Tenacious Trents 02 - A Perfect Gentleman (18 page)

“I am perfectly capable of walking on my own.
I do so every day, but I thank you for your concern.” Miss Cooper
turned on her heel and called over her shoulder. “Good day,
gentlemen.”

Matthew hastened to untie his horse and
Jordan marched over to speak with his driver. A moment later, horse
trailing Matt, and the carriage driving just as slowly behind
Jordan, followed the trio down the drive. It took only a few
moments before they caught up to Miss Cooper.

“It is a lovely day for a walk, don’t you
agree?” Matthew offered.

Miss Cooper smiled up at him. “Yes I do.”

Before they stepped onto the main road,
Draker rode by them on his steed at a breakneck pace that made one
wonder if the hounds of hell were chasing him. As a precaution,
Matthew looked in the direction of town, but there was no one in
pursuit, not that he actually expected to see hounds of hell, but
one did wonder why the man was in such a hurry.

“How very odd,” Miss Cooper noted.

“I agree.” Matthew offered his arm, which she
took and they stepped onto the main road. They turned in the
opposite direction Draker had travelled. Jordan placed himself at
her other side.

“I really should walk more myself,” Jordan
observed.

“We have some lovely trails through the
woods.”

“I prefer lovely company to scenery.”

Was Jordan flirting with Miss Cooper? Of
course he was. Flirting became second nature to his brother and
half the time Matthew wondered if Jordan was even aware he was
doing it.

“I am really not sure I should be speaking
with you, Mr. Trent.”

“No, you shouldn’t,” Matthew agreed. He
wasn’t so sure that was true, but if it kept Jordan away from Miss
Cooper all the better.

“Why is that?” Jordan asked.

“You work for my uncle. How do I know you
aren’t trying to find a reason to have me even further discredited
in his eyes, or find some type of evidence that I am unfit to take
care of my father.”

Jordan stopped and placed a hand over his
heart. “I can assure I would never do such a thing.”

She stuck her nose in the air and continued
walking. “Yet, you do work for him, which is working against
me.”

“I do have a profession. If I refused to work
with certain men because they may be disagreeable, I would have
very few clients.”

This brought a chuckle from Miss Cooper. “I
suppose you are correct.”

Matthew glanced over his shoulder to note his
horse and behind that the carriage. “We look ridiculous.”

“You can always ride ahead, brother,” Jordan
offered.

“I was referring more to your carriage than
my horse,” Matthew clarified.

“What exactly did my uncle hire you to do,”
Miss Cooper interrupted before their bickering became heated. “Was
it to have my father committed?”

Jordan sobered. “No. I had no idea of the
family situation when I arrived. Your uncle wanted me to arrange
for purchase of your father’s property.”

Miss Cooper paused and looked at Jordan.
“Why? He has an estate of his own.”

Jordan shrugged. “He believes your father is
wasting good land that a profit from which could be made.”

She stomped forward and blew out a huff. “My
father doesn’t wish to make it any more than it is.” Miss Cooper
turned abruptly and pointed at him. “And, he will never sell.” With
that, she pivoted and marched ahead. For having shorter legs she
moved rather quickly and Matthew had to lengthen his stride to
catch up to her. Jordan did likewise and they both returned to her
side by the time they rounded the turn in the road the drive to her
home came into view. The house sat atop the hill and could be
viewed from either direction. In the front stood a small, dark
carriage.

Miss Cooper gasped. “What is Dr. Norton doing
here?” Before either man could answer, Miss Cooper took off at a
run. Jordan sprinted after her and Matthew threw his reins to the
driver and followed. He had never had to race after a woman before
and by the time they reached the front of the house he was winded.
Miss Cooper barely paused before she flung the front door open and
rushed inside.

Matthew followed on her heels and was brought
up short. Mrs. Thomas sat on a settee crying and the valet hovered
at the end of the hall.

The man rushed forward and bowed to Miss
Cooper. “I am so sorry. This is my fault. I should have never left
him alone, but he was asleep and I thought a short walk would not
do any harm.”

The man was rambling and Matthew tried to
focus and make sense of his quick words.

“What happened?” Miss Cooper asked with a
hint of panic in her voice. “Why is the doctor here?”

Mrs. Thomas stood. “Your father tried to kill
himself.”

Grace staggered and the room grew dim. She
fought to remain upright and concentrate on Mrs. Thomas’ words.
Kill himself? Her father tried to kill himself? But why? How?

An arm came around her back and gently
grasped her waist. Thank goodness, she needed the support before
her legs gave way.

“You should take a seat, Miss Cooper,” Vicar
Trent said, his voice low and soothing.

She allowed him to lead her to a chair across
from Mrs. Thomas. As soon as she was seated, Mr. Trent placed a
glass in her hand. She stared down into the dark liquid.

“Drink,” Mr. Trent instructed.

Vicar Trent settled on the arm of the chair,
a hand on her shoulder. “Slow sips.”

Grace, unable to think or do anything but
what was commanded of her brought the crystal to her lips and took
a small drink, closing her eyes. The burn down her throat pushed
the fog away from her brain. But did she want it away? Then she
would have to think about what happened. Her father tried to kill
himself. It didn’t make sense.

She took a few more drinks at the
encouragement of Vicar Trent until the contents were gone. Mr.
Trent took the glass from her and added more.

What was she drinking? She’d never had
spirits before, other than wine at dinner and on special occasions.
Was this a gentleman’s drink, what her father used to enjoy?

“Tell us what happened?” Vicar Trent
encouraged Mrs. Thomas without moving from Grace’s side or taking
his hand from her shoulder. The warmth was comforting and anchored
her in place, though gently. Without it, she would have surely
swooned already and she never fainted.

“Your father was napping like he often does
in the afternoon.”

Grace nodded, concentrating on the
housekeepers words.

“Perkins left to take his usual afternoon
constitutional.”

Grace looked up at Matt. “Father’s valet
takes his exercise when father sleeps.”

He nodded down at her and returned his
attention to Mrs. Thomas. “Then what happened?”

“I had gone down to the cellar for a bottle
of wine for dinner and when I came back up the door was locked.”
Tears formed in her eyes and Mrs. Thomas looked down, away from
them. Grace reached forward to grasp the woman’s hand in comfort,
but dizziness assailed her and Vicar Trent tightened his hold and
pulled her back against the chair. Tears were streaming down Mrs.
Thomas’ face. “Had I known, I would have been more careful. If I
may have been able to stop…” She was sobbing now, almost
incoherent, but she hadn’t explained what her father had done.

Mr. Trent moved across the room and into the
hall. “Perkins, could you please come in here.”

Her father’s valet must have returned to
pacing outside her father’s door. They said he tried to kill
himself, not that he was successful. She needed to hold onto the
thought that he was still alive. This moment was so much like the
one when her father had been gravely injured, waiting for the
doctor, wondering what happened, and Grace shut out the image of
her father’s broken body being carried through the house from her
mind. She mustn’t think of that now.

The valet stepped into the room, his back
stiff, chin high. The only sign that his composure had been shaken
was from the paleness of his skin.

“What can you tell us, Perkins,” Vicar Trent
prompted.

“When I returned from my walk, I found Mr.
Cooper at the bottom of the stairs.”

Grace straightened and the fog cleared from
her mind. She turned in her seat to focus on her father’s trusted
servant. “He collapsed at the bottom of the stairs? How is that a
suicide attempt? Father has fallen before.” Clearly everyone was
overreacting. Soon Dr. Norton would come out and say her father
would be fine and just needed rest.

Perkins did not look at Grace but his eyes
bore into Vicar Trent’s.

“Why do you assume it is a suicide attempt?”
Mr. Trent asked.

“He clearly fell from the top of the stairs
and there was a note.”

Perkins voice was barely audible and Grace
leaned forward. “Did you say note?”

The man would still not look at her. “We
found it in his pocket.”

“Had I any idea, I would have never…,” Mrs.
Thomas began but didn’t finish.

Grace did her best to not focus on the woman.
This was not right. Her father would not try to take his own life.
“May I see it please?”

“I don’t think that is wise, Miss Cooper. It
will only upset you.”

Anger surged for a moment. Why did people,
men in particular, feel the need to protect her? “I will be fine.
Please, give me the note.”

He reached into his breast pocket and
withdrew a folded piece of paper but instead of handing it to
Grace, he handed it to Mr. Trent, who read the contents, his face
devoid of any emotion, he then handed it to Vicar Trent. It was her
father and she was the one who should be reading his supposed last
words, not them.

Vicar Trent scanned the contents, a frown
marred his brow.

“May I have it please?” She should not have
to beg for her father’s letter.

He held it before her and Grace grasped the
parchment, took a deep breath and began to read.

My Dearest Grace,

It is the best for us both. I can no longer
live in a body that does not function, nor can I continue to tie
you to me and this house while you are so young. You deserve a life
of happiness but you will not do so as long as I live. I don’t wish
to be carted off to Bedlam and if I know my brother he will get his
way. This will further ruin your life.

I am sorry to distress you so. I only do
this because I love you so much and wish for you to have a full
life, not one chained to an invalid.

Your loving father.

She stopped taking in the words once she
reached the end and stared at the document as a whole before
glancing up and looking around the room. “Who wrote this?”

“I beg your pardon?” Perkins questioned and
for a moment Mrs. Thomas quit crying.

“I asked who wrote this.”

“Your father.”

Grace stood, energy surged through her body,
all earlier weakness from the shock of hearing how her father
attempted to kill himself long gone. “My father did not write
this.” She thrust the parchment back at Vicar Trent. “Did he?”

Vicar Trent took the paper, glanced at it one
more time. “Unless his handwriting has greatly improved over the
last week, then no, he did not.”

“And,” she continued, “It is impossible for
him to have flung himself down the stairs.”

Mrs. Thomas straightened and looked over at
Perkins. Did they know something or were they just realizing what
they were led to believe was an impossibility.

“I don’t understand.” Mr. Trent came across
the room and stood before her.

Grace looked up. “My father couldn’t climb
the stairs. Why do you think his chamber is on this level of the
house?” She stood and pointed down the hall. Anger and betrayal
assaulted her being. Who did this? Why would someone try to kill
her father? He was a good man and would never harm a living
soul.

Vicar Trent stood. His hand slid from her
shoulder and down her back until it was anchored at her waist once
again. He must fear she may still collapse and though there was no
chance of her doing so, the warmth and support he offered gave her
great comfort. She closed her eyes and absorbed the strength he
offered.

“You are saying someone actually tried to
kill your father?” Mr. Trent asked.

“Yes,” Grace whispered.

“And I agree.” Vicar Trent voiced in a tone
that brooked no argument.