But his day was not over yet, because Lucy was correct; he should have visited Trudy by now. He swallowed down the liquor and carefully closed the cabinet. There was no more time for wallowing at the bottom of the bottle. He’d done enough of that in the last year. Dulling his emotions along with his physical pain. Now, he wanted to feel every piece of that pain. He would channel all of it to finding the man who had killed his family. Hart crossed to the bell pull.
Moments later, Townson opened the door. Tall and thin as a rail, the butler had not a hair on his head except for two dark, bushy eyebrows. In Hart’s opinion, Townson’s ability to put people in their place with one disdainful look down his long, hawklike nose was the man’s best attribute. Townson had kept everyone at bay for the past year when Hart simply hadn’t the mental strength to face the pity in the eyes of his family and friends. His butler had been his frontline defense… except for today. Hart briefly wondered how Lucy had made it past the man.
Townson raised an eyebrow in question. “You rang?”
“Have Mr. Langford come see me this afternoon at two and have the carriage ready at three.”
“The town coach or the phaeton?”
“The coach. I am going to see my aunt.”
A brief gleam of satisfaction flared in the man’s eyes. “Very well, sir.”
Hart had a sinking feeling that Townson had decided his time in exile was up.
Hart straightened his shoulders. “And bring me my correspondence kit. I have some letters to write.”
*
The hustle andbustle of the city was much the same as it had always been. Hart stared out the window of the town coach as it made its way to Portman Square, where Trudy and Lucy lived. Perhaps it was him that had changed because everything felt so foreign. The noise grated his ears, and had women’s hats grown in size this season? As the ladies of Mayfair promenaded down the street, it seemed to him that their wide-brimmed hats laden with flowers and ribbons were particularly ridiculous.
He smoothed a hand over his hair, which his valet trimmed this afternoon. It was still long enough to swoop over his right eye and cheekbone if he let it fall forward but shorter in the back, so he didn’t so much resemble a shaggy dog anymore. His great aunt would be brutally assessing and not mind giving her opinion on his deportment. She had been telling the dukes of Hartwick what’s what for three generations. The coach pulled to a stop in front of Trudy’s charming townhome. The gleaming whitewashed front of the house was interrupted by a bright yellow front door. Two marble columns flanked the steps to the entrance, and bright colorful flowers spilled from the window boxes.
He slapped his hat on his head and made his way up to the door. It opened as he arrived in front of it, and he was ushered in by Trudy’s butler.
“Good afternoon, Your Grace.” The man held out his hand for his hat and accessories.
“I’ll just keep this.” Hart gripped the smooth brass head of his walking stick.
The butler nodded. “Lady Weatherby is expecting you in the Rose Room.”
“Thank you.” He followed the man up the stairs and to the right down a richly carpeted hallway papered in a soothing blue damask. Hart let out a long breath. He was safe here in Trudy’s home. The quiet sumptuousness of her house soothed his nerves, which had been jangled ever since he forced himself to leave the house today. They walked all the way to the back of the house. The last door on the left was his aunt’s personal sanctuary. She sat by the window, her embroidery hoop in her lap.
“You’ve finally come to see me.”
“Good afternoon, Aunt Trudy.” Hart gave a deep bow. “I apologize for my tardiness in visiting.”
Trudy’s sharp eyes raked over him from top to bottom. He resisted the urge to fidget. “I suppose I’m too pleased to see you looking so well to be angry. Come sit.” She turned to the butler, who still hovered by the door. “Have the tea cart sent in.”
Hart sat across from her. “You are also looking well, Trudy. How is your health?”
“Just fine, young man. How is yours? Still drinking yourself into a stupor every day? Wandering the halls of Belstoke Manor at night like a ghost?”
Hart blinked at her, his shock muting his tongue.
“Did you think I wouldn’t keep tabs on one of my only remaining relatives? My favorite nephew?”
“Who has been—never mind. No, I am no longer drinking and haunting the manor.”
“So, you have emerged. Tell me, what has brought you to town?”
“Some business matters,” he replied.
“Typical. The appropriate response would have been to repair relationships with important people in your life, but I guess that would be asking too much of a man. Go on and ask me what you came to. Let us get business matters out of the way first.”
How did she know he planned to steer the conversation toward his father’s associates? He planned to be subtle, but Trudy was, as ever, too shrewd. “Aunt, do you know what this is?” He pulled out the small wax seal stamp from his pocket and handed it to Trudy. “I found it in Father’s desk among his correspondence. This symbol was stamped on the pages of a letter sent to him as well.”
Trudy peered carefully at the carved seal. She shook her head. “Something about it is familiar, but I cannot put my finger on where I have seen this symbol before.” She looked up and met his gaze. “Why do you ask?”
