In Praise of Younger Men Read Free

had been away at war—and away from a woman—for too long?
    Later, in the dining room, Geoffrey and Tristan regaled Harriet and Devorgilla with the more fascinating details of their Peninsular campaign over a hastily prepared feast of mutton, ham, assorted cheeses, oatcakes, and hothouse fruits. Time passed quickly, the skies outside grew darker, and the candles guttered lower and lower in their holders, casting a golden glow about the night-shadowed room. Sometime later the rain that had threatened all day had finally come, as if it had simply been awaiting their return, falling softly against the windows across the room as the four chatted away the hours pleasantly together.
    Time and again Harriet found her attention straying to where Tristan sat across the table from her. Silently, she studied his face in the candlelight, the clean line of his freshly-shaven jaw, the quiet strength that lay behind his eyes. Had he always been that handsome? What had he been doing all these years past? Had he ever, just once, thought of her . . . ?
    “So, sweet Hattie,” Geoffrey said, grinning in a way that made her wonder that he could read her very thoughts, “what has my baby sister been up to while big brother was away?”
    Having been born but moments before her, Geoffrey had always referred to himself as her “big brother.” As a child, Harriet had disliked hearing it, thinking it wholly unfair that he should have been pulled from their mother’s womb first before her. Not until that moment did she realize just how much she had missed hearing it while he’d been away.
    “Things here have been,” she said on a weary sigh,
    “much the same as they always have.” She struggled for something to tell him. “Old Angus’s granddaughter had triplets last fall and Father has bought another painting. Oh, and Uncle Neil and Aunt Phyllis went on holiday to Bristol.”
    “And what of you, Hattie? What have you been up to all this time I’ve been away?”
    Harriet glanced at her brother and gave a shrug. “I ride. I walk about the firth when I can. But with the weather so poor, I’ve not had much else to do but read and watch the winter pass through the windows.”
    Lackluster response
! Oh, how she wished she had something more to say, some tale of adventure to share with him as he always had her, some new and exciting
thing
to tell him just this once . . .
    “Actually, Geoffrey,” Devorgilla piped in from the far end of the table, “Harriet does have some news of her own.”
    “She has?”
    Everyone, including Harriet, turned to look at her.
    “
I have
?”
    “Yes, dear.” Devorgilla looked at Geoffrey. “Your sister has decided to marry.”
    “What?” Geoffrey nearly erupted. “Why wasn’t I told of this? What the devil do you mean you are getting married? To whom?”
    Harriet lifted her chin, more than just a little pleased that for once, she had been able to astonish him. “Well, that particular detail has yet to be determined.”
    “I was thinking perhaps one of our local lads might do,” Devorgilla suggested. She glanced at Tristan across the table. “Surely one of them would do well enough for a husband.”
    “Such as who?” Geoffrey spouted. “Wills Littlebrown?”
    “Good heavens, no!” Harriet exclaimed.
    Devorgilla nodded. “Yes, he does have a bit of a bucolic quality about him, doesn’t he? I should hate to think of what your children would smell like.” She thought. “It is unfortunate that so many of our young men were lost to the wars or have yet to return from the Continent. Still, is there no one else?”
    Harriet shrugged.
    “Angus Blackburn?”
    Harriet scowled. “Too hairy.”
    Devorgilla thought again. “Seamus Armstrong?”
    “The man’s teeth are rotting from his mouth!”
    “Well, I’m afraid the only others I can come up with are either already married, yet in the schoolroom, or well past the prime of their lives.” Devorgilla looked at Harriet. “You can think of no