Always in April

IV.

It was very strange, having Sebastian in the house with her. He was quiet and uninterfering, spending most of his time in his room or going for long, meandering walks around London. He expressed no interest in attending any of the balls or plays she went to, and made no comment on any of the friends, male or female, she attended them with. They spoke little to each other, but he was unfailingly polite. Cecelia did not dislike having him back, but it made her uncomfortable, and she was not a woman used to discomfort.

A week after his arrival, a card came at breakfast inviting the two of them to her parents' house in Richmond for dinner that night. When Cecelia handed it to Sebastian, he only shrugged and said they had better go then, as though they had a choice.

Lady Hatherington greeted Cecelia at the door with kisses on her cheeks then cast her hand in Sebastian's direction without looking at him. He bent and kissed it as though he saw no insult in her manner.

"Sir William sent you back. I hope you did nothing wrong," she said by way of greeting.

Sebastian answered her mildly, "I'm on leave."

"Yes," Lady Hatherington said, "but why?"

"Sir William thought it was time."

"Sebastian has been ill, Mama, and Sir William gave him leave," Cecelia said, hoping to forestall an interrogation.

"Ill with what?" Lady Hatherington demanded. "I hope it is not catching."

"He was injured," Cecelia said.

"And how did that happen?" Lady Hatherington demanded. "What reason has he to be injured, I want to know. He is a secretary."

Until now, it had not occurred to Cecelia to wonder. She looked to Sebastian, who was examining a life-size portrait of Westhart astride his favourite hunter.

"I never was a horseman," he said, sounding faintly embarrassed.

Cecelia knew it to be a misdirection, and her heart shadowed with anxiety, but Lady Hatherington accepted it with a contemptuous roll of her eyes.

They went into the drawing room, where Lord Hatherington and Edmund sat by the fire. Westhart preferred to spend his time and income in Brighton, but Edmund had only a meagre allowance and lived at home. When Cecelia entered the room, he ignored her and instead grinned up at Sebastian, without holding out his hand.

"Don't suppose you're still of the mind to run around fetching my cricket balls," he said. "You're Sir William's batsman now."

"Sir William doesn't play cricket," Sebastian said.

Edmund laughed. "You never could see a joke, could you? Go on, Price, laugh."

Sebastian only smiled, and even that, Cecelia thought, was too much.

Lord Hatherington was both less cruel and less friendly. He nodded briefly in return to Sebastian's bow then turned his cheek for Cecelia to kiss. He did not speak until dinner, but Edmund kept up a light nattering with Sebastian, reminding him of shared memories — none pleasant. As Edmund was content to dominate the conversation, and as Sebastian showed his usual stolid indifference, Cecelia attempted no contributions of her own.

At the dining table, Edmund succumbed to the distractions of food and wine, and Lord Hatherington at last spoke.

"I hope," he said to Sebastian, "that you are availing of the opportunities before you in Paris. You are in a position where you may make something of yourself if you try."

"I work hard, my lord."

"I do not believe that just because your birth was low you cannot climb high. Many men, these days, do not come from great families yet manage to make something of themselves. Why, just look at Lord Peyton. His grandfather was a stowadore. If you keep your eyes open, you will find opportunity everywhere you look."