Page 40 of The Consolation Prize

“I can’t possibly be expected to repeat her line of reasoning on an empty stomach, but mayhap you could dissuade her on the matter.”

Otho looked skeptical. “She’s a mind of her own, for all she seems so reasonable.”

“You can try at least.” Otho shot him a narrow look, and Armand realized that Una’s brother still harbored suspicions that Rose might be some cast-off from his past. “Never mind, you will do as you see fit, I’m sure,” he said passing on and walking to the kitchen in search of sustenance.

It looked a good deal cleaner and tidier this morning, though very bare, with none of the paraphernalia of a functioning kitchen he had ever seen. There were no herbs hanging from the rafters, no smell of dough or waft of spices. Still, at least it no longer looked like a filthy hovel.

He crossed to the empty pantry and observed the half-empty sack of grain with disfavor. Above it on a shelf, was the end of a loaf of bread. That would have to do. He took this and slathered it liberally with butter and let himself out of the kitchen door and into the gardens at the back of the house.

Otho had not exaggerated. Armand’s eyes roved over the extensive kitchen gardens, which were full of untidy plants that had either bolted or gone to seed. He walked down the overgrown walkways, eating his bread, and taking in the abundant signs of neglect about the place. He could not blame it all on Rose, he reflected fairly. For in truth, there was no way that one woman could maintain such a large property. He had been the one who had neglected Lynwode ever since his godfather Sir Adrian had died.

At the bottom of the garden, marking the end of his land, was an extensive ruin in grey stone of a much earlier property. So occupied was he in gazing at what was left of it, that he did not hear Una coming up the garden behind him and was only aware of her when she stopped at his elbow.

“It is a very picturesque view, is it not?” she murmured, standing beside him.

“You think so?” He turned to look at her, as she stood gazing steadily at the remains. Her little dog sat at her feet, staring up at Una rather than the ruin.

“Oh yes. It must have been a sizeable property indeed, for look,” she pointed. “That looks like the remains of a rampart and that tower looks almost intact with its little arched window at the top.”

“It has barely three walls, and you are not to go near it,” Armand heard himself reply sternly. “When we were boys, my brother Henry dared me to climb that tower and I nearly broke my neck. The steps are crumbling, and several have eroded. I can’t imagine it has grown any safer in the past twenty years.”

“I did not intend to climb it,” she answered, looking at him rather oddly.

He strove for a lighter tone. “A good deal of the stone from it was used to build Lynwode,” he said turning back to look at the house.

Una followed his example and gazed up at it appraisingly. “It is a lovely house,” she said softly. “You must be very proud of it.”

Was he? In truth, he’d barely given the place a second thought, save for basking in the satisfaction that Henry had been seething to see him land such a large inheritance. Poor Henry, whose only distinction had been the fact he was born first. As though aware of his thoughts, Una asked, “Why did your brother dare you to climb it? Were you very competitive growing up?”

Armand laughed. “Hardly. Henry’s a poor creature.” He offered Una his arm and they proceeded toward the ruin, followed closely by a trotting Abelard. “When I say he challenged me, what I really mean is he claimed it was impossible to climb the tower. A miserable worm like Henry would never even make the attempt. He disdained archery, riding, wrestling, and swordplay. Henry would only ever sit bent over his books and his music on even the sunniest of days.”

Una pursed her lips. “Not everyone has the aptitude for outdoor pursuits,” she pointed out mildly. “That is no reason to despise your older brother, any more than he should look down on you for enjoying more physical occupations.”

Armand was startled. “Well,” he rallied, “he certainly did look down his nose at me for my neglect of book learning, so I suppose we were even with one another.”

“Did your parents never attempt to encourage some accord between you?” Una asked, as they came to a halt before the ruin.

Armand shook his head ruefully. “I was my mother’s favorite,” he admitted. “I think I mentioned it before?” Una nodded. “She lauded my every accomplishment and lambasted Henry as a poor dog by comparison.” He shrugged. “Now I am older, I see of course, poor Henry must have squirmed, but at the time I reveled in it.”

He hesitated. “Henry sought my father’s approval, I think, but Father was often from home, and even when he was there, he did not seem very interested in any of us. His heir was no exception.” He took a deep breath. “But likely he has my father’s attention now, for they live under the same roof together and my mother is long since dead.” He shrugged. “In any case, it’s all water under the bridge.”

“How much older is Henry than you?”

“Some five years.”

“So, he is a young man still.”

“He must be five and thirty now,” Armand replied. “But Henry has never seemed young. He married a widow from Great Derring, which just added to his old-womanish ways. She was in her mid-forties when he met her, and she has at least a good ten years on him, if not more.”

Una nodded. “And who is your younger brother more like? You or Henry?”

“Roger?” Armand considered. “I scarcely know. He was so much younger than the rest of us, and I had gone away to squire, while he was still in leading strings. Still,” his frown cleared. “He was studying for the priesthood last time I heard, so we can hardly be kindred spirits.”

They had walked about the ruin now and were contemplating the winding staircase that was exposed to their gaze, for a good deal of the outer wall of the tower had worn away. Funnily enough, Abelard chose this moment to show some independence of mind and trotted over to it sniffing at the bottom step. Una called him away.

“It does look dangerous,” she admitted as the dog returned to her. “Did you really climb it? Right to the top?”

Armand nodded. “And waved my hat out of the window to prove the feat. My godfather whipped me soundly afterward with a switch.”