Read Online The Best of Men by Claire Letemendia - Free Book Online Page B

almost conjure up her presence like the ghost of a lost limb.
    On opening his eyes a fraction, he was bemused to see his mother inspecting his saddlebag and the clothes he had left strewn on the floor as if she were hunting for something. With furtive care, she picked up his sword, which he had propped against a wall, and unsheathed it. For some time she examined the blade, frowning, before sheathing it again and replacing it quietly. He watched, yet more puzzled: what on earth did she expect to find? As she straightened herself to turn towards him, he quickly shut his eyes. He heard her approach the bed, and sensed that she was gazing down at him. He waited a long while for her to move, or to speak. At length she heaved a deep sigh, and muttered low under her breath a word, perhaps a name, that he did not catch. Her behaviour was beginning to unnervehim. He sat up in bed and noticed her wince at the sight of his scar, which he quickly covered.
    She retreated a step, flushing. “Laurence, do you not own a nightshirt?”
    “I’m afraid I don’t,” he said.
    “And what have you been doing, to get so very black?” she demanded, in an accusatory tone. “As if you have been labouring naked!” He did not reply, but pulled the sheets up to his chin; she was the intruder, after all. “It is past ten of the clock,” she said. “You cannot lie abed all morning. I want to speak with you. You may find me in my chamber.” And she walked out, slamming the door behind her.
    Conquering his irritation, he rose and dressed.
    When he entered the little office that she kept on the upper floor of the house, he found her sitting at her desk, quill in hand, examining her account book. She ignored him, not even inviting him to sit, and so he stood, leaning against the wall, arms folded across his chest, until she deigned to address him.
    At length, setting aside her quill, she glanced up. “Tomorrow you must be measured for a suit of clothes. Yours are in a terrible state. It is not appropriate for a man of your rank to be so unconcerned as to how you go about. And it is high time for you to make amends for the anguish you caused us.”
    “Is that still possible?” he asked lightly, smiling at her.
    “Indeed it is. You know what a war could mean to our family. You are thirty years of age, Laurence. You must marry, and give his lordship an heir. Oh sit, will you!” He obeyed, crossing his legs. “We have a match in mind,” she continued. “If you thoroughly dislike the girl, as I presume you did the last, there will be others to choose from. But it must be done. Can you not see how his lordship has grown old, for fretting about you?”
    “I’m sorry,” he said, more seriously.
    “You should be.” Closing the account book, she got up to lock it away in her enamelled cabinet. “Are you not curious about this new prospect?”
    “I haven’t had the opportunity to consider my feelings, one way or the other,” he responded, still smiling.
    “You shall, once we arrange for you to meet her. And if I may beg another favour, keep your distance from the servants,” she said, as she settled back at her desk. “They won’t respect you if you treat them as equals. I don’t know why you persist in that.”
    “A bad habit I must have picked up abroad,” he murmured.
    “No, sir, you have always done so,” she corrected him. There fell a silence, and he had the impression that she was steeling herself to broach a more difficult subject. “I gather you sustained some wounds abroad.” Laurence merely nodded, unwilling to make things easier for her. “I trust that you … that you are not damaged permanently from any of them?”
    “Damaged?” he repeated. What a word to use, he thought to himself.
    “Oh, for heaven’s sake, don’t pretend you misunderstand me,” she snapped, blushing again. “Are you capable of fathering a child?”
    He hesitated a little, enjoying her embarrassment. “I gave you the answer to that