The Garden's End (MLM)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE.

                Robert pressed his quill into the letter, staring as the ink spread across the parchment.

He wondered what Oliver and Pip were discussing, what they were doing. Robert stood several times at the images that crossed his mind, and forced himself back down. He was being nonsensical. What did he care what his brother and servant were doing when alone? They'd clearly been alone before, and often.

Robert dropped his quill and pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes when he realized that that train of thought was more unhelpful.

He didn't want this, he could confess it. However, he wanted to see his brother happy with the man he loved. But did Oliver love Pip? When he'd discovered the young servant had been trapped upstairs, in a condition of which no one knew, he hadn't seemed terribly worried. How? How could he have ignored the palpable dread, the obvious indications that something had gone wrong? He hadn't done as Robert had, he hadn't cared as Robert—

"Stop it," he hissed, pressing deeper into his eyes. Such thought was a betrayal, an underestimation of his brother's love and intelligence. Surely, Oliver knew what he was doing. And even if he didn't, there was no reason for Robert to interfere. He couldn't. He feared it would, as Andrew had threatened, reveal his truth.

A knock came at the door, and Robert looked up. Had Pip returned already? Robert thought of seeing Pip's hair ruffled, as though someone had run a hand through it, of his lips swollen, of his shirt rumpled, and he fought down the unreasonable anger that rose in his chest.

The knock came again, and Robert wondered why Pip wouldn't simply come in when he was given no answer. Regardless, he allowed entrance, and the door opened to reveal a little girl with long blonde hair and a yellow dress.

Robert raised a brow. "Jane? What did you want?"

She grinned, crossing her arms behind her back, a jump in her steps. "I wanted to go for a walk. I thought you might like to come with me."

Robert stared. "This request feels very out of place."

Her shoulders fell, her smile dimming slightly. "Oliver's been very angry as of late," she said. "I would've thought he'd be happier to see Andrew gone. I'm . . . I'm a bit frightened to talk to him, to be honest. I think he may be angry with me."

"With you?" Robert frowned. "For what?"

"For telling you about . . . about the engagement," she said. "I think I may have caused a lot of trouble for him, because he was left in the ballroom alone with the guests, and he doesn't really . . . like being with people, I don't think."

"He's better at it than you may believe," said Robert. "And he's not upset with you. If you want to take a walk, go ask him."

She hesitated, drawing on the carpet with the tip of her slipper. "But what if you came, too? We—no, hold on—we can have a picnic!"

"I despise picnics."

"No, you don't!"

"I do," he said. "I can't bear all the insects."

"But there aren't any insects anymore," she muttered. "It's gotten too cold."

"There are always insects."

"I haven't see any."

"That doesn't mean they've disappeared, does it, Jane?"