Chapter 9
While the house was not bursting at the seams, as some might say, Rob adored the sense of goodwill radiating from every hall, every corridor, every nook, and every cranny. It was so very far from the darkness of his life but a year ago that he could not cease smiling.
Everyone was smiling. Even Heath and Drake were making pleasantries. The two were more alike than they’d ever likely admit but they both had a gift for cynicism, quips, and well. . . though they’d bash Rob’s brain in for saying such a thing aloud. . . they both had wounded souls.
Their efforts to be, if not joyous, but good company was duly noted.
It was hard to believe that Blackdown had been so. . . well, black such a short time ago.
A year ago, one could not have paid him any sum which would have induced or compelled his presence here. After the death of his father, he had stopped coming and thought he might never come home again.
Now? Now, he could imagine spending every Christmas here with his family.
His family. What a remarkable thing. Soon, that would be more than his wife, his sister, and his mother. Soon, his family would include a child.
His insides humming with amazement, Rob climbed the side stairs to a small but beautifully decorated study. Notes had been sent out about the house.
Perhaps there would be no visit to Number 79 but the friends who had come together over impending dukedoms would still gather here in this house. They were almost all present, after all.
As he entered through the soaring, arched doorway, and stepped into the golden-red glow of lamps and firelight, he could not help but inhale and bathe in a feeling of contentment.
The deep, leather chairs studded with brass tacks were arranged before the cheerful fire. It was a room that was the height of comfort. It was quite simple without any fuss to it.
Dark wood, green curtains, and paintings of the horses that had graced Blackdown’s stables made the room a refuge. As did the books. Hundreds of books lined the walls, their gold-titled spines facing the room.
As he stepped inside, contemplating how the world could change so drastically in but a brief amount of time, the sound of male voices, laughing, filled the air.
Royland, Raventon, and Drake charged in just behind him.
Royland strode forward and clapped Rob on the back. “Brandy, old man. It’s deuced cold out this night.”
Feeling all was ridiculously right with the world, Rob did as he was bid. He crossed to the grog tray by the fire, laden with crystal decanters of various spirits and glasses of myriad shapes.
“Encounter any highwaymen, Royland?” Drake drawled, eyeing his fingernails before he gave Rob a mocking wink.
Rob arched a brow.
“Not a one,” intoned Royland.
“Except the one who stands before me,” pointed out Raventon.
“Those days are done,” Rob protested.
“I did hear you kept your hat,” Drake said as he crossed towards the grog tray and collected a glass.
Rob cleared his throat. The truth was, Harry liked his hat, and well. . . he rather liked sweeping her away.
“You’re blushing,” crowed Royland.
“Don’t be absurd,” returned Rob.
“No doubt, it is the fire,” Drake drawled.
“Exactly,” Rob cut in. “The fire.”
Despite their usual stoicism, his friends grinned, all knowing when to stop. Their jests were always in good humor and never meant to cause pain.
Brandy was quickly passed about, the crystal snifters winking like diamonds in the firelight. Night had now truly fallen. The dark night sky would have left the park as dark as black velvet save for the countless shining stars and bright moon.
But as the night progressed, the room had closed in to a warm, familiar glow.
“Where the devil is Harley?” Royland asked.
Rob frowned momentarily. “I thought he would—”
And as if summoned by the words, the Duke of Harley strode through the door. His eyes were bright, his hair was wild, and his face was merry. It was the face of a man deeply happy with his wife. Rob knew it well.
A chorus of “Harley!” went around and before they could think twice, there was a good deal of back clapping again and toasting. It had been too many weeks for Rob’s liking since they’d all been together.
“Is that Scot, Ardore, ever coming back?” Harley challenged before he took a long drink of the rich French spirit.
Drake shrugged. “Perhaps he has given up the aristocracy in favor of a republic.”
Harley shuddered. “Americans.”
Royland laughed. “They’re not so very terrible.”
“And one must admit, they have a certain daring,” Rob agreed.
“A sense of panache,” put in Raventon.
Royland lifted his glass as if in salute of the rebels. “And they know how to write a damned good declaration.”
A moment of silence fell as they realized that if any of them had been born just a decade or so earlier, that they would never be jesting like this about the former colony and Ardore wouldn’t be there to visit at all. It didn’t matter that their political party had supported the separation of the colony. As soldiers, they would have had to go.
Raventon broke the reverie. “In all events, you’ll never catch me across the pond. Panache or no. Too many Puritans.”
Royland rolled his eyes. “We all know you’re afraid of sailing.”
“Oh, indeed. I’d clutch the main mast the whole of the way,” jested Raventon who was, in fact, an excellent sailor. One might have thought he’d been a naval officer rather than a rifleman but he’d fought on land, not on sea.
“In all events, you and Harley looked damned pleased with yourselves,” Heath observed from the doorway, leaning against the frame.
“Get in here, Heath!” Harley called, bidding him with a wave of his hand.
Heath and Harley clasped hands in a firm shake and Rob handed the London man a glass.
“Heath’s right. You both do look rather pleased,” Drake observed through exaggeratedly narrowed eyes.
“It is Christmas,” Harley said over the rim of his glass.
“It’s not that,” put in Royland. His eyes narrowed as he, no doubt, tried to assess what they were missing.
Heath cocked his head to the side. “You both look like cats that have gotten the cream.”
“Don’t tell me,” Drake began, his stoic face parting with a genuine smile. “We have a pair of fathers in our midst.”
“I swear you pay my servants,” Harley breathed. “You know far too much.”
“No need. Your face has always been an open book, Harley,” Drake informed.
“Is it true?” Royland asked, stunned.
Rob stared at Harley, amazed. Could he? Could they? Was it possible? Would they both be expecting at the same time? It would certainly make the whole of it easier with a friend to share his worries and anticipations with.
“It is,” declared Harley. “Or at least, Eglantine is enceinte.”
“As is Harry,” said Rob, fairly reeling. “Though I never should have confessed it without your guess.”
“Why not?” asked Royland. “For we are all friends. And we wish to share your joy.”
And as if on cue, Rob and Harley were surrounded by their friends, glasses raised.
“To Harriet and Eglantine,” said Drake quite seriously. “Bringers of happiness. And to you two devils, who’ve found joy.”
“To joy!” Rob’s friends toasted.
He turned to Harley and they gave a quick clap to each other’s backs before they shrugged and then abruptly hugged each other, laughing. Then they were all loudly clapping each other’s backs and declaring how happy they all were.
It seemed a perpetual grin had affixed itself to Rob’s visage.
“Two down,” Harley said, waggling his brows and surveying the bachelors in the room. “Which one of you is next?”
Rob nearly choked on his laughter at the look of horror on the other men’s faces.
It was going to be a Merry Christmas, indeed.