To attend his first "real" meal at Tall Oaks, and with Gilley's watchful escort, My Lord Claymont carefully descended the carpet-covered grand staircase to the formal dining salon. Milord was decked out in formal black and white, the stark white of his silk shirt played beautifully off his cream and silver embroidered waistcoat and black velvet dress jacket.

He was especially dashing with a fluffy fall of lace at his cuffs. A diamond stickpin sparkled in the folds of his magnificently tied cravat. White stockings and black patent slippers completed the ensemble. Feeling somewhat bashful at such an extravagant display, he still found himself smiling at his reflection in the full length mirror in his bedroom. Gilley was much pleased with himself at having turned out his master to such gorgeous masculine perfection.

Hoping to dine en famille, Claymont was dismayed to discover his mother had other ideas. Having planned a sumptuous feast to welcome home her darling son, Mrs. Crawford insisted he take the head-of-household seat at the top of the table. He held her chair and seated his mother to his right, of course. Bending to buss her powdered cheek, he murmured a warm "Mama..." and smiled sweetly at the lady's soft blush.

He scampered around the carved-wood table to seat Cicely to his left. Pulling out her chair, he leaned down to whisper a soft greeting into her ear, "Hello, little sis." She looked up at him and beamed the brightest smile he could remember ever having seen. 

Cicely replied in a stage whisper, "Welcome home, big brother."

Miss Beauvenue had approached the chair next to Cicely and was grasping the back of it when Clayne stepped to her side and pulled out the chair, bowing her into it. He proffered his hand to help lower her into the cushioned seat. Placing her fingers on his palm, a small twitch of the lips playing about her mouth.

At the touch of his fingers, a warm tingle ran up her arm, surprising a soft gasp from those twitching lips. His eyes leapt to hers, and a surge of understanding settled in his mind. He held her gaze a couple seconds longer than what was proper before he recovered himself and eased her chair under her, pushing it gently against the back of her legs.  

Carefully arranging her skirts about her knees, she nodded her gratitude to Clayne.  Bemused at Miss Beauvenue's reaction to his touch, he nodded in return and walked back to the head of the table to assume his place. He decided somewhat reluctantly that this situation may require further perusal.

A line of footmen burdened with trays and carts entered the room and began serving course after course, accompanied by various wines. Holding a crystal goblet of his third flavour of wine, the Viscount facetiously inquired of his mother, "Did we leave anything in my wine cellars for future imbibings?" His answer was a quick raising of a painted eyebrow and an unamused pursing of a pair of rouged lips. Clayne flashed a smug smile at his mother's discomfiture.

Overall, the evening was a pleasant and entertaining undertaking.  Clayne enjoyed himself despite his misgivings about such a fancy meal. He made note that his fancy French chef had not lost his touch.  His mother and sister carried most of the conversation, with minimal offerings from Miss Beauvenue. She could be relied upon to fill in gaps when the subject of the war came up, and Clayne retreated behind a silent facade.

After dinner, Clayne dragged himself back to his room, more exhausted than he had thought he would be. Gilley helped him to slip out of his evening wear and into a pair of soft britches and a comfortable shirt. It was late but he was determined to visit the Lieutenant, that is if the Lieutenant was awake and amenable. Still admonishing himself for his perceived mistreatment of his friend, he strode down the hall from his suite to the guest room in which Amundson retired. 

He took some minor notice of the "gallery" of portraits lining the hall, the majority of which were dressed in the ruffs and powdered wigs of the previous century. The Claymont title was won more than two hundred years ago, and all the previous Viscount's were represented on this wall, Tall Oaks having been the family seat for all that time.

Reaching his destination, he scratched softly on the Lieutenant's door. "Come..."  Amundson's voice sounded strong and cheerful.  Clayne leaned around the door to find the Lieutenant seated in front of the fireplace, his arm resting on the back of his overstuffed chair as he turned to greet Clayne.

"Sir.  It is so good to see you up and about. You look rested and well."

"Thank you.  I feel good... But please don't "sir" me. We are no longer Brigadier and Lieutenant. I would like to think that we are friends.  Please call me Clayne, or if that's too much, Claymont."

"Thank you... Claymont.  Please.  My name is Gareth or Amundson, if you prefer." He tried to rise, but by then, Clayne was by his chair and lay a hand on his shoulder.  

"Please don't get up. I did not bring you here to have you kowtow to my title."

"I am in your debt for more than your generous hospitality." Clayne waved away that sentiment , shaking his head and dropping onto a hassock by the Lieutenant's feet. The Lieutenant continued, "I don't know what I would have done if I had been on my own in Town. You literally saved my life... again."

"I did only what was right for my friend."  He glanced at the Lieutenant's bandaged leg.  "How is the leg doing?"

"It still pains me, but I was actually able to stand for a few moments this morning." He grinned ruefully. "I know I have a long way to go to get my strength back. Please let me know when I have worn out my welcome.  I do have a home. At least I think it's still there." He shook his head. "Mismanagement bankrupted me, and the family moved away. Unless the neglect has destroyed it, I had hoped to get the old homestead back in shape."

"Good man."  Clayne leaned his forearms on his thighs and clasped his hands together. "I know what you are up against.  It seems that Tall Oaks has been mismanaged as well." He hung his head a moment. Looking up square into Gareth's eyes, he added, "Considering the work that I face with Tall Oaks restoration, I had a proposition for you, but I am not sure now that you should consider it."

"What is it?"

"I had planned to offer you the position of Steward here and have you help me get Tall Oaks back on her feet." He shrugged exaggeratedly and held out both hands palms up. "I do need your help." He cocked his head and smiled lopsidedly.

"I am honored, uh, Clayne. May I think about it a couple days?"

"Certainly. But please do not let some false sense of loyalty influence you. If this is not what you feel is right for you, do not accept the position."  He held out his hand. Gareth reached out and shook Clayne's hand vigorously. The Viscount stood to take his leave. "It really is good to see you doing so well. I expect you to join me for dinner soon."

"Thank you.  I look forward to it. And I will genuinely consider your offer."

Clayne smiled his best smile, departed from the room, and returned to his suite, exhaustion setting in now that his hopes for help were possibly dashed.

Climbing onto his big bed, he lay on his back staring at the dark green velvet coverings over his head. His thoughts whirled around and around, his mind unable to settle and make acceptable plans to remedy the Hall's significant financial woes. He thoughts wound round back to Gareth and hopefully, his acquiescence.

After a couple nights of relatively restful sleep, and a couple days of really stressful examination of the estate books, Clayne found it difficult to relax and slumber. After a time, fatigue forced him into a fitful sleep. Tomorrow he must face Whatford and start Tall Oaks recovery, with or without the Lieutenant's assistance.