“If you must,” Oliver said absently, ignoring the growing squabble. He kept his eyes on the woman a bare moment and then returned his gaze to the stables. The boy sat atop a pony now, being tutored by the stable master, Charles Allen. Since Allen was family, his illegitimate cousin, Oliver was sure the boy was not his child. Allen’s two sons were adult-sized and had no need for lessons in horsemanship. “Who is the boy on the pony?”
Tobias swiveled to look at where he indicated and then he swore. At the end of the tirade, Oliver concluded that Tobias had quite the vocabulary of unseemly words. Some of which he was familiar with and others that would bear further study to determine their exact meaning.
Tobias threw up his hands. “See, this is exactly what we are talking about. You never pay attention when you should. There is no reason to be so obtuse.”
“What’s going on?” Leopold asked as he joined them.
Tobias scowled. “Oliver wants to know who the boy is on horseback in the stable yard.”
Leopold smiled. “That’s George. Allen says he’s becoming quite comfortable on Zeus.”
“Excellent.” Tobias threw Oliver a dirty look. “However, our learned and yet dim-witted brother still appears puzzled. He has no idea who George is because he’s had his head buried in his books and his own affairs so completely that he does not pay attention.”
Leopold stared. “How could you not?”
Oliver blinked. What had he missed? “How could I not what?”
Tobias clapped a stunning blow to Oliver’s back that threw him forward. When he straightened, Tobias had folded his arms in a perfect imitation of their elder brother. “There are times when I am ashamed to admit we have the same blood in our veins,” Tobias said with some heat. “Excuse me. I think I’ll return to the abbey and see if Blythe needs my company. At least I’m happy to listen to the people around me.” He shook his head and stalked away.
After a moment, Leopold shook his head too. “Murphy, see what you can do with him.”
Why should he have paid attention to the talk of small boys? Oliver did not spend time with the duke. He was too young to be interesting yet. If not for this George person learning to ride on the duke’s pony and Elizabeth embracing him, he would be unremarkable.
Eamon patted his shoulder. “See, this is exactly the type of situation you could avoid if you lifted your head from study and paid attention.”
Oliver frowned as the boy continued to circle the stable yard. “Who is George?”
Eamon’s sigh was loud and prolonged. “George Turner. Age eleven and growing like a weed.”
“Turner?” He focused on the boy but could discern little of his appearance beyond the dark hair from this distance.
“You really are an idiot, Ollie. That is Beth’s son.”
He stared at the kitchen garden where Beth tarried among the plants and then looked back at the boy. “No one mentioned his existence.”
“I’m sure they did. Beth speaks of him at every opportunity.”
Oliver slipped his fingers inside his waistcoat pocket and fingered the ribbon hidden there. Elizabeth was a mother. The idea changed his perception of her considerably. Despite her having married his brother’s ill-mannered friend, he’d not considered the possibility that she had a family of her own. The idea should have occurred to him prior to this. “He’s not given liberty within the house? I’ve never seen him.”
“Well, no. It wouldn’t be proper for George to play in the public rooms. Beth is employed as Lady Venables’s companion. A servant like me. He mostly spends his days outside or in the long gallery.”
“Fascinating. I often hear Edwin at play, but never this child.”
Eamon captured a handful of pebbles from near his feet. “He’s not particularly rambunctious. At first, he was quite timid around Mr. Allen’s sons but I’m sure he’s settled in now. He’s been at the abbey a bit longer than you.”
A question that had bothered him from the first thickened his tongue. “Why is she in service?”
The air hissed as Eamon flung the handful of pebbles into the long grass before them. “You’d have to ask her.”
When he turned to view the abbey again, Elizabeth was disappearing through the terrace doorway, a bunch of green sprigs in her hand. If he tried to ask her, he’d surely bungle it. “I’m asking you. You always know the gossip and the truth.”
Eamon stood and pinned him with a look that probably was meant to convey something important. Something else that escaped Oliver at that moment. “Why does any woman go into service? She had no family left, was as poor as a church mouse, and had a boy to support. Lady Venables has been very generous.”
Oliver frowned as he turned his mind to the past, a place he didn’t care to linger overlong. “Didn’t Turner have an older brother she could turn to? Surely he wouldn’t abandon her or the boy.”
Henry Turner might have been every bit as boorish as his brother but Oliver couldn’t believe he’d abandon his nephew completely. He’d faced the Turners over ridiculous misunderstandings before and he still remembered their tactics. One did not ridicule the younger Turner for his shortcomings without expecting to face the elder later. It always surprised him that Leopold had been friends with them.
“Henry Turner’s not been heard from since he left the district. He’s supposed to have gone away to make his fortune but I’ve heard nothing of that.” Eamon shrugged. “With William dead, the pair are better off here, even in service, than elsewhere on their own.”