“Should Mr. Phipps not be telling me this?” Edmund asked, rising from his chair, wondering who could be calling upon him.
Sinclair grimaced. “He has taken to his bed again, Your Grace. Another bout of his mad rambling. We’ll have to find a replacement soon.” He hesitated. “I can do it on your behalf, if you’d like?”
“Yes… I think it is time,” Edmund replied reluctantly. “Mr. Phipps will not be removed from this estate; he has more than earned the right to stay here until the end of his days, but a new butler will be necessary. Bring me a list of anyone suitable, and I shall select one.”
Sinclair dipped his head. “Very good, Your Grace.”
As Edmund headed out into the sun-dappled hallway, he paused and looked back at the steward. “Is the visitor a gentleman or a lady?”
Has she come to see me one last time before she is married?
He had seen the first of the banns in the paper, announcing the engagement between Isolde and Noah. The second would likely be in that day’s paper or the next day’s, but he had neglected to check. Seeing it once had been more than enough, and if the knife in his heart twisted any more, it would undoubtedly shatter him.
“A gentleman, Your Grace,” Sinclair replied. “It is the Earl of Grayling.”
Edmund raised an eyebrow. “Why did you not say?”
He took off at a clip, nervous tendrils slithering across his chest, wrapping his lungs in a thorned vise. Maybe, Vincent had some manner of message for him, from Isolde. A farewell that mightslick a temporary balm on his sore heart… or make it ten times worse.
“That man of yours is woefully rude,” Vincent declared, the second Edmund walked through the Sun Room door. “Was he always that way?”
He sat on a low stool by the terrace, the French doors open to let in the warmth and perfume of the gardens. That golden sunlight formed a fuzzy halo around him, reminding Edmund of the garden party where Isolde had fallen foul of Lord Spofforth. She had been so radiant that day, as if she had captured some of the glowing sunlight and drawn it into herself.
I shall never meet another like her, for as long as I live.
“It is, alas, his character,” Edmund said ruefully. “I cannot recall if he was the steward of this estate the last time you were here.”
Vincent smiled. “I have not visited this fine manor nearly as much as I should have.”
“Nonsense. It was me who always insisted on gathering at Grayling House.” Edmund picked up another low stool and took it over to the French doors, setting it down opposite his friend. “Back then, I did not want to be here in this manor very often.”
“It is understandable,” Vincent said, turning his gaze toward the neat boxwood hedges that bordered the rose garden. The scentof those blooms ebbed and flowed with the breeze, teasing the nostrils.
Edmund followed his friend’s line of sight, remembering the first time he had gone to stay at Grayling House after the loss of his entire family. All of the tricks and snide remarks that Isolde had thrown in his direction, long before the strawberry tart incident. He had not initially known why she seemed determined to be unkind to him, and once hehadlearned why, it had made him less inclined to do what she wanted.
It shamed him to think, now, of how juvenile he had been.
“I never did thank you properly,” he said haltingly. “For what you did for me after… I became the Duke of Davenport. I do not think I ever told you how grateful I was—how gratefulIam. I doubt I would have survived the grief if not for you.”
Vincent looked back at him, eyes creased in a surprised smile. “You thanked me plenty, Edmund.”
“Perhaps, but… I know I did not apologize.” Edmund hesitated. “When you lost your father, I made no attempt to offer comfort or a safe haven. I gave you no generosity in your grief, when you likely needed it the most. As your friend, I should have done for you what you did for me. I am… sorry that I neglected my duty as a dear friend. Truly, I am sorry. As I am sorry that it has taken me so long to apologize.”
A soft laugh whispered from Vincent’s lips. “I have never needed your apology, but Idowish you had saved it for later.”
“Later?”
He nodded. “For when we return to London, so that I can knock your heads together and make you see sense.”
“Pardon?” Edmund squinted at his friend, raising his hand up to shield his eyes from the sun’s glare. “Whose heads are you knocking together and why?”
Vincent shifted on his seat, leaning back against the doorjamb as he once again let his gaze trail toward the gardens and the lawns beyond, to where a line of woodland bordered the estate.
“I trust you have seen the announcement?” he said, furrowing his brow.
Edmund’s throat tightened. “I saw it in passing, yes. Most… fortuitous news.”
“Come now,” Vincent said, rather sharply. “You might have everyone else fooled, Edmund, but you do not fool me. I was furious when I heard what you had done, as you well know, but I have had time to mull it over and there are parts that do not make a jot of sense.”
