Lord Sebastian's Secret (The Duke's Sons #3)(66)

“Well, I know it was much used by the troubadours.” Sykes considered. “Would that make it Renaissance?”

Sebastian hoped Sykes was asking himself, because he had no idea. “What’s a troubadour?”

“A minstrel, a singer. Centuries ago, they composed songs and sang at the great chateaus and royal courts. Mostly French, weren’t they? The name Eleanor of Aquitaine occurs to me. I’m not entirely sure why.”

Sebastian watched him, marveling. The other man’s thin face and brown eyes were alight with interest. He could just about see Sykes’s mind racing. “You’re never at a loss, are you, Sykes? How do you know so much?”

“Books, mostly.” Sykes gestured toward the lower floors. “There’s an extraordinary library here. I store up facts for later use. Never know what might be just the thing I need for creating a fresh character.”

His brain must be stuffed full as a Christmas goose, Sebastian thought. It sounded deuced uncomfortable. “Right. Well, that’s it. A lute.”

Sykes gazed at him, his expression intensely inquisitive. “I suppose your brother will wonder why you want it.”

Sebastian started to tell him that the instrument was for Randolph, and then wondered if he’d been told this in confidence. His brother hadn’t said so outright, but he felt somehow that he had. “Ah, er, it’s just a whim of mine.”

“A…whim.” Sykes spoke the word as if it was incomprehensible.

Meeting his skeptical look, direct and with no trace of deference, Sebastian realized that the time had nearly come, whether Sykes was aware of it or not. His valet wouldn’t be with him much longer. Sykes the playwright would take over for good and all. That certainty roused a tremor of anxiety. An unwelcome, unacceptable loneliness put an edge on his reply. “That’s it. A lute.”

There was a fraught silence, as if something trembled in the air between them. Then Sykes set pen to paper again and said, “Indeed, my lord.” He was the consummate valet once again.

Sebastian was glad to see it. There were no unsettling complications with this Sykes. “Oh, and tell Nathaniel all’s well,” he added. “Randolph wrote Mama about the…the barbarian thing. Say that’s all over with and the wedding’s going on as scheduled.”

“I’m very pleased to hear that, my lord.”

Sebastian nodded. The family would probably conclude that Randolph had saved his bacon. He found he resented that. “Tell him Lady Georgina fixed it up,” he said, giving credit where it was due.

“Her ladyship is very resourceful.”

Fleetingly, Sebastian imagined that his valet’s tone was regretful. But that couldn’t be right. “She is, isn’t she?” He lost himself in thoughts of his betrothed’s many beguiling qualities.

“Will there by anything else, my lord?”

“What?”

Sykes indicated the letter.

“Oh. No. Just the usual closing.”

Nodding, Sykes completed the missive, folded it, and added a warmed wax seal. He passed it over, and Sebastian applied his signet ring. Retrieving the completed letter, Sykes rose. “I’ll leave this for his lordship’s messenger,” he said.

“Yes.” Sebastian stood and stretched. Somehow a letter always seemed a heavy task, even the way he did it. And how would he do it without Sykes? “Huh” escaped him.

His valet paused by the door. “Was there something else, my lord?”

Sykes stood poised, alert, the picture of a man ready to grapple with any problem. Sebastian was struck anew by how much Sykes had helped him over the years. He would be a great loss. “Thank you.”

Sykes bowed. “Of course, my lord.”

Sebastian wanted to say more, but he didn’t know what. It just seemed he should take advantage of whatever time he had left with his clever aide.

With his customary acuity, Sykes sensed it. He waited.

“Marriage is a big step,” Sebastian said, rather surprising himself.

The valet acknowledged this with a gesture that was half a nod, half a bow.

“It lasts for the rest of your life. Could be forty years. Decades anyway.” Sebastian heard how ridiculous this sounded. If only he could force words to convey what he meant. Assuming that he knew what he meant. Which, in this case, he didn’t.

“Are you all right?” said Sykes.

People kept asking him this. He must look as bewildered and worried as he felt, which made it worse. “The thing is…I’ve been thinking.”

Sykes gazed at him, more the canny, intelligent friend than the valet once again.

Sebastian felt another impulse of gratitude. His brothers might well have made a joke of that remark: Hold hard, everybody; Sebastian is thinking! “Wondering, you know, what…what do you owe the…the person you’re marrying?”

“Owe?”

He’d snagged the right word this time, Sebastian thought. Owe put it in a nutshell. But he wasn’t sure how to explain further. “As you’re getting acquainted, before the wedding. Many fellows don’t, of course. Meet during the season, dance a few waltzes, too many glasses of champagne one night, and they find themselves on one knee making an offer.” This wasn’t going well. He blundered onward. “Next thing they know, hey presto, married, when they hardly know each other. Can’t blame them for leaving out a few details. But if you have the time?”