Trenton: Lord Of Loss

by Grace Burrowes

  “I can’t make that leap yet, but somebody shot at me at close range, and somebody else cut my stirrup leathers on a particularly sloppy night. I can’t ignore those factors either, Nick.”

  Nick’s gaze strayed to the house, and Trent could hear him thinking: Leah will be upset if… “Maybe you should stay with us for a time.”

  Oh, of course. Far from Ellie, who might also be a target for mischief.

  “And bring the problem here? Not for all the brandy in France. I’ve a few ideas regarding the source of my troubles, and at Heathgate’s prompting, I’ll enlist the assistance of your friend Hazlit.”

  “You met him at our wedding. The secret hasn’t been hatched that Benjamin can’t ferret out, but he’s expensive.”

  “What is the price,” Trent said softly, “of living to see Lanie make her bow, or knowing my boys are safely launched? They’ve already lost one parent and never had grandparents to speak of. I think that’s quite enough loss for such tender hearts.”

  “You sound determined.”

  “I am determined,” Trent replied as Arthur was brought out. “More than that, Nick, I’m angry, and I wonder whether Paula’s death wasn’t more complicated than it seemed.”

  These emotions were not pale, passing fancies, as they might have been earlier in the summer. They were heartfelt, tenacious, and proof nobody was spiking Trent’s drinks any longer.

  Nick watched the horse, rather than Trent’s face, and Trent appreciated the courtesy. “Leah told me what she knew of your wife’s passing. I’m most sorry, Trenton.”

  “We all were,” Trent replied. “All excepting possibly Paula herself.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “I’ve sent for this Hazlit fellow,” Trent said as he and Heathgate waited for a groom to tighten Arthur’s girth. Stopping here on the way home from Belle Maison had made sense, particularly when Trent wanted to update the magistrate regarding his latest suspicions.

  “Hazlit will acquit himself well in any endeavor.” Heathgate didn’t pry beyond that, and Trent had the sense the marquess didn’t have to pry. Heathgate was born knowing more than a mortal man should be able to divine without celestial assistance.

  Trent tugged on a pair of riding gloves that had seen considerable use in the course of the day. “My thanks for sending the women to Lady Rammel. That was a much-appreciated kindness.”

  “If so, it was overdue. The lady is grieving, and we all know what a fraught journey that can be. Her daughter has become immediate friends with my cousin Rose, though, and we are relieved to see it.”

  “A younger cousin?”

  “Young.” Heathgate held his hand out at about hip height. “Though every inch her mother’s child, and granddaughter to a duke, but a lonely child. Rose is older than all of mine or Andrew’s, so Miss Coriander is filling a felt need splendidly.”

  “For?”

  Heathgate’s lips twitched, possibly with impatience. “A friend, Amherst. Friendship is a quaint concept, though for a time I disdained it myself. We all need friends.”

  Trent swung up onto Arthur’s back, saluted with his crop, and sent the beast trotting down the drive.

  While Trent considered Heathgate’s parting shot.

  Trenton Lindsey, Viscount Amherst, was a man without friends. Or he’d let himself become a man without friends.

  He and Dare had been friends, and Leah as well. As children, Wilton had taken a focused interest in his heir’s upbringing, and Lady Wilton had retaliated by making Dare her favorite. Both parents had tried to pit the boys against each other, but each child had been canny enough to see the parental manipulation. Trent and Dare had been each other’s only friends, often, and had grown even closer as the need to protect Leah from Wilton had become more apparent.

  That had changed when Trent had gone off to school, while Dare had been considered worthy of only second-rate tutors at home.

  Arthur, tired as he had to have been, had decided the Deerhaven stables were closer than those at Crossbridge, and once again took himself up the wrong drive.

  “Blast you, beast. We weren’t going to do this.”

  “Afternoon, my lord.” The groom took Arthur’s reins. “Himself looks a little road weary.”

  Trent patted his horse, who now stood as if exhausted, his head hanging.

  “Himself is a scheming tyrant. Some hay and water for him, and I’ll likely just walk him home in hand.”

  The groom gave him a puzzled look but disappeared with the horse, leaving Trent to wonder how exactly he should convey his intended message to Ellie.

  Lady Rammel. The widowed Lady Rammel, who was acquiring friends and who did not need her neighbor complicating her life with death threats and dalliances.

  “Trenton?” Ellie’s voice came from the pergola, followed by her beaming smile. She was barefoot, her hair loosely braided over one shoulder. “Oh, it is you. I am so glad you are home.”

  Home.

  She hugged him, despite the curious eyes in the house and the stables, despite his dust and sweat, despite his failure to warn her he’d be calling. She just…she hugged him.

  He tried to pull back. “I stink, and you’re tidy, and we are not private, and you really shouldn’t…damnation…you smell good. I’m glad to be back, too.”

  He hugged her in return, breathed in the flowery scent of her and knew a hunger beyond food, and a fatigue sleep wouldn’t address.

  Though napping might help.

  “Come up to the house. I want to hear all about your journey.” She linked arms with him, while Trent wanted to stand there, breathing in, holding her, being home in her embrace.

  “Where are your footmen, Ellie? You’re not supposed to be out of doors alone.”

  “One is lounging against the grape arbor. Another is in the pergola straightening up my picnic basket, but now I’m with you so they can leave me in peace. Is your daughter ensconced in her nursery?”

  “She is, or she soon will be.” The coach having turned up the correct driveway. “So are the boys.”

  “A wealth of children. No wonder you missed them.”

  He’d missed them even before he’d sent them to Belle Maison, he simply hadn’t known it. “I missed you, too.”

  She walked beside him, looking pleased, while Trent’s rehearsed speech about safety, and business relationships, and fond memories wandered out of his mental grasp.

  Off to Halifax, no doubt.

  “I understand Miss Andy has been setting the neighborhood on its ear.”

  “She truly needs a pony now. Her new best friend in the entire world, one Rose Windham, is horse mad and rides a splendid fellow named Sir George. That worthy was taught how to kneel expressly so his owner could knight him.”

  “If a fellow has only one trick, bending his knee to the ladies is a good one to have. Andy can have Zephyr, because I’ll be getting something larger for the boys, and Lanie won’t need her own mount for a few years yet.”

  Sitting on Ellie’s pretty balcony, they chatted like that, about children, ponies, and Greymoor’s countess and Heathgate’s marchioness, about Belle Maison, and Leah’s earl, until they’d demolished a plate of sandwiches and biscuits and consumed a pitcher of lemonade. All the while, Trent feasted his eyes on his late neighbor’s wife.

  Before she could suggest a postprandial nap, he rose.

  “I’ve eaten your pantry shelves clean and left my dust all over your swing, but now I must take my leave of you. You’ll continue to take precautions, though, Ellie, promise me.”

  She nodded and…yawned. “I promise.”

  “That”—Trent ran his finger down her braid—“is my cue to depart. I am too much in need of a bath to let you start inviting me to nap.”

  Her brows furrowed with female disgruntlement. “This matters to you? You aren’t unpleasant to be near, Trenton, just the opposite.” She brushed the flat of her hand over his chest, much as Nicholas had pet the quarters of that plough horse—soundly, affectionately. “
Your sister didn’t see to your victualing. You dropped some weight on this sortie to Kent.”

  Her hand on his chest sent spikes of warmth into low places, and Trent forced himself to move from balcony to sitting room.

  “I will call on you tomorrow.” He brushed a kiss to her cheek. “I spent a great deal of time in discussion with Greymoor regarding the successful management of a horse farm, and I’d like to share some of his ideas with you.”

  She accepted that pronouncement with some puzzlement, but he forced himself to draw back before he hauled her against his chest and let lust once more talk good sense into a short nap.

  “Get some sleep, Trent. Traveling is always wearying, particularly so with children.”

  She wouldn’t fuss him, wouldn’t wheedle him into her fantastical bed, wouldn’t pout, sulk, or resort to hysterics. He was vastly relieved it was so.

  Also disappointed.

  ***

  “I wish somebody had told me earlier that friends make little girls sleep more soundly and attend their lessons more easily.” Ellie poured a cup of tea, passed it over to Minty, and then poured one for herself.

  Minty took a delicate sniff of her tea. “Since when are we having peppermint tea?”

  With blond hair and blue eyes, she was the picture of a genteel English lady. Ellie had often assured Minty that spectacles made her look distinguished, not simply bookish.

  “We’re drinking peppermint tea since Lord Amherst had a word with Mrs. Wright.” Ellie took a sip, though she’d never fancied peppermint tea—before. “He says it aids the digestion of women in a delicate condition.”

  “He’s considerate.” Minty addressed this comment to her own tea cup. “Andy likes him, and that says a lot.”

  “I like him.” Ellie put down her drink, appealing though it was. “I like him rather too much, and I fear the sentiment is not reciprocated.”

  “Which is why he’s lecturing your housekeeper, your stable help, your butler, and probably your broodmares, too. He’s a good man, Ellie, and you’re due for one of those.”

  “Hush, Araminthea Drawbaugh.” Ellie wished the subject would change itself, because all she wanted to talk about, all she could think about, was Trenton Lindsey. “Lord Amherst is kind, and he thought to repair my spirits. He’s certainly a responsible man, but I believe his late wife holds his heart.”

  Minty wrinkled her patrician nose. “Perhaps she does, but you’re here and she’s not, and his lordship is a flesh and blood man who apparently exercised his conjugal rights with a fair amount of enthusiasm, if the spacing of his children is any indication.”

  “You are indelicate, Minty. I despair of you.” Though Ellie had come to the same conclusion.

  “The first child showed up within a year of the marriage, right on schedule where there’s a title to deal with.” Minty abruptly looked abashed. “Forgive me.”

  Forgive her, because for five years, Ellie had been unable to present Dane with his heir.

  “No offense taken. I can count on my fingers the number of times Dane exercised his rights with me in the first year of our marriage. He said we were in no rush.”

  Minty delivered a scowl refined in many a schoolroom. “And you blamed yourself. Your husband bore responsibility for the title, too, Ellie. More than you did. He might have exerted himself more consistently in the direction of his own wife.”

  The longer Dane plied his celestial harp, the more Ellie was drawn to similar conclusions.

  “I should have been more like those young ladies I encountered at boarding school,” she said. “They fainted and faded and cried without getting their eyes all puffy, and the entire world hopped to do their bidding.”

  “A woman of that nature could not have survived Dane Hampton’s neglect.”

  Neglect. Minty was ever one for direct speech. Ellie treasured that about her, usually.

  Well, Ellie could be direct, too. “A more clever woman would have had such tantrums, shopping sprees, and flirtations that Dane wouldn’t have dared take his eyes off her.”

  “Is that what they’re teaching at fancy finishing schools these days?” Minty set her cup down, having drained the contents. “That explains a lot about the decline of our ruling class, doesn’t it?”

  “My papa attributed it to inbreeding. To me, all that vaporish carrying-on began to make a certain kind of sense.”

  “You’re tired,” Minty said kindly. “You’re expecting and you’re grieving, and this Lord Amherst has inspired you to brooding. Why not marry him, Ellie? He needs a mother for his children, and you need a papa for yours.”

  Perhaps because he hadn’t asked? Because he’d spoken only disparagingly and despairingly of marriage?

  In a backhanded way, Dane had given Ellie the gift of clear thinking in at least one regard.

  “Why not marry Lord Amherst, Minty? I’ll tell you why. He’s charming and conscientious and has many fine qualities, but I will never again be a man’s convenient comfort again, nor will I compete with a dead woman for top honors in his heart. Bad enough I competed with Dane’s horses, dogs, demi-reps, card games, and cronies.”

  Of those, the cronies had taken up nearly all of his attention, suggesting his casual regard for women hadn’t been limited to his wife.

  Worse yet, Ellie had chosen Dane from among a horde of eligible suitors. What that said about her and her judgment flattered nobody.

  On that lowering thought, she took herself to her pretty, cozy bed, and thought about names for her unborn child.

  ***

  “A caller for you, my lord.” Upton stood inside the door to Trent’s library, interrupting the third attempt at a letter to Darius.

  “Show him in.” Trent rolled his cuffs down, not exactly relieved to be spared his epistolary chores. Heathgate had come calling, or perhaps Hazlit, but that would be fast work for a man who’d left for Hampshire only three days ago.

  “Her,” Upton corrected him. “I put Lady Rammel in the family parlor, and there’s a tea tray on the way.”

  “I see.”

  Trent finished with his cuffs, weighing his options. He was overdue to call on her, but he’d spent the past three days digging out of the paperwork that had built up while he’d retrieved his children from Kent.

  And from before that, while he’d misbehaved with one Elegy Hampton, Lady Rammel. And from before that, when he’d plain misbehaved…

  He made his way through the house with a sense of foreboding.

  Female hysterics were the last thing he sought from life, but Ellie had every reason to treat him to a royal tantrum. He’d meant to call, meant to send her a note, meant to ride over and explain to her how it had to be, and now she was bearding him in his den. Fairness demanded she tear a strip off him.

  Upon entering the family parlor, Trent bowed over her hand formally. “A pleasure to see you, Lady Rammel.”

  She wasn’t supposed to return his call until the second half of full mourning, which was still weeks away, making her visit a breach of strict protocol.

  Not that protocol had in any way informed their dealings thus far.

  “You’re not sleeping well.” Ellie rose, and loosened the end of his cravat from beneath his lapel. “Oh, I’ve been so worried about you and apparently with reason. Are your children having difficulty settling in? Or is it this other business that troubles you?”

  Her blue eyes were luminous with concern, her touch welcome.

  The urge to kiss her was not welcome. “The heat has made sleep elusive. You’re looking well, my lady.”

  Heat, indeed. She was the source of the heat plaguing his nights, and she looked not merely well, but luscious.

  “I’ve been fretting on your behalf.” She gave him an oddly dear, peevish look. “While I swill peppermint tea and keep my feet up, you’re wearing yourself to a frazzle. Do I need to have a word with your cook?”

  “Heaven forfend,” Trent muttered, relieved when a maid came in with a tea tray.

  Ell
ie looked over the offerings and frowned. “Do you suppose,” she asked the maid, “we could prevail on the kitchen for a little of this and that? Some fruit and cheese, perhaps, or a muffin with preserves and butter?”

  “Surely, milady.” The maid curtsied and retreated.

  “Trenton Lindsey, you are peaked and you were not in the best form when you returned from Kent. Mr. Spencer said he’s been keeping an eye on you, but he’s only a man.” She gave Trent’s chest a brisk pat, part scold, part caress, all Ellie.

  Kiss her, kiss her, kiss—for God’s sake.

  “When did you have occasion to interrogate my stable master?” Heaven help him, Trent was waiting for her to repeat that caress to his chest.

  “I sent around for him to ride over with me. I was sure you wouldn’t want me paying a visit with only a groom as my escort. We took the lanes and a groom, and here I am, except I’m not at all sure I should be.”

  “Why is that?”

  Ellie wandered off to inspect some bit of cutwork that had been gathering dust since Old George’s day, while Trent resisted to compulsion to tackle her and drag her upstairs.

  “I doubt my welcome, my lord, because, while you might have read that manual on dalliances and flirtations, I certainly have not. Are we done?”

  “Done?”

  “With our…flirting, and so forth.” Ellie waved a hand in the air. “Sporting or whatever the polite but obvious term is. If we are, then you must tell me what rules apply. Perhaps when a man says he’ll call but doesn’t, one is supposed to divine his intentions?”

  He had said he’d call, and she was handing him the perfect opening for that speech about prudence, appearances, and fond memories.

  “I’ve missed you.” An understatement, albeit not a very helpful one. “I’ve let things here slip, and the children need me at hand if they’re to feel secure, and I’ve been meaning to talk to you, about…”

  About kissing, about how many bedrooms Crossbridge had, about putting his mouth on her—

  She sat and patted the place beside her on the sofa. “Go on.”