She sighed. Anything she told Lord Blackthorne about Oliver could be gotten from any family acquaintance, after all. “As I said, we were born in India and had a home in Bombay. We spent summer in the Hills to escape the worst of the heat.”
“I am surprised your mother did not spend more time in England.”
“She did not want to be parted from my father.” Cecilia spoke impassively, but inside, her stomach churned with the memories that wouldn’t go away. How, as she grew older, her mother confided more and more in her as if she were a grown woman, about her fears that Appertan would find a mistress to shame her if she left him alone. Once or twice at a dinner party, she even forced Cecilia to follow her father, as if he might sneak away from the card room for an illicit affair. The constant neediness and dread and pessimism wore away at Cecilia, until she realized she could escape into her studies, into her books. And that also helped her escape the memories.
“You went on campaign,” Lord Blackthorne said, and it wasn’t a question.
“We followed the drum, a military family.” She forced a smile, her fingers playing restlessly with a quill on the desk. “When Oliver was younger, he played with all the other boys, and it didn’t matter whose father was a sergeant or whose was a colonel. But as he grew older, their different circumstances began to play out among even the children. When Papa decided it was time to return to England, for Oliver to attend Eton, I thought things would be better for my brother.”
“Eton can alter a boy,” Lord Blackthorne said. “I noticed it among my friends.”
But not himself? she wondered, but didn’t ask.
“It’s supposed to build character,” she continued, “or so I heard. But the friends he made weren’t the kind I would have chosen for him. They now like to drink too much and ... socialize with the wrong element. He is immature, and I wish my father were still alive to take him in hand.”
Lord Blackthorne briefly looked away. He must miss her father, and she would try to remember that.
“Every young man goes through such a period,” he said. “But Appertan has not come out of it, and, forgive me, but I don’t think you’re helping by managing everything for him.”
“I’m doing what I must,” she said coolly.
“Then I have a suggestion. Let me become involved.” He left the window seat and limped toward the desk, sitting opposite her.
She stiffened. “I am managing the estate just fine, my lord.”
“I don’t mean the estate—with Appertan. Let me get to know him, to guide him. I have a facility for instructing young men. I was often in charge of the new soldiers. And I have a brother, too. When I became the viscount, I, too, needed a guardian, but when I reached my majority, it was Allen, at twenty, who assumed much of the mantle of the Blackthorne estates. I know exactly what Appertan is going through. Although Allen and I are closer in age than your brother and I are, I do understand the competitiveness that can exist between men.”
Though he made a persuasive argument, she was ready to refuse. But at the last moment, her common sense overruled her feelings of defensiveness, and she remembered her situation. If Lord Blackthorne was busy befriending Oliver, she would have more time to make a decision about the marriage.
Surely, Oliver could deal with Lord Blackthorne. She remembered her father’s constant praise of the man, his ability to negotiate a compromise with even the most stubborn of enemies. It was almost like a character reference for a new employee.
“I do not know if this is a good idea,” she said slowly. “You are at least ten years older than Oliver.”
“Ten years exactly, my lady.”
“I have matchless deductive powers,” she said, forcing her voice to be light.
He nodded, so focused on whatever task at hand, even if it was just talking to her. When his dark eyes looked into hers, she felt as if she were the center of the world at that moment, very different from when her suitors used to fawn over her. It was too intense, even threatening to her very way of life. This man could wield so much power over her if he chose. She’d given him that power; she’d have to find the best way to take it back.
“If I allowed you to ... work with Oliver, what would you do?” she asked.
“Spend time with him in masculine pursuits—hunting, riding, even socializing. I imagine it would help to meet and understand his friends. Then I should be able to see why he so resists the responsibilities of his title.”
She bit her lip, trying not to smile.
He tilted his head. “Did I say something amusing?”
“Forgive me. I am trying to imagine you with Oliver’s fellow young bucks.”
His lips curved in the faintest hint of a smile, and he relaxed back in his chair. “I am well aware of the mentality.”
“Are you? Does that mean you went through such a period yourself?”
“Not a very long one. I enlisted at eighteen, and although men off duty often embarrass themselves in drink, that did not appeal to me.”
“I am not surprised,” she murmured, studying him just as intently as he liked to study her. “Are you and your brother close?”
His eyes seemed to focus inward. “We are. Although it has been twelve years since I’ve been able to spend much time at home, we were always playmates as children, and our letters have deepened our friendship as adults.”
