He rolled back his shoulders and tried to drain the tension from his throat.
He missed her.
What he wouldn’t give to be at home even now. If it were not for his friendship with Barton and the terrible consequences for the man’s family if Edward did not come to help, he might turn around even now.
Without realizing it, his mind had begun replaying their moment in the music room the morning he left. He rested his head back against the seat, a grin playing on his lips. After that farewell, he had hope he would be well-received when he returned. Perhaps they could finally build the marriage he wanted. He was beginning to suspect Amelia wanted it as well.
He simply had to complete this ill-fated journey and return to her.
Unfortunately, Miss Brooks had not been the only dark spot in his travels, which made being far from Amelia even worse. A horse had thrown a shoe, and many posting houses had no horses available. A footman had become violently ill just that morning.
The carriage hit a dip, and he bounced slightly in his seat, scowling further.
The roads along this stretch were abhorrent. Whoever had charge over this county was unforgivably derelict in his duties.
The carriage jolted to a stop not a moment too soon.
The groom opened the door. Edward stepped out.
And froze.
Every selfish thought regarding his anger at the roads, his longing to return to Amelia, and the frustrations with Miss Brooks fled as he took in the dilapidated building before him.
Blast.
His eyes raked over the poor patching job on the roof, the uneven walk to the door, the way the door hung slightly crooked, and the one shutter that had fallen off. This could not be Barton’s family home. It was not possible.
The door opened with a scuffing sound as it pushed against the packed dirt of the outside. Barton’s face and then body appeared from behind it. Edward’s happiness at seeing his friend was doused by the circumstances of the meeting.
He shook himself.
“Barton!”
“My lord?” His valet’s face showed concern. “Why are you here? Is something the matter?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact.” Edward’s eyes flicked over the pathetic building again. He lowered his voice as he reached Barton. “This cannot be your mother’s home.”
Barton’s shoulders tensed. “It is, my lord. I apologize, but we did not know you were coming, or we might have prepared refreshment. I shall have my sister see to it.”
“You know ruddy well I don’t care about all that. Barton, why has no one seen to your mother’s house? Whose duty is it?”
A muscle in Barton’s jaw tensed. “This is Mr. Kenworthy’s land. He has not cared to keep up any of the widows’ cottages since their husbands died. They pay their rents, and another tenant farms the land, but I suppose since they are no longer really benefiting him, he does not have it in his heart to see to their lives. I have done what I can since arriving.” He spoke stiffly but with a level of resignation. “But why are you here, my lord? Did you not receive my letter?”
“I am here to help, Barton. Starting with accomplishing the repairs to your mother’s house. Is there a competent carpenter about? We should hire one without delay. Oh, and you should know I’ve married.”
Barton sputtered.
Edward laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. “My response too, my friend. I’ll tell you the whole of it later.”
“Begging your pardon, my lord, but you could tell me just now.”
Edward considered—in the end, his desire to share of Amelia with his one true friend determined that half a minute’s delay would not be terrible. “Well then. I’ve married the Duke of Stafford’s youngest daughter. She is exquisite in every way but, unfortunately, not nearly as thrilled with the marriage as I. I am wearing her down though. In fact, I’ve made a fair bit of headway.”
Barton opened his mouth to respond.
“Ho there!”
Edward and Barton turned to see a gentleman approaching on horseback. A sideways glance at Barton’s suddenly tense features told Edward all he needed to know about the man. Judging by his appearance—his windswept hair that was plainly the result of pomade and not wind, his close-cut jacket, and his superior expression—he must be Mr. Kenworthy.
