Tristan was unsure what to do. Ledger’s trunk could be a potential treasure trove of information about the man, and Tristan hated the thought of waiting for Ledger to reappear. But rifling through Ledger’s personal effects in search of clues felt like the height of betrayal, particularly if the man had merely washed his hands of the dukedom. Tristan would only stoop to opening the trunk if absolutely necessary.
The information that Ledger had a sister in Town was helpful. “Mrs. Wilson, could you inquire of the staff if anyone knows where Ledger’s sister resides? I wish to locate him and right this wrong. Perhaps he is lodging with her.”
“Of course, Your Grace. I shall do so immediately.” Mrs. Wilson bobbed a curtsy and took her leave.
Tristan stared at the closed door of his study, fingers drumming on his desk. His first impulse was to hire an investigator to look into Ledger’s disappearance, but even he knew that such an action was premature.
And yet . . . why did he feel such urgency with this issue? It was odd. Surely, Ledger was merely staying with some relative, licking his wounds and searching for new employment, content to leave his trunk here until he had a new home for it.
Regardless, Tristan would locate his former secretary and make what restitution he could. His conscience demanded no less.
9
The next day, Tristan found himself desperate to escape his house.
Escape! His own house!
When he arrived in the breakfast room, he discovered Cousin Aubrey already seated at the table—looking and acting as if he were the lord of the manor—one hand tipping a teacup for a loud slurp and the other holding Tristan’s copy ofThe Timesthat Fredericks religiously ironed every morning.
“Dreadful business with that cartoon yesterday, Your Grace,” Aubrey said with oblivious cheer. “Terribly shocking to see the duchess being accused of such a scandal.”
Truly, the man was a prize idiot.
Tristan merely stared him down with the piercingly cold look his ducal father had modeled. How was he to merge his Kendall and Tristan selves with imbeciles like his cousin breathing down his neck? Being haughty Kendall was the only way to deal with the Aubreys of the world.
After a moment, Aubrey’s bravado faltered. He looked away and set his teacup down with a clink. Tristan crossed and removed the newspaper from his cousin’s grasp with a sharp tug.
“As I will be in residence for several more weeks and I wish to enjoy a modicum of privacy and respect in my own home,” Tristan said in unnervingly quiet tones, “I request that you refrain from making even obliquely disparaging remarks about my duchess. They will not be tolerated under my own roof.”
Aubrey swallowed.
“Furthermore, if you wish a copy ofThe Times, you may purchase one from the seller on the corner or wait until my duchess and I are done with our copy. Am I clear?”
Aubrey swallowed. “Y-yes, Your Grace.”
“Goodness, such a stern demeanor so early, Your Grace,” a feminine voice said from the doorway.
Tristan turned and watched Lady Lavinia all but flounce across the room to sit beside her husband. A footman along the wall instantly moved to fill her teacup.
Gritting his teeth, Tristan sat at the head of the table, motioning for the footman to fill his cup with tea as well. He resisted the urge to request a finger of brandy to accompany it.
“Did Aubrey mention that dreadful cartoon we saw yesterday inThe Tattler?” The glee in Lady Lavinia’s voice utterly contradicted the seriousness of her words.
Tristan merely let the absurdity of her tone echo around the room as he speared her with the same look he had leveled at her husband.
Unfortunately, Lady Lavinia was made of sterner stuff and was therefore undeterred. “Mamma was horrified, as was Her Majesty. Truly, Your Grace, you have scarcely been in London for two days, and already the duchess has shocked London with—”
“Lady Lavinia,” Tristan cut her off with venomous bite, “before you say anything further, permit me to repeat what I just said to your husband—anyone who wishes to reside under my roof will refrain from making disparaging remarks about my duchess. Is that understood?”
The woman’s back straightened, her lips drawing down into a thin line. Of a surety, her meddling mother would hear of his sharp words and would use them to justify spitting more vitriol.
Tristan turned his gaze to Aubrey. “Additionally, I know you ransacked my personal papers—the ones housed in my private study—on more than one occasion. If I find that either of you—” Here he darted his gaze between Aubrey and Lady Lavinia. “—have been complicit in besmirching the character of my duchess, well . . .” He let his threat dangle off ellipses.
Silence crackled in the room.
Lady Lavinia wet her lips. “Well,what . . .Your Grace?”
A terrible astonished silence met her words, as if even the footmen standing at attention against the walls held their breath to see how Tristan would respond.
