“Simon says I’m strong for my age.”
Jarvis smiled down at the eager little boy. “I’m sure you are. Does Simon kick the ball too?”
“Simon kicks really far. He can kick it all the way into those trees!” Charlie pointed to an attractive group of beeches that were shading a curved stone bench from the warm sunshine.
Simon picked up his little brother and put him on his shoulders. “Come along, old man. It’s time you had your luncheon, and I need to talk with my uncle.”
Charlie beamed down from his elevated position. “Are you my uncle too?”
“No, lad. You and Simon had different mothers.”
Charlie’s face sobered and he said anxiously, “You won’t tell my mama that I was playing with Simon, will you?”
Jarvis threw Simon a startled glance. Simon turned away, refusing to meet his eyes. “Of course he won’t say anything,” he said to Charlie. Then, over his shoulder to Jarvis, “We can go inside. My father isn’t home.”
At the front door Simon turned Charlie over to one of the footmen to be returned to the nursery, then he led Jarvis into a small reception room that opened off the hall. Jarvis had been inside the abbey for his sister’s wedding, so he knew how magnificent the rest of the house was. He himself preferred comfort to splendor, although he was a collector of English landscapes and had a number of fine paintings hanging in his own country home.
There were several yellow silk-covered chairs lining the reception room and an elegant desk that looked to Jarvis as if it was French. A tall gilt mirror hung over the desk and long yellow silk drapes hung at the single tall window.
“Is this all right?” Simon asked, looking at the folder of papers in his uncle’s hand. “We could go to the library….”
He clearly felt uncomfortable about taking his uncle to the library, and Jarvis gave him a reassuring smile. “This is fine, lad. Just fine. I wanted to speak to you about what plans I have made and then I’d like to hear your thoughts.”
Simon nodded gravely. A slant of sunlight from the window caught his hair, making it look as if there was a silver halo around his head. Again Jarvis felt a stab of sorrow and guilt at the way Simon had been neglected.
Jarvis began, “You have been at school for most of your growing up years, am I correct?”
“Yes, Uncle. I started when I was six and finished a few months ago. I know my father wants me to go to Oxford, but that’s only because he wants me out of his way. I don’t want to do any more school.”
He had told Jarvis that once before. “Are you certain, lad? Boys of your class almost always go to Oxford or Cambridge. I thought it was expected of you.”
“I’m not going.”
Simon’s face was set and his eyes were shuttered. It wasn’t right for a young boy to look like that, Jarvis thought. He nodded slowly. “All right. But if you’re not going to continue with your schooling, what plans do you have for your future?”
The boy was so still he scarcely seemed to breathe. When he didn’t answer right away, Jarvis went on, “Do you wish to live in London? If that is your plan, I must tell you that I think eighteen is far too young …”
Simon lifted a hand to stop him. “No, Uncle. I don’t want to live in London.”
Thank the Lord for that, Jarvis thought. He looked once more at that closed face. What could the boy be thinking to make him look like that? He tried again, “Do you want to remain here at Welbourne? Learn about the estate, about what you will need to know when you become the earl? If so, I think that is…”
Simon was shaking his head. Emphatically. “I can’t live here at Welbourne. I told you that my father doesn’t like me, but the real truth is, he hates me. I don’t know what I’ve done to make him feel that way, but there it is. He hates me.” The boy pressed his lips together and
Jarvis smiled down at the eager little boy. “I’m sure you are. Does Simon kick the ball too?”
“Simon kicks really far. He can kick it all the way into those trees!” Charlie pointed to an attractive group of beeches that were shading a curved stone bench from the warm sunshine.
Simon picked up his little brother and put him on his shoulders. “Come along, old man. It’s time you had your luncheon, and I need to talk with my uncle.”
Charlie beamed down from his elevated position. “Are you my uncle too?”
“No, lad. You and Simon had different mothers.”
Charlie’s face sobered and he said anxiously, “You won’t tell my mama that I was playing with Simon, will you?”
Jarvis threw Simon a startled glance. Simon turned away, refusing to meet his eyes. “Of course he won’t say anything,” he said to Charlie. Then, over his shoulder to Jarvis, “We can go inside. My father isn’t home.”
At the front door Simon turned Charlie over to one of the footmen to be returned to the nursery, then he led Jarvis into a small reception room that opened off the hall. Jarvis had been inside the abbey for his sister’s wedding, so he knew how magnificent the rest of the house was. He himself preferred comfort to splendor, although he was a collector of English landscapes and had a number of fine paintings hanging in his own country home.
There were several yellow silk-covered chairs lining the reception room and an elegant desk that looked to Jarvis as if it was French. A tall gilt mirror hung over the desk and long yellow silk drapes hung at the single tall window.
“Is this all right?” Simon asked, looking at the folder of papers in his uncle’s hand. “We could go to the library….”
He clearly felt uncomfortable about taking his uncle to the library, and Jarvis gave him a reassuring smile. “This is fine, lad. Just fine. I wanted to speak to you about what plans I have made and then I’d like to hear your thoughts.”
Simon nodded gravely. A slant of sunlight from the window caught his hair, making it look as if there was a silver halo around his head. Again Jarvis felt a stab of sorrow and guilt at the way Simon had been neglected.
Jarvis began, “You have been at school for most of your growing up years, am I correct?”
“Yes, Uncle. I started when I was six and finished a few months ago. I know my father wants me to go to Oxford, but that’s only because he wants me out of his way. I don’t want to do any more school.”
He had told Jarvis that once before. “Are you certain, lad? Boys of your class almost always go to Oxford or Cambridge. I thought it was expected of you.”
“I’m not going.”
Simon’s face was set and his eyes were shuttered. It wasn’t right for a young boy to look like that, Jarvis thought. He nodded slowly. “All right. But if you’re not going to continue with your schooling, what plans do you have for your future?”
The boy was so still he scarcely seemed to breathe. When he didn’t answer right away, Jarvis went on, “Do you wish to live in London? If that is your plan, I must tell you that I think eighteen is far too young …”
Simon lifted a hand to stop him. “No, Uncle. I don’t want to live in London.”
Thank the Lord for that, Jarvis thought. He looked once more at that closed face. What could the boy be thinking to make him look like that? He tried again, “Do you want to remain here at Welbourne? Learn about the estate, about what you will need to know when you become the earl? If so, I think that is…”
Simon was shaking his head. Emphatically. “I can’t live here at Welbourne. I told you that my father doesn’t like me, but the real truth is, he hates me. I don’t know what I’ve done to make him feel that way, but there it is. He hates me.” The boy pressed his lips together and
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