A Dangerous Nativity

Chapter 8, Scene 1

Now for the hard part, Will thought, when he entered the family parlor.

The Wheatlys' arrival had gone smoothly, primarily because Will had thrown the fear of God—or of being turned off—into Stowe. Lord Arthur looked relieved to be in the guest wing, where fewer memories haunted him. The boys greeted cots in the nursery with hoots of joy. Catherine looked merely resigned, until she saw that her room looked out over the gardens. He expected that, by morning, she would have drawn up plans to restore them.

Dinner also passed without incident. Lord Arthur remarked that he had few memories of the dining salon.

"I was seldom at home, you see, once I was an adult," he had said.

Stunned silence greeted that pronouncement, and Will once again offered a prayer of gratitude for Glenaire. The marquess diverted the discussion smoothly.

Both Sylvia and Catherine made a greater effort than they had at the previous dinner. Catherine's disinterest in fashion and Sylvia's distaste for crop rotation limited them, however, and only Glenaire's gambits kept the conversation flowing. When the ladies rose, they left the gentlemen to their port with no sign of animosity.

"That went well," Will mused, holding his crystal glass out for the footman to fill.

A rueful smile lit Glenaire's austere face. "I've had an easier time managing conversation at diplomatic dinners with the Prussians and French."

"I'm sorry, Chadbourn. Returning here will take some adjustment," Lord Arthur said.

"No apology necessary," Will said.

"Indeed not. I found the discussion about your research fascinating," Glenaire added. Will couldn't tell if the marquess was serious, but the remark, and the relief it brought to Lord Arthur's face, gratified him.

"My Catherine isn't used to this, but she managed it well."

"Your Catherine would grace any dinner, Lord Arthur." Will meant it. Her breeding showed in the very line of her wrist when she ate, in her tone of voice, and in her instinctive good manners.

The old man preened.

"Harrow for the Michaelmas term, is it?" Glenaire asked.

Lord Arthur worried his lower lip. "I fear so," he said at last.

"Don't fear it. It will serve them well," Glenaire answered.

"I can't tell you how relieved I am to send Charles off with his cousins. I went alone, and the first term felt like Hell." He and Glenaire caught eyes and let a happy memory pass between them.

"Friends matter. I agree," the marquess said. "You are blessed, both of you, to send them off with ready-made allies."

The conversation veered easily into remembered teachers, shared love—and distaste—for various subjects, and some of the happier times at school.

Will sent a footman to tell the boys they could join the family, and the three men rose. The earl felt satisfied with himself, until he put his hand to the door to the family parlor. Lord Arthur froze. He definitely had memories of the room they were about to enter, as he had made clear the last time.

Yes, now for the hard part.