Trenton Lord of Loss (Lonely Lords) (13 page)

“I apologize for not sending you a note.” Nick trailed along beside him, no doubt inspecting the state of the plaster (dusty), the carpets (in need of beating), and the windows (in need of a good scrubbing with vinegar). “My peregrinations are sometimes hard to predict. You’re an afterthought to a visit to my brother Ethan at Tydings.” 

“Three miles northeast or so?” 

“Roughly. Pretty place, and he’s held it for some seven years, but I’d yet to visit. If you’ve a suitable bed, I could use a room tonight.” 

Trent’s brother-in-law was the largest man he’d ever beheld, and all of it muscle or charm, depending on Nick’s mood. 

“I don’t have state chambers, but come along, we’ve at least one formal guest room from bygone days that sports accommodations worthy of you.” 

“I knew I married well. Having imposed on your hospitality, when will you reciprocate and come see us at Belle Maison?” 

Well, of course. Thumbscrews, applied to Trent’s paternal conscience with every appearance of bonhomie. Nicholas was family, after all. 

“Aren’t you observing mourning for the late earl?” Trent asked as he opened the door to a large guest room. “Sending the children to their aunt for a summer visit is one thing. It’s another to impose myself on you.” 

“Papa considerately forbade deep mourning except in public, and that for only six months.” Nick followed him into the room, his gaze traveling up to the twelve-foot ceiling. “This will do, Amherst, and nicely.” 

“So I’m to call you Bellefonte?” Trent opened the French doors to the balcony because the room was a trifle musty. 

“You’re welcome to try, though I might have to take exception and toss you down into those roses.” 

Trent peered over the railing. “Or whatever they are. My neighbor is taking the gardens in hand as a sort of charity project, but progress is slow.” 

“What of your housekeeper?” Nick asked, resting his elbows on the railing beside Trent. “Has she taken a holiday from dusting and cleaning your windows?” 

“Darius didn’t tattle? My housekeeper ran off with my steward nigh six months ago, and had my stable master not alerted Dare to the situation, I’d still be sitting on my pickled and indifferent fundament in London.” 

Or he’d be…damned near dead. He deserved thumbscrews, at least.

Nick’s gaze stayed on the gardens, which were plot by plot coming under control. 

“Say something, Nicholas. This is a sneak attack, and you wouldn’t stoop to such tactics were you not concerned.” Which was the primary reason Trent bestirred himself to graciousness.

“Leah was concerned.” 

Trent lowered himself onto the balcony’s chaise. “For that I am truly sorry. I suppose my children have expressed concern as well?” 

“Not overtly.” Nick turned and braced his elbows on the railing, six and a half feet of doting brother-in-law at his handsome ease. “Whatever difficulties you’re having, you’ve managed to shield the little ones from most of them.” 

“I was wallowing,” Trent said tiredly. Nicholas was too damned large and fit for Trent to toss into the gardens, and he was a good confidante. 

“In?” 

“Grief?” Not quite the right word. “Relief, anger, I don’t know what. Sadness, maybe, an aching, endless bodily fatigue and a mental fog as thick as any London has produced.” 

“I am almost certain Leah is carrying,” Nick said slowly. “I’m realizing now, as I hadn’t previously, that childbirth is a dangerous undertaking. I could lose the wife I love more than life itself. You went through three pregnancies, and then you did lose your wife. This… terrifies me.” 

The quiet admission said a great deal—about Nick’s courage, more than anything. 

“Those who’ve lost a spouse can frighten those who haven’t,” Trent said, though it was insightful of Nick to present the topic this way. “Men I thought were my friends suddenly looked at me as if I might purloin their wives or daughters. Women I thought were my friends started pairing me with strangers or trying to get into my bed.” 

Nick’s blond eyebrows rose. “Was that a silver lining of some sort?” 

Trent gave the thorny roses beneath the balcony further consideration. 

“Suppose not.” Nick straightened, frankly studying Trent. “You’ve lost some of that peaked, city-boy look you had at the wedding.” 

“I’ve yet to replace my steward, so I’m playing steward, but I need to inquire into who’s ordering my housemaids about. I thought Cook might have taken a hand, but apparently not.” 

“You want a fat housekeeper,” Nick stated briskly. “A jolly, fat housekeeper who likes pets and children. A cranky housekeeper is worse than a wrinkle in the underlinen. And I suggest you let that cheeky nursery maid of Michael’s go, too.” 

“Hull?” 

“Big…” Nick humped his hands over his chest. “Saucy mouth? She pinches the children, and not like your granny pinched you, and she tipples.” 

“Write a character and give her some severance,” Trent said, feeling another stab of guilt. “How about if I give you a minute to settle in here and then I show you some of the grounds?” 

“Give me an hour.” Nick began to undo his sleeve buttons. “I’d like to pen a few notes, rest my eyes, and get my bearings.” 

“In an hour then, and for all that you’re here on inspection, I am glad to welcome you, Nicholas.” 

Trent made his way to the kitchen, wondering what was wrong with him, that he hadn’t noticed the effects of the housekeeper’s absence until Nick was underfoot. Trent’s meals showed up on time, his sheets were changed, his laundry and ironing done, but the house itself— 

Could be set to rights.

He spied his cook, cleaver in hand, cutting a chicken carcass into parts. “Greetings, Louise.” 

“Your lordship.”
Thwack!
Off came a wing. 

“I come bearing correspondence for you from Nancy at Wilton.” 

Thwack!
The other wing, then she paused and set her cleaver aside. 

“A moment, please.” She turned her back to wash her hands then dry them on her apron. “I trust all are well at Wilton?” 

Trent passed her the letter. “As well as can be expected when the earl conducts himself like a spoiled eight-year-old.” 

“You show him no respect.” Louise frowned at the letter as she recited her litany. “He’s an earl, a peer of the realm, and above the common touch.” 

“We’ve another earl visiting our humble abode,” Trent said, unwilling to be scolded by his help. “Bellefonte has come to call, and we’ll need a meal for a hearty appetite.” 

Louise fingered the epistle from old Nancy, the former housekeeper at Wilton Acres. “Bellefonte’s that big git? Shoulders like this?” She braced her hands a yard apart. 

“Language, Louise. My dear brother-in-law is an earl, not a git, and due respect on that basis alone, in your opinion. He’s been traveling and likely has a hunger in proportion to the rest of him.” 

“Beef then, and pork, at least. Formal?” She sounded so damned hopeful. 

“
Not
formal. We’ll eat on the terrace, and Louise?” 

“That’s Cook to you, my lord.” She was already bustling off, apparently taken with the challenge of the evening meal. 

“Who’s been seeing to the housemaids?” 

Louise shrugged as she tore the chicken wings apart with her bare hands. “They see to themselves. If they get to squabbling, Upton will stick his nose into it, but he’s not good at it. Lets ’em get away with too much.” 

“Do you approve of any living male, Louise?” 

“Alfred the Great,” she replied, eyeing the pantry mouser sunning itself in a window sill. “Wilton.” 

“Equally useless, the pair of them.” 

Trent exerted his lordly prerogative and left before Louise could get another word in. He found Nick an hour later on the back terrace, scribbling away at a letter to some sibling or cousin. 

Nick tossed his pen down. “Did I see Greymoor’s stud disporting among your neighbor’s mares?” 

“Is there anything that escapes your notice, Nicholas?” 

Nick wiggled his eyebrows. “Little of that nature. I am missing your sister terribly, too, so Excalibur pursuing his intended purpose would not escape my notice. He’s an elegant beast, if on the small side. And loud.” 

“If one is breeding mounts for ladies, a smallish stud serves better,” Trent pointed out. “Now that you’ve brought up the topic of horses, let me apprise you of a project I’m considering.” 

He went on to describe the potential for a breeding operation undertaken with his neighbor, who was in a position to supply the mares, while Trent had the labor, land, know-how and connections. 

While they talked they wandered down the stable aisles, along paddock fences, through the gardens, and into the woods. When they came to the pond, Trent settled on a boulder and considered his sister’s husband. 

“How’s the earldom coming along?” Because interrogation could be a game played by two, and Nicholas, for all his genial charm, looked tired.

“Earling is trickier than I thought it would be,” Nick said, scooping up a handful of pebbles. “Papa had some unfinished business, and those chickens are coming home to roost now, on my watch. I find myself thinking, I’ll have to bring this up with Papa, or let him know what I think about that, and then…” 

“No Papa,” Trent said softly. “Aggravating, and it keeps happening long after you think it wouldn’t.” 

“You still miss your wife. How long has it been?” 

“Close to a year and a half. I used to know how many days and months, exactly, without even trying to keep track.” When had that changed? 

“So you’re making progress. My friend Axel Belmont is a widower, and he says you’re making progress when you can admit the things you don’t miss about a departed spouse.” 

“Then I started making progress fairly early.” A pair of red squirrels went skittering overhead, nimbly jumping from the limbs of a stately chestnut to the neighboring oak. For some reason, this put him in mind of kissing Ellie. “The wife my father chose for me was not a restful woman, and I am not one who appreciates dramatics.” 

Nick tossed a pebble into the center of the pond, rings rippling out to form a target on the water’s surface.

“I do not know why the Lord in His mercy gave me your sister as my spouse, for I could not have chosen a better mate had I been intent on the goal,” Nick said. “But what do you do for companionship?” 

Trent watched the squirrels go dancing around the tree trunk, then dash from branch to branch as easily as if they’d been on solid ground. Amid a chittering scold from the one little beast, the other caught up and commenced fornicating right there in the trees. 

“Drink, I suppose, though that wasn’t going so well.” A spectacular understatement. 

“Seldom solves the real problems in this life. We’ve some friendly maids out at Belle Maison. You might consider a visit.” 

“And dip my wick?” The idea held no appeal, and that was…vaguely disquieting. “What about to retrieve my children?” 

“I was wondering if you’d ask.” Nick tossed two pebbles into pond this time, so overlapping target patterns formed. “If you need more time, Amherst, we’re happy to keep them. I have Ethan’s pair, too, and with four little boys underfoot, the summer promises to be riotous good fun.” 

Riotous and good fun were contradictions to Trent’s way of thinking. “You like all that commotion?” 

Nick tossed another pair of pebbles. “Belle Maison is huge. Large enough that a family of twelve can rattle around in the family wing without bumping into each other. And yes, I like having friends and family on hand, and I think Leah does, too.” 

“Where you can manage us.” 

“Look after you.” Nick threw an entire shower of pebbles into the pond. “Though I wouldn’t have to if you’d recruit a good woman for the task.” 

Trent rose, needing to get away from such a topic. “Not you, too, Nicholas.” 

“It isn’t good for a man to be alone,” Nick quoted. “Nor any damned fun, just ask Excalibur.”

“I am not a randy stud colt,” Trent shot back. “Having fun can have serious consequences.” Why was he having to explain this more than once in a day? 

Nick rose and dusted his hands together. “Do you mean to tell me you’ve been a choir boy, Trenton? No wonder the decanter has had so much of your attention. Heed me, for I know of what I speak: You find a woman who knows the rules, and you pleasure her witless and yourself as well. Does a man a power of good and leaves the lady in better spirits, too.” 

“You make it sound so simple.” Trent jammed his hands in his pockets and started back toward the bridle path. 

“Trenton,” Nick said patiently, “it
is
simple: your pizzle, her quim, you both enjoy each other until you can’t move. Nothing simpler. You have three children, for pity’s sake, need I draw you diagrams?” 

“With my own wife, it was not simple.” He should have left matters there, changed the subject to something harmless and genial, and deflected any further attempts on Nick’s part to pry. 

Though that approach to difficult topics had left him skinny, tired, befuddled and emotionally…rancid. 

As Nick fell in step beside him, Trent’s mouth kept uttering words. Calm, awful words. 

“Imagine that you ride on home to Belle Maison, and you find your Leah, whom you love, shut in her chambers and unwilling to come out. You consider maybe it’s the female complaint and tend to a few hours’ correspondence, visit the nursery, the kitchen—she has neglected to provide the cook menus—your steward, but she still doesn’t show up at dinner.”