After the Wedding (The Worth Saga #2)(5)

He’d cried and hugged Adrian when Adrian, impatient and determined, had left his uncle’s estate in order to take over his father’s bewildering responsibilities at Harvil; he’d embraced him every time he returned.

All that loving affection had happened in private.

In public, Adrian had been presented to all and sundry as first his uncle’s sometime page, then his part-time amanuensis.

In the seven years since Adrian had first visited his uncle, Denmore had never so much as mentioned their familial relationship in public. He had not let his own servants know the truth—not by so much as a flicker of a smile in their presence.

It had been thirteen months since they had last seen each other, and still his uncle let no spark of joy light his expression at the sight of his nephew. He did not rise from his desk; that would break his public fa?ade.

Bishop Denmore would not show such affection for a man who had been a mere page.

Instead, he inclined his head. “Mr. Hunter,” he said calmly. “Do come in. It’s very good to see you. I’ll be with you in a moment.”

The footman was still present; Adrian stood stiffly beside the door. He could hear Grayson’s admonition in his head.

He’s going to hurt you.

Of course he was. Denmore annoyed Adrian every time they met by pretending they were not uncle and nephew. But Adrian could handle a little hurt if it eventually led to progress.

For now, he inclined his head.

“Bishop,” he said instead.

“Come, Mr. Hunter.” His uncle raised an eyebrow. “After our long acquaintance, we need not stand on such ceremony. Call me Denmore and be done with it.”

Beside Adrian, the footman shifted uncomfortably.

The request was a mark of familiarity. It would seem a kindness, an extraordinary condescension from a man of such exalted rank to a mere servant. The footman—his name was Walter Evans—believed Adrian didn’t deserve such respect.

Adrian knew this because he’d said so, repeatedly.

Know your place, Adrian had been admonished when he was younger. Don’t take advantage of the charity of a good man.

“As you say, Bishop,” Adrian said.

Denmore sighed. “Well, Evans. Close the door behind you. We’ve business to discuss.”

Adrian and the bishop remained in place, a stiff, awkward ten feet distant. They waited until the door closed behind Evans, until they heard the servant’s footsteps receding in the distance.

Then, and only then did the bishop stand. He crossed the room and pulled Adrian into an embrace. “Adrian,” he said. “It’s been too long.”

It had been more than a year, and it had been a long year.

Bishop Denmore was almost a head shorter than Adrian; his wispy hair was white and textureless. His skin was paper-pale and creased with age, and he moved gingerly, evidence of his gout.

It was hard to believe they were related.

The bishop released him to an arm’s length. “You’re looking well, my boy.”

Adrian felt the corner of his mouth twitch. “I’m twenty-two. I’m hardly a boy.”

“No.” Denmore let go of his shoulders and gave him another appraising look. “No, you are not. You’ve grown to be so much more.”

Knowing they were uncle and nephew, not employer and employed, had left a mark. Denmore had pretended not to know Adrian when they met by chance at an exhibition a year ago. He had, in fact made an elaborate inquiry as to how a man like him had come to run a china-works near Bristol, so that the friend who accompanied him would not guess at their relationship.

The next time Adrian visited, he had given his uncle an ultimatum.

“Someday,” his uncle had said sadly. “I will. I promise.”

Someday had not yet arrived.

The bishop turned away. “You’ve arrived not a moment too soon. You always seem to know precisely when I need you.”

“That would be because you asked me to come.”

Over the last year, Adrian had had ample time to consider his situation in life. He knew how lucky he was. His family had money from their various business endeavors. His mother had inherited property, which had been added to his great-great-uncles’ holdings.

Adrian had a loving, overbearing brother and a massive extended family.

He didn’t need Denmore, not for anything.

Still, he had asked Denmore for that one thing, and he’d asked for it repeatedly. He’d asked when he was fifteen, and when he was sixteen, and again and again for years and years. His uncle had never said no; he had always said later. Not now.

Not now, not with the war in America still raging. Not now; Denmore needed time to bring his older brother, the duke, into the scheme. Not now; Denmore was being considered for elevation to bishop, and he could do so much more once he was appointed.

Not now; he was too new in his position; he did not dare make waves.

Not now, not now. But…someday. Someday, he had promised. Of course the time would come someday.

“So,” Adrian said, eyeing his uncle. “Last time we talked, I asked you to acknowledge my family. My mother, me, my brother. Is it time yet?”

His uncle smiled slowly. “It’s time.”

Oh, thank God. Adrian could just imagine the look on Grayson’s face when he brought this news back. He could not hold back his delighted smile; he felt as if his whole face would crack with joy. He hadn’t precisely been estranged from his uncle this last year over this very issue, but he’d pulled back. He hadn’t visited. His letters had been a little cold. He hated being cold.