Trenton Lord of Loss (Lonely Lords) (38 page)

Delphey Soames hadn’t tampered with the town coach axle or poisoned Trent’s dinner, but he might know who had. 

“You’d best be concluding your negotiations with Lady Rammel soon, Catullus,” Darius said. “You don’t want those mares making a winter crossing.” 

“That can wait a few weeks. I’m more concerned about Amherst and his impending departure—or his impending demise.” 

“I’ll be fine.” Trent pushed to his feet. “A walk is in order, lest the rich fare deprive me of another night’s sleep.” 

Darius frowned at Trent’s retreating back, but made no move to stop him. 

Cato switched his empty plate for Trent’s mostly full one. “What? You might as well just say it.” 

“He’s off to make sheep’s eyes at the fair Elegy’s balcony again. I’m tempted to talk to the lady, because this business of one of us trailing Amherst through the undergrowth of a night has become tedious.” 

“Don’t say a word,” Cato said around a mouthful of potatoes. “If you value your brother’s dignity and his kind regard, you don’t dare interfere. If you do, though, may I have your trifle?” 

Chapter Twenty 

“Is that baby putting you out of sorts?” Minty posed the question calmly while she embroidered daisies on the border of a receiving blanket. 

Ellie laid a hand on her growing tummy. “The baby seems fine.” 

“Then what troubles you? You look out the window like the second coming was imminent among your rose bushes.” 

“Just the opposite.” Ellie took a sip of cool peppermint tea. “Trent Lindsey is off to Wilton again tomorrow.” Mr. Spencer had let that slip out, just he’d let slip most of Trent’s comings and goings without Ellie having to ask awkward questions. 

Had Trenton put him up to that? 

Minty poked her needle up through the fabric and wrapped the thread for a French knot. “Though you haven’t had any use for Lord Amherst in weeks, you don’t want him leaving his post next door.” 

“Something like that.” Ellie regarded Minty’s embroidery and recalled that daisies were for innocence, but also for the sentiment
I will think on it
. “Somebody is trying to kill him, and I can’t help but feel he’s safer here where I can keep an eye on him.” 

Minty jabbed her needle through the fabric again. “And you so spry and such a dead shot. I still say you should never have let him get away.” 

“I sent him away, Minty.” Ellie scooted about on her pillow in an effort to get comfortable. The baby had taken to shifting about too, the sensation no longer a delicate passing flutter. 

“You sent him away because you’re a chicken,” Minty said pleasantly. “Scissors, please.” 

“I’m a chicken?” 

“I can see feathers sprouting as we speak,” Minty declared as she accepted the scissors. “Rammel was a rough go, Ellie, I know that. You didn’t have even a few years of doting on each other before the clandestine
amours
and house parties and so forth started. He barely paused in his carousing long enough to marry you. Amherst wouldn’t be like that.” 

“But Trenton loved his wife,” Ellie wailed softly. “He wanted only a dalliance with a lonely widow.” 

“Are you daft?” Minty snipped a thread and let the blanket pool in her lap. “I read his letter to you, I’ve seen him looking at you, I’ve met you at breakfast on certain mornings when your smile could light up the heavens. He’s crazy for you, and because a few specific words haven’t been mentioned—and because you chose a dunderhead for your first husband, and because Amherst comes as goes as Dane did, though for far better reasons than Dane had—you think all Amherst’s concern and consideration counts for nothing.” 

Minty enjoyed such conviction about her opinions. 

“But Amherst is a widower. He was devoted to his wife.” 

“Who is
dead.
Did you love Dane?” 

“Yes,” Ellie answered, confident, because she’d pondered this very question at length. 

“But you love Amherst, don’t you?” 

“It isn’t the same thing.” 

“Don’t you?” 

Ellie’s gardens were past their peak, but still rife with flowers. She’d seen Trent standing on the edge of the home wood in the moonlight, seen him keeping vigil there for hours. 

“Of course I love him.” Admitting the sorry state of her heart only jeopardized her frequently wobbly composure. “I love him until I’m cross-eyed with it, and I’m so worried for him I feel ill.” 

“You don’t love him any less for also having loved Dane,” Minty pointed out. “In some ways, you love him more, because you know life can take from us the people we care about, will we, nil we. So why aren’t you grabbing him by his ears, Ellie Hampton, and letting him be a father to your next baby?” 

Ellie rose, which now required that she push up with her arms if she wasn’t to be completely graceless. 

“He hasn’t spoken of love and marriage, Minty. He has three children. He doesn’t need more. He has a family depending on him—his father is a gold-plated embarrassment, though Amherst keeps finding reasons to spend time with him—and Amherst has troubles I can’t help him solve.” 

The baby moved again, making Ellie’s insides ache.

“Amherst sneaks about,” she went on, “promising me nothing, when he might be telling me simply to be patient or careful while he promises me…
something
.” Then, more softly. “He kept leaving, Minty. He’d make me feel like the most precious woman on earth, and then he’d leave. Dane left too, but he was consistently indifferent. I cannot spend my life waiting for Trenton Lindsey to become indifferent, too.” 

The baby kicked her in the ribs, a stout jab right under Ellie’s heart. She sat, for her ranting to Minty had disclosed a truth Ellie hadn’t seen herself:
She had buried her feminine self-confidence with Dane Hampton
. Because her own husband had been benignly indifferent to her company, she’d lost faith that any man could find her worthy of more than passing notice.

“Amherst is in expectation of a title,” Minty said gently, “and that weighs on a man, but you love him.”

Governesses were the most stubborn creatures on God’s earth. 

“I love him.” Saying the words this time eased something inside Ellie, something profound and not…not
un
happy. 

“You’re thinking naughty thoughts. That’s a good thing, Ellie Hampton. You never had naughty thoughts about Dane.” 

Governesses were honest and insightful, too. “I don’t think he had them about me.” 

“Funny about that.” Minty resumed sewing. “For all his carrying-on, and joking, and winking, I think you might be right, and you’re a very attractive lady. Where did I put those scissors?” 

***

“Trenton!” 

Emily wasn’t so grown-up she couldn’t squeal like a child at the sight of her oldest brother. “And Dare!” She grabbed them each with an arm, forcing a three-way hug that had both brothers smiling sheepishly. “Oh, I wish Leah were here, but she’s glued to Nicholas’s side when he isn’t flitting about the Home Counties. I haven’t seen Wilton Acres in so long, but the place looks beautiful, doesn’t it, Lady Warne?” 

Lady Warne looked as if her last squeal of delight had occurred in the previous century. “A hot bath and some victuals would look lovelier still.” 

“Your rooms are ready.” Trent eased away from Emily, which left Dare’s arm around the girl’s shoulders. “Supper will be a cold meal on the terrace, so we can hold it until you ladies are settled in.” 

“I have so much to tell you both,” Emily said, whisking off her bonnet. “Trusty sends his love to Skunk and Arthur, though I think he’s grown bored with life in a city mews.” She chattered on as Trent led the way to the family wing and deposited the ladies in connecting guest rooms. 

Trent paused in Emily’s doorway, while Lady Warne disappeared with a pair of maids to start unpacking the several trunks brought down with the coach. “You got my letter?” 

Emily’s demeanor sobered. “I did. You shall be perfectly odious to me when Papa’s about, or the servants, and I’m to carry on like a brat and make Papa think my Season is in jeopardy.” 

“It isn’t.” 

“I don’t particularly care.” Emily ran her hand over the quilted coverlet on the bed, a pattern of interlocking circles with two doves embroidered in the middle. 

“You don’t care?” Trent crossed the room and drew her down to sit beside him on the bed. “What kind of talk is this?” 

He’d read her bedtime stories a lifetime ago, because somebody should, and Leah had needed the occasional break. 

“If you want the truth, this is tired talk,” Emily said, leaning into him. “I haven’t wanted to say anything to Lady Warne, because she enjoys having me for a pet, but this visiting all over creation, and living out of trunks, and constantly being fitted for clothes, and trying to keep straight everybody’s name… I hate it.” 

Whatever else was true, these were not schoolgirl sentiments. “Hate is a strong word.” 

“Lady Warne’s idea of how to go on is useless,” Emily said, her pretty features solemn. “I do not care who sleeps with whom at which house party, or which lady is doctoring her tea or abusing her laudanum. I don’t care which gentleman prefers young men, or what gouty old earl just bought his mistress a ruby necklace.” 

This was—had been—Trent’s baby sister. While he was proud of Emily’s common sense, Trent felt a pang of loss for the little girl who worried about nothing more than keeping her pinafore clean. 

“You have been getting an education.” 

“Lady Warne wants me forewarned. I’m not to be a lamb to slaughter next year, but an informed purchaser of the wares on the market.” 

“That sounds cold.” Though he could hear Lady Warne using exactly those terms. 

Emily pressed her forehead to his shoulder. “It is cold. I feel old.” 

“If you’re old, what does that make me?” Trent tucked an arm around her, thinking such slight shoulders shouldn’t have to bear the weight of the world. “Would you rather wait a year before you make your bow?” 

“And do what?” Emily straightened on a dramatic sigh. “More house parties? More spotty boys with straying hands and slobbery kisses? No, thank you. I’d rather find a decent man, get the whole business behind me, and be about starting a family.” 

“Don’t settle for decent, Em. You want more than decent. You want fireworks over the royal barge, a hundred-piece orchestra, white doves, galloping horses, pounding hearts.”
You want what I have with Ellie.
What he’d had with her and backed away from.

“I do?” 

“You deserve them.” Trent kissed her temple. “We all do.” 

“You didn’t have that.” 

Even from her schoolroom, Emily had grasped the truth of her brother’s marriage. 

“I haven’t had it yet, or not in a wife, but that’s no reason for you to be so jaded when you haven’t even danced your first waltz.” 

Emily grinned, looking once again like a very young lady. “I have so waltzed. Lady Warne hired me a silly French dancing master, and he made it a game.” 

“As far as Wilton is concerned, your dancing is atrocious, your French worse, you can’t stay on a horse to save yourself, and you’ve no conversation.” 

Emily rose. “All of that was true last spring. I’ve Lady Warne to thank for bringing me along.” 

“And your own hard work.” Trent rose as well. “You’re sure you can manage this charade, Em?” 

“Of course.” She turned abruptly adult eyes on him. “If I’ve learned nothing else in the past months, Amherst, it’s to dissemble on command.” 

“I believe you.” Her intentionally brittle tone and the cool smile she served up with his title took him aback. “Unpack, and be warned, Wilton will likely join us for dinner.” 

“I shall be insufferable,” Emily assured him. “But tell me, is that Mr. Benton joining us as well?” 

“He typically does. Wilton won’t address him at table, because he’s only the nephew of a viscount.” 

Emily’s mask slipped enough to reveal sadness at that observation. “Papa is a fool if he can’t tell Mr. Benton is a gentleman and an asset to Wilton Acres.” 

“We can agree on that much.” Trent took his leave, closing her door quietly behind him. 

He headed for his own rooms, thinking only to garner some solitude before the performance that would be dinner. He dreaded dealing with his father, much less putting on a charade intended to throw the older man off his arrogant stride. When Trent arrived to his rooms, he didn’t reach for a drink, though. He reached for his pen and paper. 

He wouldn’t send this letter. He’d use it as an exercise, to gather his thoughts, and calm himself before the dinner gong sounded. He began by explaining to Ellie what his situation with Emily entailed and why he was stooping to such a farce. He went on to say that impersonating his father even temporarily made him deeply uncomfortable—being judgmental, snappish, arrogant, and mean-spirited tore at his soul. 

He told her he missed her with a physical ache in his chest, missed the feel of her body against his, missed the little flutters and shifts of the child growing safely inside her. 

Were he to send the letter, he’d never have included such nonsense. Because he would not send it, Trent told Ellie how worried he was for his brother and sister, that protecting his siblings was so ingrained in him, he wasn’t sure he could stand to walk Emily down the aisle at St. George’s next spring, not even to marry the most worthy man in the realm.