Regency Christmas Wishes(39)

“Actually, sir, I did quite well.”

“Did you, now? Well, that’s something. How’d you spend it?”

He hadn’t. Or at least very little. Not that he hadn’t tried, but he had been just responsible and sober enough during his first months back on land to make a series of investments that had done far better, even, than expected. He was a wealthy man. Somehow, that didn’t seem important to share. Instead, he announced, “I traveled.”

“Traveled. Hmph. To where?”

Gareth wasn’t quite sure where to begin. “Spain, Gibraltar, Morocco, Egypt.” He’d seen the great pyramids, stood in the shadow of the Sphinx. He’d shooed asps from his rooms. And thought of Alice with her sharp tongue. He’d dined with princes, discussed astronomy with learned men whose forefathers had been studying the stars while his were still living in stone huts and pounding each other with clubs. And thought of Alice, with her eyes shining in the night.

“Egypt,” Sir Reginald muttered. “Morocco. Running among the heathens and infidels. Enough to send your father spinning in his grave.”

That had only been part of the appeal, Gareth thought humorlessly. “Yes, I’m sure it would be.” He jumped when Sir Reginald slapped a bony knee.

“Daresay your grandfather would’ve been dashed proud of you,” he chortled. “A toast to adventure, boy!”

Bewildered, inexplicably gratified, Gareth lifted his glass.

One very satisfying meal and several glasses of port later, he found himself back in the drawing room. Dinner had been an unexpected pleasure. They had eaten in the small family dining room. Whether out of habit or necessity due to the piles of foodstuffs on the formal table, he didn’t know. And didn’t care in the least. There had been a cheerful fire crackling in the hearth, glinting off his grandmother’s crystal. Clarissa had prattled to the extent that Gareth could give most of his attention to the wonderful food. Alice had been quiet, thoughts clearly elsewhere, but she had responded when addressed, and smiled whenever their eyes met.

She and Clarissa had left as soon as the pudding was finished. Gareth had wanted to follow, but had instead passed the next hour with Sir Reginald plying him with port and questions about his travels. Only when the old man had eased back in his seat and commenced to snore, glass still dangling from his fist, could Gareth leave. He was more than a little disappointed to find the drawing room empty, only a discarded and, he decided, rather ugly square of half-embroidered linen to show that the ladies had sat there at all.

Well, they’d no doubt gone off to bed. Gareth supposed he could do the same. Nights in this house had always dragged endlessly. Except for those when he’d gone out one window or another. He was too old now to go climbing out a window. Beyond that, when he left again, it would be through the front door in broad daylight. He started up the stairs.

Alice was waiting for him on the landing. “Come with me,” she said and, not waiting to see if he followed, walked quickly down the hallway.

“Where—”

“Shh. You’ll see.”

Intrigued, a little drunk, he followed her, through a doorway, up another flight of stairs, and into a windowless chamber. Now he knew where they were headed. The ladder was in place, the trapdoor open to the night. Alice went first. Gareth managed not to look up her skirts. Within moments, they were on the roof.

His telescope was waiting for him.

“I found it in the attics last month,” Alice said as he circled the thing, running his hands reverently over the shiny brass. “I had it cleaned and brought up here while you and Grandfather were having your port.”

Gareth could only nod his thanks. This collection of metal and glass had been his first unshakable dream, his first love. When his father had refused to purchase it for him, he had saved the money himself. His pitiful allowance, the odd gift from his grandmother. It had taken him a year. The day before his fifteenth birthday, he’d commandeered the coach to take him to Dublin to collect his prize. His father had walloped him soundly on his return, but he’d had his telescope. As an adult, he had often thought that the hours he’d spent here on the roof, looking at the heavens, had saved him somehow.

His father had loathed the telescope, scorned the time Gareth spent with it, calling his son a stargazer as if it were a shameful thing to be. Had the earl been fit enough to climb to the roof, he would certainly have pitched the thing over the side. He’d ordered it destroyed more than once, but the staff had protected the telescope, protected Gareth.

He bent now, pressed his eye to the eyepiece. Tightened one knob, loosened another. And there, suddenly, was Ursa Minor, Polaris shining brilliantly. He heard himself laugh aloud and felt a small, quick squeeze at his shoulder, gone in an instant.