“The man has you sorted,” Kes said.
“He’s known me all my life. There’s no fooling Frank.” He slapped a hand on Kes’s shoulder. “Are you up for a walk along the Trent and a call at Farland Meadows? It seems my mother and father aren’t here to welcome home the prodigal son.”
“With how often you’ve told me the Trent is a far finer river than the North Tyne, I think I had best see this marvel for myself.”
Lucas offered quick farewells to the stable staff and moved, Kes at his side, in the direction of Farland Meadows.
“Meeting the famous Julia would mark one thing off my list of items to be seen to,” Kes added.
Lucas couldn’t help a grin. “Julia.” He half laughed, half sighed her name. “She’s a little fireball, with the hair to match. She used to storm through the Park and the Meadows, glaring everyone into submission, determined to set to rights anything she thought was amiss. Nine years’ difference in our ages, and yet, somehow, she was always the one in charge when Stanley and I would spend time with her.”
“Stanley.” Kes sighed, grief and longing in the sound. “Shame about Yorktown.”
Yorktown. Stanley had died in that battle. The neighborhood of Collingham would never be the same without him. Lucas would never be the same. He and Stanley had been the best of friends since infancy. They’d not ever been apart until Stanley had taken up the foolhardy notion of fighting in the war with the former colonies. It was, indeed, a shame. An absolute, utter, life-altering shame.
Lucas could hear the river before he could see it. There were some things that would always sing of home to him: the façade of Lampton Park; the churchyard, with its familiar rows of names; the smell of his mother’s perfume; and the sound of the Trent.
He led the way down a narrow footpath, his favorite way to approach the river. A few quick turns and there it was before them, meandering in all its beauty.
“A grand ol’ sight, isn’t it?” He couldn’t hold back the smile rising to his lips. He’d missed home.
“I’ll grant you that.” Kes looked over it with his usual logical eye. “But I’m still partial to the North Tyne.”
“That’s because you haven’t seen it all yet.” Lucas motioned him forward. “Upstream, there’s an ancient stone bridge rumored to have been built by Merlin himself.”
“I doubt that,” Kes said, always the most rational of their group of friends, six gentlemen who’d known each other since their school years and were known amongst each other as the Gents. They were closer than friends, really. They were like brothers.
“And there’s a spot up a bit where the river eddies, and it fills with leaves no matter the time of year. When all of us were children, we thought that spot every bit as magical as the bridge.”
“Everything’s magical in childhood,” Kes said.
“My siblings and I used to pilfer pies and sandwiches from the kitchen and sneak over to an outcropping of rock near Farland Meadows. We had picnics, played games, told each other stories, fished in the river.” Lud, he missed those years.
“I’m surprised you were willing to take your Grand Tour. Sounds to me as if Europe had little to offer compared to Lampton Park.”
“Europe made a valiant effort,” Lucas said. “I will happily return, see those things we didn’t this time.”
“You mean to travel more?” Kes asked the question in precisely the tone one used when posing a query to which one already knew the answer.
“I mean to have enough adventures for two lifetimes. Maybe even three.”
“This, then, will be a short visit.”
“Of necessity,” Lucas said. “I have too much pressing on my time to be tied for long to any one place.”
“In that case,” Kes said, “I will accept a tour of your ancient bridge or leaf collection or rocks while I still have the opportunity to do so.”
“The outcropping is not far.” Lucas bent down and picked up a pebble. A quick sideways flick sent it skipping over the water. Why was that so satisfying? He’d always enjoyed it.
“Did little Julia ever join you in consuming your ill-gotten goods at your secret spot?”
“She and Charlotte and Harriet did quite often.”
Harriet was Lucas’s younger sister, lost to them of a fever when she was still a little girl. Charlotte, Julia’s twin, had been killed in a carriage accident as a young girl. Those three had been peas in a pod. Now only Julia remained of their little group.
“I wonder about Julia now and then,” he said. “I’ve not seen her in four years. Not since Stanley died. She hasn’t been home when I’ve visited.” Lucas pulled his gaze from the river.
Someone was sitting on a large, flat rock, precisely the spot he’d been aiming for. Light-brown hair with a generous hint of red fell in cascading waves down the lady’s back. A thin, cream-colored shawl hung over her pale-green gown, which spread out around her, the skirt’s edge adorned with colorful, delicate flowers. She sat with a book on her lap, her eyes not leaving its pages.
He knew her, and yet he hardly recognized her. “Julia,” he whispered.
Kes turned to face him. “Julia? Your little spitfire of a neighbor? From the way you’ve talked about her, I expected her to be a child.”
“She was a child the last time I saw her.” Lucas stood frozen in shock a moment.
“She’s not a child anymore,” Kes said.
No, she wasn’t. His little friend had grown up. He took a step in her direction. A dry twig snapped under his foot, and she looked up from her book and twisted a bit, glancing back at them. Her delicate features, once filled with childish mischief, had softened into the startling beauty of a young lady.
The change, while not unpleasant, was jarring.
He tucked away his surprise. Grown or not, he suspected she was still quick-tempered. He’d always found her fervor quite enjoyable, but he didn’t wish to make their first interaction after the passage of years an explosive one. “Good afternoon, Julia.”
She snatched up a book beside her, adding it to the one in her lap, then stood, pressing the books to the embroidered stomacher at the front of her gown and wrapping her arms around them. It was a protective posture, if ever he’d seen one. Protective? Against what? Or whom?
“Welcome home, Lucas.” The words were congenial, but her tone was hesitant.
“It’s a fine day for being out at the river.” He stepped over to the outcropping. She didn’t move from it but watched him warily.