Trenton Lord of Loss (Lonely Lords) (35 page)

“Araminthea!” 

Minty handed back the letter, expression as serene as ever. “My parents were not fancy people. My mother’s father was a miller; Papa was the local school teacher, a vicar’s son. We barely scraped by, but they loved each other. I would fall asleep on my little truckle-bed, listening to them visit at the end of the day. I’ve never heard sweeter music than the two of them, chuckling over some student’s prank when they thought I’d drifted off.” 

Ellie folded the letter carefully and set it aside. Were Minty not present, she might have held it to her nose before she re-read it. “Minty, you are a closet romantic.” 

“You’re breeding. You think everything is romantic, but I will say this: Lord Amherst has been paying attention.” 

While Ellie’s tea grew cold in its cup. “What does that mean?” 

“He knows you like the simple flowers—the daisies and jonquils, not the fancy roses and orchids and lilies.” 

“I like all flowers.” 

Minty glanced around the room at the daises displayed in profusion. 

“They’re in season,” Ellie protested. 

“He knows you’ll leave your footmen in the house unless he reminds you otherwise,” Minty went on, “and he knows you’ll mention his greeting to Andy. He pays attention.” 

“He’s a gentleman. He’s merely being polite.” 

“Right.” Minty stared for a moment at the daisies. “Now that you’ve told him he’s persona non grata, he takes to writing you comfy letters. This is a requirement of good breeding between unattached adults I’ve yet to hear of.”

Angry with the man and unwelcoming were not the same at all, particularly when a goodly dose of missing him figured into the emotional mix.

And worrying for him. 

“He’s not persona non grata. I wasn’t dealing very well, and this way is—” 

“Better?” 

“Wiser,” Ellie said, but to her own ears she didn’t sound convinced. When Minty merely sipped her tea in silence, Ellie re-read the letter. Again. 

*** 

“My lord, a pleasure.” Trent offered his former father-in-law his hand while trying to hide his shock. In the several years since Trent had last seen him, Baron Trevisham had aged. He had the kind of blond-going-silver good looks that shouldn’t have changed much between midlife and old age, particularly on a man who enjoyed his land and his horses and had no reputation for over-imbibing. 

“Amherst! Jolly good to see you.” Trevisham’s greeting from the door of his saddle room seemed genuine. “Favor a spot of tea, or would you like something stronger? Don’t tell m’wife, but there’s fine summer ale to be had here at the Grange and not only for the gardeners and maids.” 

“Ale sounds good.” The ride over had been hot and dusty, and what Trent had to discuss wasn’t a tea-and-crumpets sort of topic. “How fares the baroness, and how fares your land?” 

“Doing better.” Trevisham haled a groom without clarifying whether his comment related to his land or his wife. “The past few winters were beastly, but this year’s harvest should help us recover. And Wilton?” 

“Thriving. I might assume my father passed along that much at least.” 

“You might.” Trevisham slapped his crop against his boot, which prompted a half-grown tabby cat to pounce on the lash. “Except he and Tye get to chatting each other up, and they all know the Town set, while I know little save which mares I have in foal from year to year. How are those grandsons of mine?” 

Trevisham scooped the cat up and gently scratched its chin.

“Your grandsons thrive as well,” Trent said, relieved the man would think to ask. “They are plagued increasingly by their younger sister, who is now talking at a great rate and tearing around Crossbridge at a flat gallop.” 

“Is she now?” Trevisham’s smile was mellow. “Paula was like that, quiet as a mouse, until she took it into her head to hold forth, and then, my goodness, the girl had a set of lungs. And stubborn! The baroness claims the children get that from me, but I’ve my doubts. Will you be off hunting with Wilton this year?”

“I beg your pardon?” 

“I could have sworn he said he was going up to Melton come November.” Trevisham’s longing gaze fixed on a bay hunter across the barn aisle. “I should love to go as well, but at some point, a man must admit that field hunting for weeks on end is a young fellow’s sport, though I’ll not miss a local meet, of course.” 

He prosed on about his mounts for the coming hunt season and some younger hounds who were promising on the cubbing runs, and Trent recalled that Trevisham was one of the reasons he’d even considered marrying Paula. Her father was one of those unassuming minor titles who was content to mind his acres and had no need of Town life to entertain him. He was salt of the earth in the best English sense. 

Or he seemed to be. 

“Amherst?” Tidewell Benning came strutting down the barn aisle. His dress was fancy enough for a Mayfair dandy but snug at the seams, particularly around his middle. “Good heavens, it is you.” 

He stuck out a hand in the manner of the jovial man about town, and Trent saw in Tye’s face more evidence of years passing. In the case of the son, rich food and long hours at smoky gaming tables were likely taking a toll. The toll of time on the baron was… different. 

“I’m in the area more frequently,” Trent said, “and thought to drop in. I’ve been remiss in this regard.” 

“Heard your papa had turned Wilton Acres over to you,” Tye said. “Don’t be giving Trevisham any ideas. I’ve a good deal more gadding about to do before I’m chained to the ledger books and the steward’s lectures.” 

“Tidewell…” The baron’s expression was vaguely exasperated. 

“Not now, Papa.” Tye’s smile might have been charming on a boy. “I’m away to return some of Mama’s books from the subscription library. I’ll pick up the post while I’m about it. Amherst, a pleasure, and let me know if you’re up for a friendly hand of cards sometime. Papa is no challenge whatsoever anymore.” 

He was off, calling out to the lads, leaving Trent to wonder why on earth Tidewell would take a curricle over the farm lanes, when a riding horse would make the same journey more easily.

Trevisham might have been wondering much the same thing as he set the cat down, and gave it a final pat on the head. 

“Would that I could pass Tye the duties of the barony. Tom’s better suited to it but won’t poach on his brother’s fixture.” 

“Couldn’t Tidewell take on something? The hounds or the home farm?” 

“I’ve tried,” Trevisham said tiredly. “Here comes our ale.” He lifted a tankard from the tray held by the groom. “To your health, Amherst.”

“And yours.” 

“Come, lad. There’s shade to be had.” He led Trent to a bench and table outside the barn, waving off a pair of grooms cleaning and mending harness. 

Trevisham turned to blow the foam off his ale. “How are you?” 

“Sir?” 

“You’re widowed, and that business with Paula had to be hard on you.” 

“It will soon be two years.” Trent hadn’t anticipated this, or the keen concern in the baron’s eyes. “The situation is improving, slowly.” 

“Not what I heard.” Trevisham took a considering sip of his drink. “When I was up to Town retrieving my miscreant offspring, I asked around and nobody had seen hide nor hair of you, other than to say your sister had bagged herself an earl. Good show, that.” 

She had accomplished this feat without benefit of a fowling piece, too.

“Leah is happy. I’ve been more concerned with raising the children than socializing.” 

“As if you expect me to believe that. The womenfolk don’t let us within ten feet of our own offspring, not until the little dears are swearing and smoking and ready to be shipped off to university, which explains a few things, if you ask me. But without Paula on hand, maybe you can have it otherwise.” 

“Even when Paula was alive,” Trent said, wondering if this was how an old man expressed old regrets, “I had the running of the nursery, sir. Paula was not often up to it.” 

“You’re likely being diplomatic.” The baron dipped his head, as if taking a blow rather than expressing assent. “One doesn’t like to hear ill of one’s offspring, but you’d think I’d be used to it by now.” 

“I’m sorry.” Trent found a name for what he saw in the baron’s eyes: grief, and not only for Paula. 

“Not your fault,” Trevisham said, as the cat hopped onto the table and sniffed at Trent’s sleeve. “Maybe not even mine, but Paula’s at peace now, and you’re still young enough to enjoy life and the children she gave you.” 

“I can, but do you imply that Paula’s delicacy comes as no surprise to you?” 

The baron considered his mug of ale, already half-empty. “Her mother’s the delicate sort. She’s doing better in her later years. Not a particularly lusty woman, if you take my meaning, but she dotes on those boys of ours.” 

“Was Paula close to her mother?” 

“Not especially. Only room for one lady of the house. And Paula was such a surprise, coming along after her brothers. She was my consolation, Paula was, but I think that made the boys jealous, particularly Tye.” 

He fell silent, lost in his reminiscing, while Trent noted that the baron did, indeed, brew a lovely summer ale. 

“I have miniatures of Ford and Michael,” Trent said, reaching into his pockets. “Lanie won’t sit still long enough yet, and Michael’s is very recent.” He passed the little portraits to the baron. 

“Oh, my. Young Fordham is very much your son, but I think Michael is more of a Benning about the eyes and chin. Handsome lads, and they look full of the devil.” 

“They’re ready for their own ponies, and they can be handfuls, particularly when they’re tired or hungry. They’re friends, though, already, and they’ve spent much of this summer at Bellefonte’s seat in Kent.” 

The baron’s brows knit. “Bellefonte? Your sister’s earl—great huge fellow who knows his horses? I knew the old earl; pity he’s gone.” 

“The new earl is managing well.” Blissfully well, damn him. “If you’ve a few more minutes, I’d like to discuss a personal matter.” 

The baron passed the miniatures over, his gaze following them into Trent’s pocket. “Your personal matter must be serious.”

“Not serious, tedious. You may not have heard the rumors regarding my father’s decision to rusticate this summer.” 

“I’m not much where rumors would circulate. I never did understand why the man would spend summers in London when he could be at Wilton. Town is rife with disease most years.” 

“I’m enjoying a summer in the country myself, though my father is at Wilton under duress.” 

“One gathered this,” the baron said dryly. “He won’t come out and say it, has to dance around it, as if he’s making some great sacrifice. Then he and Tye get to rolling their eyes at each other. Makes me wonder why the land is in the hands of those who don’t appreciate it, if Wilton is indicative of my betters and Tye of our future.” 

“Wilton has bungled the finances. He’s left my sisters nigh penniless. He’s at Wilton on parole liberty, sent down for bad behavior, more or less.” 

To have this little piece of the truth aired before another felt good, and Trevisham was likely to keep it to himself, too.

“No wonder he and Tye are getting on so famously. Oh, Wilton makes a pretense of calling on me, but it’s Tye with whom he spends his time.” 

“You know Imogenie Henly is keeping company with the earl?” 

Trevisham’s bushy brows rose. “Little Imogenie? I suppose she isn’t so little anymore. Poor Henly.” 

“And poor Imogenie. Wilton’s intentions aren’t honorable.” 

“Not one to mince words, are you, Amherst?” 

“Not about this. I want to warn you that Wilton has agreed to stay at Wilton Acres, and I do mean stay, for the next five years at least. He’s not to go off shooting in the North, or hunting in the Midlands, or walking in the Lake District. He’s grounded, so to speak.” 

“Godfrey.” The tabby cat bopped the baron’s chin with the top of its head. The baron obligingly pet the beast, which created a steady rumble greater than its half-grown size should have produced. “I gather the solicitors are answering to you then?” 

“I can show you the power of attorney under Wilton’s own seal, witnessed by no less than an earl and a marquess.” Trent would
delight
in showing him that document, in fact.

Trevisham pushed his empty tankard to the middle of the table, giving the cat space to strut about. “You aren’t merely making a duty call on your old papa-in-law. You’re informing the magistrate of a few home truths.” 

A magistrate sharper than his genial demeanor might suggest, thank God.

“Henly reminded me Wilton might try to take steps to ensure Imogenie’s indiscretions aren’t thwarted by her parents. I don’t mean for you to become embroiled in a family problem.”  
“Such as turning Henly out by decree of the earl?” Trevisham snorted. “Maybe a hundred years ago a man might treat his tenants thus, but no longer. The Englishman knows his rights and will bray about them without ceasing to the king’s man. I appreciate the warning, though, as one did wonder. But Amherst?” 

Trent set his mug beside the baron’s. 

“Was my Paula happy with you?” 

Trent looked at the two empty mugs and decided to temper his honesty. “Not at the end. You know that much, though I thought she was doing better. She was anxious, mostly about the children. I had the sense we’d reached an understanding about the children, then something upset her and she had a bad spell. For the most part, though, she was as happy as she could have been.”