Tempted

“Who’s here?” Lady Mountjoy demanded.

“An acquaintance of mine—Joan.”

“And she is also, as I recall, a servant of mine. Keep your distance from her,” the woman warned, her blue eyes flashing.

“Bose, this is the new Lady Mountjoy.”

“And the new mistress of Meremont. Now be off with you, both of you.”

Bose opened his mouth to protest, but Evan said, “It’s all right, Bose. I had not meant to stay.” The young captain remounted wearily, and his mare stared round at him, realizing the oats and hay she had been contemplating were not to be hers. He rode out, leaving Bose to follow, but stopped and turned at the road to take a last look at his home as he waited for his batman to catch up with him.

“I think I used to call it Merry Mount when I was little. I cannot remember why. I was never merry here.”

“You can’t just leave. You have certain rights!”

“Apparently not. I knew he had remarried from Gram’s letter. She said the new Lady Mountjoy was very protective of ‘her’ children’s rights. I can scarcely blame her. We’ll put up in the village till you see your Joan again and settle if she is to come with us or no.”

“To where?”

“Most likely America, after my leave is up. Though with the war, they may not let her…Bose! How thoughtless of me. You can leave the army, marry Joan and raise fat children here.”

“Not bloody likely. I’d not have a moment’s peace, not knowing what scrape you had got into. We will put up in the village, though. Can’t push these horses much farther, anyway.”

Bose had seen a rider approaching at a trot and gaped in such a way that Evan stared at him.

“So, you’re home!” boomed the old man in the saddle.

Evan twisted involuntarily and gave a grunt as he strained his cracked ribs. “Father!”

“Did you mean to just ride by without even stopping?”

“No—yes,” Evan gasped, as the constriction in his chest relaxed and relief flooded through him like a strong draught of brandy. “I thought you were dead.” He shook his head to clear it of the giddiness. So his father was not dead, after all. Now why had Lady Mountjoy bothered to lie to him?

“All the more reason for you to stop, eh?”

“No! I—”

“Well, you are stopping now. We have things to settle. Your grandmother has left you her entire fortune. She always did favor you over the others.”

“Only because no one else cared about me.”

“Nonsense. I have always treated you fairly. Too fair to deserve being ignored for ten years.”

“But you never…” Evan faltered, for his father had ridden on toward the stable, and Bose had followed with the horses that carried all his dry clothes. He really had no choice but to stop. Oddly, he did want to stay, to speak to his father again. As he rode back to the stable he vaguely wondered if he had been forgiven after all this time. No, that was too much to hope for.

* * *

Evan rode in and dismounted with a grunt. Molly, his mare, snorted her approval of his coming to his senses and went gratefully with the groom.

“Well, come along,” his father demanded. Evan followed the older man to the back door through what was by now a downpour, then down the hall to the library.

Evan looked about him uncomfortably. “You’ve changed the room about.”

“No, we haven’t,” stated his father, looking up from the decanter and glasses. “It’s always been this way.”

“This isn’t how I remember it.”

“You were no more than a boy when you left. It’s only natural things would look different to you.”

Evan ignored his father’s invitation to sit, but stood turning himself by the fire, until the worst of the rain had dried off his clothes. The uniform did not actually dry, of course. Rather, the water seeped through to his skin, making him feel clammy. But this was such a familiar sensation by now that Evan did not regard it. Accepting a brandy from his father reminded him of his recent shock and subsequent relief. He should have known the old man would be too stubborn to die. This last thought brought a puzzled frown to his face. Why had Lady Mountjoy lied to him? Had the desolation he must have shown pleased her? He didn’t care. He could not say that he loved his father, but it was disquieting to think of him dead.

“As I said, your grandmother has left you pretty well off. Rather cut up poor Terry’s expectations.”

“Terry?”

“Your brother, remember?”

“Yes, of course. I wasn’t thinking.”

“You are not famous for your thinking.”

Evan smiled. Nothing in all these years had changed. If his father had welcomed him with open arms he would have felt strange indeed. To be cut at, though, was such a familiar feeling he quite liked the man for it. His first impression was that his father looked unfamiliar. The hair, though full and magnificent, was white, the face lined, the body thickening perhaps a bit around the middle. Still and all, he was a fine figure of a man, but not one Evan remembered well except by his voice.

“What happened to your face?” his father asked.

“What?”

“You’ve a bloody great scar under your lip and, now that I look closer, one on your forehead.”

“I scarcely remember. They do not signify.”

Lord Mountjoy tugged at a bell, as he had already done several times.

“Bose must be turning the servants’ hall on its ear,” Evan offered.

“No doubt you are right. Stay here. There is someone I want you to meet.”

Evan had an uneasy feeling he knew whom, so he poured himself another brandy and took up a position by the fireplace so that he could gauge his effect on his new mama to the full.

She entered the room, toying nervously with a lock of her brown hair. Her cheeks flushed when she saw him, and she sent him a forbidding stare. She almost taunted Evan to say aught against her.

“May I present Lady Mountjoy? My son, Evan.”

“So pleased to meet you at last, dear ma’am.”

“Likewise.” She plopped down in a chair and continued to stare at him with a puzzled look. He had not snitched, and she could not fathom why.

“May I get you something, my dear?” Lord Mountjoy asked. “Oh, where are the girls?”