Page 11 of A Foolish Endeavor

Miles rose and joined her and Frederick as they exited the room.

Gilbert cleared his throat. “Nancy, good morning. Would you care for some tea?”

“Thank you, that would be nice.” She held up a basket. “I went to the tea shop before it even opened, that I might collect some fresh scones and bring them to you.” She shrugged and gave a small laugh. “Silly of me, I know—you have a perfectly wonderful cook, I am certain, and have no need of them, I suppose. I only wished to show you how sorry I am for the terrible situation with the baby.”

Gilbert took the basket from her and peeked inside at the baked goods. “You are very kind, Nancy. Pray, be seated and I shall get you a cup of tea.” He set the basket on the table and went to fill a cup for her. Then, he served her, and, taking a scone from the basket, sat again, sampling the treat. After a moment, he paused and gave her a curious look. “Tell me—how did you come to learn of our unhappy news so soon, Nancy?”

“I ran into Dr. Baker quite late the evening after the assembly concluded. I saw you all leave the dance in such a frantic manner and heard someone say that your family had been called away most urgently. So, when I saw him riding home, I hailed him to inquire if all was well at Clayton House. I think he was aware I was not asking merely for gossip’s sake, so he told me all. Oh, Gilbert, I am so very sorry to hear of your nephew’s affliction.”

“Thank you. Dr. Baker should return here soon. I hope he will give us some reason for optimism. It was quite frightening, Nancy. The poor babe had such violent fits—I have never seen anything like it. Lavinia was near hysterics.”

“I am grieved to hear it. I am certain you were a great comfort to her and Miles.”

Gilbert shook his head, avoiding her gaze. “Frederick certainly was. He knew what to say, how to act. I stood like a store window dummy, unable to conjure even a word of consolation. I was worse than useless.”

“You are surely too hard on yourself.”

He gave a short laugh. “If there was ever a man less suited to be a rector, it is I.” He sighed heavily. “I wish I could be anywhere but here at home, Nancy. I do not know what I wish to do with my life and nothing interests me. I feel at such loose ends—truly, I am a rudderless ship.”

Nancy gave him a look of sympathy. “You will find your way, Gilbert, I am certain of it. You are too clever and good to waste your life in idleness. Something will come up to spark your interest, you will see.”

“I appreciate your encouraging words, Nancy. You sound so confident. I wish I felt half as much myself.”

At the sound of the front door’s bell, Gilbert jumped up from the table and left the dining room, Nancy following. Entering the hallway, they saw Dr. Baker being admitted by Mrs. Wilson.

The physician nodded to Gilbert. “Good morning, Mr. Kendall, Miss Slade. Did the child survive the night?”

“He did, sir, but I will not detain you. Please attend to my family upstairs in the nursery. Mrs. Wilson, will you take him? I will show Miss Slade out.”

“Yes sir,” Mrs. Wilson replied. She held forth a folded paper. “This came for you just now, Master Gilbert.” He took it, and she and the doctor went upstairs.

Gilbert examined the letter, at first not recognizing the handwriting. Then, he smiled.

“Happy news?” Nancy asked.

“It is from my good friend at Oxford, Mr. Carter Milbourn. A finer fellow you could not hope to meet. He is from the Commoner class at school—well, he was a Foundationer, in truth, for he had a scholarship. Hs is a very clever man, indeed. His father is a prosperous importer of goods from the West Indies. Mr. Milbourn is not a gentleman, but both he and his son are very pleasant, gentlemanlike sort of men. I spent Christmas with them last year.” He led Nancy to the door, and opened it for her. She smiled up at him.

“I hope your letter brings you some welcome distraction from your unhappy situation, Gilbert. And I pray to soon hear good news of the baby’s health. I shall leave you now.” She curtsied and he bowed his head, but he was already turning away from her, his attention upon his letter.

Chapter Nine

Gilbert considered going upstairs to his bed chamber to savor his letter in privacy without the risk of any interruption, but even from the downstairs hallway, he could hear his nephew loudly crying. Longing for a quieter place, he walked outside to find seclusion and peace under the rose garden’s arbor. It was a glorious, warm late April morning, and he sat quite happily on the stone bench under the archway of climbing white roses, which were perfuming the air. He opened the letter and settled in to hear the news from his University friend.

My dear friend, Gilbert –

I warrant you are surprised to hear from me at long last, and I apologize for the delay in any communication. I can only beg your pardon and say that my excuse is that your abrupt departure from Oxford came so close to the start of our final exams. The tests certainly took up all my spare time since we said our goodbyes and then I had to prepare to return home to London. So, it is only now that I can put pen to paper and send you greetings.

I hope I am not over-stepping when I say, yet again, how much I wish you had not left school before finishing. I am certain you would have done well, or, at least, well enough to achieve your honors certificate. In addition, I pray that the family emergency that called you home so suddenly has resolved itself happily for all concerned.

Gilbert felt a brief pang of guilt over the lie he had told his friend about his reasons for leaving Oxford. He read on.

You will be happy (at least, I pray you are) to learn that I passed all my final exams with distinction. Forgive my small boast, but when our marks were posted, I was top of our class, an accomplishment that drew the scorn of a former schoolmate of ours—that insufferable snob and future duke, Charles Kirkpatrick. He was overheard to remark his wonder and amazement that a member of the (lowly) Commoner class could achieve greater marks than he, from the Noble Commoner status! Well, I was tempted to inform him that, had he spent as much time studying as he did chasing pretty town girls and drinking, he might well have bested me, but on that topic, I concluded it would be best to remain silent. My other fellow-students from my class certainly heaped their congratulations upon me, and I must be content with that.

I now come to the true purpose of my rambling missive, which is this: Might you be available to come visit in London and partake of some of the pleasures of the Season with me? Not that either of us are in the market for a wife, but it may well be that we can enjoy ourselves with balls, assemblies, and dinner parties. My father has just departed for another journey to Jamaica for business—indeed, I am grateful he delayed his departure until after my return from school—and I now reside here all on my own in our commodious home. You visited it once before, during Christmas break, and I believe you found it to your liking. My father was pleased when I shared my plan of inviting you to join me, so, I may assure you of his hearty approval.

You likely are already considering your next steps to allow you to finish your classes and take orders to become a curate, but I hope that you might delay your plans a short while and come to town? I should enjoy the Season much more with you at my side. After all, you are a gentleman’s son, while I come from genteel trade, so your company may well improve my acceptance in good society. I jest, of course—it is your companionship I care for, not your influence, I assure you.

Please write as to your availability and when I might expect you. I am happy to meet you at the Post stop nearby.