“A package for Lord Hugstead from Mrs. Dove-Lyon.”
The man blanched. “His lordship is not receiving visitors at the moment. I will take it.”
“No, you won’t. My instructions are to deliver it to Lord Hugstead personally to ensure it reaches him.”
Now seeing Tristan as a delivery boy, the secretary’s demeaner changed. “That is not possible.”
“Make it possible.”
“Sir, who are you to make demands of me?”
“I’m Mr. Chase, Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s personal courier.”
He sat back in his chair as if wanting to put more space between them. “Mr. Chase?”
“Indeed. I can wait right here with you if you’d like, until his lordship is free. But one way or another, I will deliver this package to him. What is your name, lad?”
He swallowed. “Mr. Banks, sir. I just remembered that Lord Hugstead is free right atthismoment to receive you but will soon be in a meeting.”
“Excellent. I know the way, Banks.” Tristan sent him a wink as he strode away. He wasn’t sure exactly what people found so threatening about him. It wasn’t as if he was a violent person. Not all the time, at least, and only when the situation warranted. But somehow, he’dcultivated a reputation weaker men feared. Perhaps it was all the black he wore? He started climbing the main stair up to the first floor. It didn’t matter of course. Once he cleared Colin’s debt, he’d leave England for good, collect his siblings, and go home to Lark Hall.
Home.
Where would Flick be?
Not with him, and that hurt more than he wanted it to. Knowing the pain that was eventually coming did not lessen it. He had a feeling there would be no preparation, no bracing for the impact, when the day finally came, and another man took Flick as his wife. It would hurt, like buckshot to the gut. Fatal even, to his cold, lonely heart.
Tristan was in a black mood by the time he reached Lord Hugstead’s door and knocked. He didn’t wait for the summons to enter. He turned the handle and pushed the door wide. He’d interrupted an important conversation, or so he guessed. Though lords always assumed everything they did was important.
“Mr. Chase, a pleasure.” Lord Hugstead stood, but sat with a resigned sigh as Tristan strode toward the desk.
Tristan nodded in acknowledgement. Hugstead was a good man who’d served in the military as an officer. They weren’t stationed together in Dover, but they had crossed paths more than a few times. Tristan suspected Hugstead might be working for Mrs. Dove-Lyon in the same capacity as Tristan was, able to reach the places in higher society that Tristan could not. Did that mean he was indebted to her, too?
“From Mrs. Dove-Lyon.” He set the box on the desk.
“What is it?” Hugstead asked.
“Feck if I know. Did you anger her, or have you been a good boy? That usually determines what’s in the box.”
“How dare you speak to your betters so disrespectfully?”
Tristan turned his back to the desk to face the man in the chair who had spoken.
“Mr. Chase, you know Lord Meed, I think?” Lord Hugstead said.
“I knowwhathe is,” Tristan returned.
“The nerve of a dog like you talking to a peer who happens to own your—”
“Mrs. Dove-Lyon is still holding the deed,” Tristan returned.
“Not for long.”
“Gentlemen,” Lord Hugstead said in exasperation.
“He’s no gentleman,” Lord Meed spat.
“He is born of landed gentry, Meed, therefore he is. Not that he wishes to act like it.”
