Free Mending Him by Bonnie Dee and Summer Devon

shame that just as you come home, Mr. Grayson will move on to his new life.”
    Samuel’s start was almost comical.
    He and Robbie turned to stare at Charles, who gave a dismissive shrug.
    “Oh, of course he won’t leave right away. Didn’t you say you’re supposed to tutor your cousin in estate matters, Mr. Grayson?”
    “These plans are still forming.” The look of disgust Robbie directed at him was pointed. This man had a dislike for plain speaking.
    Charles reflected that though an invalid should take entertainment where he could, he should stop needling Robbie, or he might be abandoned.
    “My mistake, then,” Charles said.
    Samuel took another circuit of the room. He glared at a marble bust of Shakespeare, lifted the lid of the Majolica cigar humidor, then put it down with a clink that threatened to crack the pottery.
    He took a very long minute to examine the armoire and trunk hauled down from the attic to hold Charles’s small collection of belongings.
    “Hardly suitable furnishings for a library.” Samuel’s nose wrinkled with distaste.
    “This arrangement is temporary,” Robbie said.
    “Very well.” Samuel waved a hand as if dismissing the matter. “Lord, I’m hungry. I’ll see you at tea, I expect,” he said in that irritating manner of a young man who knows he’s vastly superior to the people he addresses. Charles suddenly understood there were advantages to succumbing to illness, injury and helplessness. The humility they created stopped one from behaving like that young fool.
    He watched the replica of himself from a year earlier saunter from the library. Something deep inside Charles relaxed or perhaps gave up. He would never regain that blithe confidence that he was king of all he surveyed. And he was surprisingly glad of it.
    “Are you determined to make trouble?” Robbie’s voice broke into his thoughts.
    “Not at all. Do tell me, does young Samuel snap his fingers when servants don’t move quickly enough to do his bidding?”
    “How did you know?”
    “He reminds me of someone I used to know.”
    Robbie thumped into the chair next to him. Charles wished he could pull poor Robbie into his arms and comfort him. Still, the glare he directed at Charles was silly.
    Charles said, “My friend, you’ve already lied to me today. Don’t try to convince me you and young Samuel are the best of friends and I’ve blundered and caused irreparable harm to that friendship.”
    Robbie growled. “No, of course not. But perhaps Uncle Phillip wished to broach the subject of Samuel’s future with his son. It wasn’t your place to do so.”
    “Perhaps.” Charles shrugged. “Do you suppose it’s a surprise to Samuel that he was to take your place?”
    “No.” Robbie stretched one of his legs in front of him, slumped down in his seat and rested his folded hands on his flat stomach, a position far more informal, and defeated, than his usual posture. “And so I must beg your pardon. Of course Samuel knows or must strongly suspect his father’s plans.”
    “Why were you so upset?”
    It was Robbie’s turn to shrug. He propped his elbow on the mahogany table and rested his chin on his hand. At least he’d lost the angry twist to his mouth.
    Charles waved a hand to catch his attention.
    Robbie almost smiled. “Go on, you must have theories. I’m sure you’re eager to tell me.” His eyes had regained the light of patience and humor.
    Charles considered lying, but, even if he might drive off his one friend, he’d lost patience with dissembling. “I expect you’re upset because your uncle probably discussed the situation with your cousin but not with you. It’s difficult to feel vital and needed when you’re not consulted about your own position.” More harping upon the theme of humiliation, he thought.
    “It hardly matters why I was upset. I’m not anymore. I am master of my emotions.”
    “I can see that.”
    “Yes, and I hope you respect my position on the matter.” Robbie gave