Tempted

“Hallo, Evan. We thought you was dead.” Terry shook his hand and left a mist of brandy fumes in the air.

Evan was still struggling for a reply when Lord Mountjoy helped his wife to her feet. Evan would have been inclined to fall in beside Judith, but Angel pushed past her and appropriated his arm. Judith rolled her eyes heavenward in such an automatic response that Evan grinned in spite of himself.

“You don’t look that old,” Angel confided, staring at the lines around his eyes. “I was thinking twenty-five was very old, but you don’t look much older than Terry.”

Evan smiled and nodded, wondering how he was going to make it through the evening. He sat up straight at dinner. He hadn’t much choice, the way Bose had strapped up his cracked ribs. And he remembered to take his soup to his mouth and not crouch over his food like a hungry animal, as Terry was doing at this moment. Evan could remember many occasions recently when he had hunched ravenously over a crust of bread or a piece of half-cooked meat. But there was a time and place for everything. In his father’s house he could not help but sit at attention as he ate.

Evan glanced at Lord Mountjoy, who was staring at Terry. But his father merely shuddered and looked away. Was it possible the old tartar had mellowed? Evan did not care to find out. He remembered his dizziness from before and took only enough wine to dull the ache in his knees. Riding did not bother him in the ordinary way, not even riding for long stretches at a time, but he had been badly trampled at Bordeaux the previous month, and now a dull ache would creep down to his right knee in particular, nagging at him for days on end. In spite of Angel’s opinion, he felt worn-out, used-up and numb to anything else that might happen to him.

“I think the courtesy of an answer is due your brother,” Lord Mountjoy demanded.

“Sorry, I was not attending.”

“I only asked if you had seen many battles,” Terry repeated.

“Yes.”

“There’s your answer, Terry—yes, he has seen many battles,” Lord Mountjoy quipped.

Evan smiled. “Such conversation is not particularly good table fare, not for children, anyway.”

Angel raised a belligerent chin, as did Terry.

“In that case we shall leave you to your port and your talk of war,” Lady Mountjoy declared as she rose with dignity. Judith left them with a sad smile, Angel with a definite flounce.

Evan realized the meal was over, though he had scarcely touched the food on his plate.

“You always were able to clear a room,” his father said with satisfaction.

“I don’t remember that,” Evan answered.

“You also have a very convenient memory.”

“I am not a child,” Terry interjected, a little the worse for wine.

“I never said you were,” his brother answered.

“Who were you referring to then?”

“Judith and Angel.”

“But Judith has got to be all of twenty-four.”

“Really? Why isn’t she married then?” Evan asked, wondering how such a treasure could have been passed over.

“No fortune,” Terry said.

“I shall provide for the girl,” Lord Mountjoy stated. “A very proper young lady she is, and the greatest help to me.”

Evan stared at his father, for now that he thought of it, one of their long-ago mealtime arguments had been over his father’s philandering. He couldn’t recall the memory so much as he could recite the conversation—his own condemnation and his father’s gruff and unconvincing defense.

“How is she a help to you?” Evan asked pointedly.

“Keeps my library in order, helps me write—damn you, boy, you have a nasty mind,” his father said as he caught Evan’s meaning. “How did you think she helped me?”

“I didn’t know. That’s why I asked.”

“I feel as though she is my daughter. She is too good, almost, for this household.”

“That I can belie—Pardon me,” Evan said, breaking off abruptly. “I was determined to be polite to you, since you invited me in. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t strain yourself. I am not used to any consideration from you.”

Evan fell silent again. Terry, who had been glancing from one to the other, took his turn at conversation. “So you were in a great many battles?”

“It has all blurred together for me, I’m afraid. I was always knee-deep in mud, working on siege parallels, or up to my waist in freezing water trying to shore up a bridge.”

“Didn’t you see any real action?”

“Enough to suit me.”

“Terry, he doesn’t want to talk about it,” their father said.

“Oh, you only had to say so.” Terry drained his glass.

“You are going to have a head tomorrow,” Evan observed.

“Sorry, it isn’t everyday one is displaced. I think I shall go straight to bed.” Terry rose valiantly, but wove his way out of the room.

“Whatever did he mean, and does he make a habit of that?”

“He is not such an aesthete as you promised to be, but no, he does not in general drink his meals.”

“I was wanting to ask about Gram. How did she die, I mean?”

“Who is to say what gives out? The heart, I expect, is what—”

“I know she was old. You don’t have to remind me of that. Was she…alone—lonely?”

“God’s death! Do you think I have no proper feelings, even for a mother-in-law? Of course she wasn’t alone. I was there, and Judith. If you want to know what she said, speak to Judith. She stayed with her more than anyone.”

“Thank you. I didn’t mean to accuse you of neglecting—”

“You have no right to accuse me of anything!”

A slight flush rose to Evan’s face, but he looked his father squarely in the eye—and read resentment and anger there. No surprise; it was what he expected. Evan saw disappointment, too. That also was no surprise. He had always disappointed his father, he thought. He simply could not remember all the details.

Lord Mountjoy got to his feet and walked steadily toward the door, leaving Evan brooding at the table. “Are you coming or not?”