As much as he loved his work, he missed being more physically active. Of course he had a morning routine he repeated each day in an effort to stay somewhat fit. It included various stretches, rapid squats, and the lifting of bags filled with grain. But it would be nice if he had more time to ride even though a trot through Hyde Park could not be compared with a gallop across the craggy hills and valleys of his ancestral land.
James rounded a corner. The glow from a newly lit gas lamp cast a halo upon the pavement. Further on, James spotted the lamplighter himself. The young lad raised his long stick, pushing back darkness with wondrous illumination.
There was something to be savored in the progress one experienced in Town, yet there was no denying the craving he had developed in recent weeks for clean country air and vast expanses of green. With spring already banging at the door, the Clarington House gardens would soon be filled with bright displays of daffodils, hyacinths, and tulips, for those were his mother’s favorite flowers and she’d personally seen to it that thousands of bulbs were planted.
Perhaps he’d go for a visit once his current case was over. He’d invite Michael to come along with him, though he would probably be loath to leave Town with the Season just now beginning. But it would do them both good to spend some quality time together and for Michael to reconnect with his grandparents. It had been too long since they’d all been beneath the same roof. Plus, it would be damn good to get away from any gossip pertaining to the newly minted Mrs. Lawson. Escaping her would be difficult here in London where news travelled faster than the wind. And he really, really, did not wish to think of her any longer.
He entered Portman Square and proceeded toward the black door leading into number five. Collecting his key from his pocket, he undid the lock and stepped inside, happy to be home in familiar surroundings. This was his sanctuary – a place of his own design – furnished exactly to his liking.
In keeping with James’s preference for minimalism, it housed only five people: James; Michael; Atkins, the butler; Mrs. Dunkley, the cook; and Miss. Tabitha Harris, the maid. A housekeeper seemed as unnecessary as a valet, secretary, and company of footmen, so James chose to manage without.
“Is my son at home?” James asked Atkins when the older man came to greet his master.
“In the parlor, sir.” Atkins took James’s hat and gloves, set them aside on the hallway table – a Hewitt edition, James noted with unhappiness – and helped James out of his greatcoat.
James thanked his butler and entered the parlor. It was his least favorite room in the house - the only one still decorated according to Clara’s taste with all the fripperies she’d brought with her into the marriage or purchased later cluttering every surface. Escaping the memory of her was impossible in here, but he’d left the room intact for Michael’s sake.
His son, whose hair was the same dark shade of brown as his own, reclined at a slightly crooked angle in one of the pale blue silk upholstered armchairs. His long legs were stretched out before him, crossed at the ankles. At three and twenty, he was just starting to fill out in the shoulders, but it would probably take another couple of years before he completely lost the gangly look he’d had in adolescence. Between his hands was today’s copy of The Mayfair Chronicle.
He looked up at the sound of his father’s arrival, set the paper aside, and rushed to his feet. “Good evening.”
James considered his son, who appeared more stiff than usual. Echoing his salutation, James crossed to the sideboard. “Drink?”
“Yes.” Michael cleared his throat. “Thank you.”
“Everything all right?” James asked with a frown while deliberately keeping his voice as casual as possible.
“Quite.” The word had barely been spoken before he said, “I trust you had a nice evening with West and Grier?”
“I did. They send their regards.” James handed Michael a glass of brandy. Ordinarily, his son preferred port, but since it took time to develop a taste for the stronger drink, James made sure he tried it from time to time. Considering how tense he looked tonight, James also believed he might actually need it. “How was dinner?”
“Good.” Michael returned to his seat. “Cook made roast beef with oven-roasted potatoes and green beans, which as you know is my favorite. I believe she tried to make up for my having to dine alone.”
“Sorry about that.” James took a sip of his drink and lowered himself to the edge of the sofa adjacent to where Michael sat. “Why didn’t you meet up with friends if you wanted some company?”
Michael set his glass to his lips and drank. James’s mouth twitched with humor when Michael quietly winced. He was making an effort to like the brandy, but it would be a while yet before he acquired a taste for it.
“I didn’t. Want the company, that is. Not tonight at any rate.” Michael twisted his glass between his hands, not meeting James’s gaze. “I needed to think. About how to broach an important issue with you.”
James sat back. He was slightly stunned by this admission. “You and I have always been open and honest with one another. I’ve always done my best to listen and offer unbiased advice. And you’re a sensible man, Michael. I doubt there is anything you could say to appall me, so don’t worry, just spit it out.”
Michael tapped his fingers against his glass. He slanted a look in James’s direction and opened his mouth as if intending to speak. Instead, he just stared at his father, who grew increasingly anxious by the second. Michael closed his mouth, swallowed, then took a deep breath, and finally managed to get out the necessary words. “I think I’m in love. That is, I don’t think I am, I know I am. But I fear you will not approve of the lady.”
Ah. A delicate subject indeed.
James leaned back and settled into his seat. For a moment there, he’d feared the boy had taken up gambling and lost a wager, or gotten himself challenged to a duel. God forbid. Instead, all the innocent man had done was loose his heart to a woman. Well, it had to happen sooner or later.
“Like I said, you’re a sensible man, Michael. Whoever she is, she must be respectable.”
“She’s a widow,” Michael informed him, neatly skirting the issue of her reputation.
James decided to leave that point alone for the moment. He took another sip of his drink. “I take no issue with her being a widow, though there might be a few raised eyebrows if you started associating with her prior to her husband’s death.”
“If you’re asking me whether I had an affair with a married woman, the answer is no, I did not.”
The indignation in Michael’s eyes could not be denied. James was sorry for it, but he breathed a sigh of relief all the same. “Forgive me, but I had to ask since it would explain your concern with how I’d respond.”
Michael huffed a breath. “We met for the first time two years ago. She’d just gotten married, however, so I knew I ought to forget her.”
“But you couldn’t?” Lord help him, James knew exactly what that was like, to be haunted by a woman one could not have. To this day, dreams of holding Mrs. Lawson in his arms still plagued him, causing him to wake in a sweaty, lust-filled state of anger that ruined his day whenever it happened. If only he could scrub his brain clean of her.