formally met my friends. May I introduce William Stafford, Marquess of Weston; Nicholas Stafford, Earl of Farrow; and Christopher Stafford, Baron Baxter? Gentlemen, my uncle, Captain Lucian Sewell.”
In turn, the young men stepped forward to shake hands with the captain, who, seemingly eager to escape them, greeted them each with a quick “my lord,” and addressed his nephew curtly. “I will leave the four of you in peace, Blackmoor. Shall we speak tomorrow about my discoveries relating to the estate?”
“Certainly, Uncle. Tomorrow it is.” Blackmoor offered his uncle a warm smile. “Good evening. And thank you.”
“Of course. Until tomorrow.” And with a short bow to the Stafford boys, the older man took his leave.
Kit took a seat in a soft leather chair. “So that was Uncle Lucian? He seems rather solemn.”
Blackmoor moved toward the sideboard to pour several glasses of port. “He’s a quiet sort. My father always said he was proof that still waters run deep. Apparently, they were never very close while they were boys, but Lucian rushed to be with us as soon as he received word of…what happened.”
Will nodded solemnly. “No matter the differences between them, brothers are brothers. I would have expected nothing less.”
Blackmoor crossed the room and handed his friend a glass. “That sentiment was never more true than three months ago. It was a remarkable show of familial loyalty. At the time, I was quite surprised. I hadn’t seen Lucian more than a handful of times since I was a child. As a captain in the Navy, he’s been at sea and at war on the Continent during much of the past decade. I never would have expected him to drop everything and join us so quickly.”
He gazed into his glass, watching the amber liquid swirl inside the heavy crystal. Shaking himself out of his contemplation, he continued, “But he has been a remarkable boon, considering. Whatever I might think about his personality—for, in all honesty, he’s not the most engaging of characters—he has helped me a thousandfold in the past few months. As you know, I was less than ready to assume the duties of the earldom—it’s nice to have someone around who knows the trappings of the estate so well.”
Nick broke in. “Lucky, too. Considering he’s been at war. What happened that brought him home? Was he injured?”
Blackmoor shook his head. “To my knowledge, no. I was at Oxford when he returned, so I was not privy to the circumstances of his leaving his post. I know that he was a hero at the Battle of Lyngor. Will would know more about it than I would, I suspect.”
Nick asked, “Lyngor…wasn’t that in Denmark?”
Will nodded at his younger brother. “Well remembered. I’m afraid I don’t know much about your uncle at all, Blackmoor. I began my tenure at the War Office several months after that battle. What I do know is that Lyngor was particularly bloody and one-sided. The Danes were roundly defeated there and lost more than their fair share of men that day. They pulled out of the war immediately, leaving Napoleon with one less ally on the sea.”
“Unfortunately, that hasn’t seemed to stop Bonaparte from pressing on. It doesn’t seem like this war is ever going to end.” Kit spoke this time, referencing the French general’s recent escape from forced exile and the rekindling of the two-decade-long war. He shot a pointed look at his eldest brother.
“You know I’m prohibited from speaking about it, Kit. All I can say is that British troops are the best trained and British intelligence is top-notch. We have set Napoleon back once…we will do so again.”
“One might argue that Napoleon has bested us before, and he might do so again,” the ever-logical Kit pointed out—deliberately provoking his brother’s ire. “He’s already escaped from exile and overthrown King Louis, all while picking up troops and supporters from every corner of France. It seems we’re not doing an excellent job of ‘setting him back.’”
