Most nights he dined with them at the house before walking down to his cottage, but tonight he didn’t want to do it. He was tired, and being around people, even his closest friend, sounded exhausting.
If he cried off, though, they’d want to know why, and since he couldn’t even explain it to himself or the open Bible he’d taken to talking to before bed, he climbed the steps to go to dinner. At least they kept it simple when it was just the three of them. He’d be in his home within the hour.
“Have you decided where you want to live?” he asked as they ate. “I’m assuming you won’t be able to travel as much for a while with the baby.”
Kit frowned. “No, we won’t. We must find a place soon or we’ll end up with his parents or Daphne and William. I know I lived with Daphne for years, but that was before we were married. I doubt it would work as well now.”
Graham shook his head. “Especially since they’re expecting their own bundle of joy. Two new families under one roof would strain even the best of friendships. We need to find a place of our own soon. It will either be here or in Wiltshire.”
“There’s an estate a few miles south of here. It would be too small for large house parties, but it’s perfect for a family. There’s not a lot of land by Newmarket standards, but I don’t see you breeding horses.”
Graham slowly put his fork down. “How do you know about this estate?”
This was why he should never have started talking freely out loud, even to himself.
Aaron stuffed a bite of potatoes into his mouth and nearly choked as he remembered that was Sophia’s tactic to get herself to stop talking. He hadn’t seen her in weeks, and yet she was never far from his thoughts. He shook his head and swallowed. “I . . . try to keep up with changes in the area.”
In truth, it had been one of the properties he’d investigated for Rigsby. Not that Aaron was going to tell Graham that. He’d expected his friend to push for more information about Rigsby after they’d returned from London, but he hadn’t. If Graham had forgotten about that exchange, Aaron wasn’t about to remind him.
“I’ll take a look. Are the neighbors nice?”
Aaron winced. One of the neighbors might soon be Rigsby. The estate Aaron had recommended—and his brother was moving forward on—bordered the property to the south. “Have you ever had difficulty getting along with anyone?”
“Your father isn’t one of my favorite people.”
He’d likely be too angry to visit often. “Have you had difficulty with anyone you didn’t want to have difficulty with?”
Kit laughed. “He has a point.”
Though it was rude and uncouth, Aaron indulged himself in a large yawn. “The races left me drained. I believe I’ll leave early tonight.”
Graham waved him away. “Go, go, get your rest, Little Briar Rose.”
Aaron paused halfway out of his chair. “Little who?”
“Briar Rose.” Kit sighed and rolled her eyes. “He’s been reading fairy tales to me. I try to tell him there’s no way for the baby to hear him yet.”
“Practice never hurt anyone.” Graham grinned as he ate the last bite of food from his plate. “I will be the most impressive father in England.”
“I’m sure you will be,” Kit said in a tone that indicated this was not the first time they’d had this conversation.
Aaron shook his head as he left the house and strode toward his cottage. His friends had all found women who loved them and made them happy. All of them made him feel welcome in their families. Still, the unsettledness that had plagued him since London made him uneasy in their presence.
The Bible, which had taken up permanent residence on his table, drew his eye as he entered the cottage. After all the reading and talking, wasn’t he supposed to be more at ease instead of less?
A sudden knock at the door made him frown, but not as much as who was on the other side. “Rigsby?”
His brother took two steps inside and looked around the cottage with raised eyebrows. “Well. I suppose that answers that.”
Aaron shut the door and crossed his arms over his chest. “Did you expect a manor house? I don’t have an inheritance.”
Rigsby coughed. “It would seem you do, though it’s a rather terrible one. You had this built?”
“Yes.”
“Designed it yourself?”
“Yes. It’s just me, so I wanted the space to be efficient.”
“Are you lying to me or yourself?”
“I think you can find the door.”
Rigsby sighed. “I didn’t come here to argue with you, truly. It’s just . . . you didn’t do this intentionally?”
Aaron looked around the room. It was quaint, but he couldn’t see anything wrong with it. “What are you talking about?”
“It looks exactly like your childhood home. More structurally sound and with a far nicer bed, I’m sure, but the layout is the same.”
“No, it—” Aaron stopped and looked around. How had he not noticed? How could he have deliberately rebuilt his mother’s rundown cottage and not seen it for what it was? “You were there once. How . . . ?”
“I remember everything about that day.”
“You were six.”
“Do you think it matters how old a boy is when his father shows him another little boy and says this is what happens when you don’t act responsibly? That we have to fulfill our duties, no matter how unpleasant they may be? I couldn’t see the difference between you and me, but I saw how you lived and I knew what I was going home to.”
“I’m guessing it had more than one room?” Aaron moved toward his small cookstove and threw a log in the glowing embers to build the fire back up. Not that he wanted Rigsby staying long enough for tea, but he needed something to do.
“I learned a lesson that day, and not the one Father intended.” Rigsby sighed and pulled at his neck with one hand. “This isn’t why I came here tonight.”
“I’m sure it isn’t, but since it’s come up, why don’t you finish your story?”
Rigsby’s eyebrows rose. “You want to know what I learned?”
“Tell me what I missed.”
He shook his head. “That would take all night. No, from that day on I questioned everything Father said.”
Aaron stilled. “Everything?”
Rigsby nodded. “I’ve never been the son he wanted, but he couldn’t complain about it because I’ve also been the son he couldn’t criticize. I made sure my grades were good and I didn’t get into trouble. I took care to make the right friends, but not be so popular as to anger the wrong people.”
“Sounds exemplary.”
“Sounds not like you. He complains about you. A lot. I think he needs to feel that the world is trying to punish him. He’s hoping one day you’ll punch him.”
“What?” Aaron dropped the pot he’d filled with water for tea. His leg got soaked from the splash, but he didn’t care.
“He only admitted that to me once, after you’d finished school and he lowered your quarterly allowance. He thought that would be enough to prompt you to do something, but you just took it.” Rigsby shrugged. “After that, I tried rebelling against everything, hoping that could be my way to finally make him happy. Mother hated it. It didn’t work, so I stopped.”