Eric only chuckled and shrugged, as though entirely powerless to intervene. The sight drew an involuntary smile from her—her first in days. And she could not help but notice, with a flicker of alarm, that the last time she had smiled so freely was when she had been in the Duke’s arms.
***
Tremaine House had declined over the years. Lucas remembered a time when it rivalled its neighbours in Mayfair, but now it stood a pale shadow of its former self. The paint about the windows was peeling, and the great front door—impressive once—was badly in need of replacement.
As the butler showed him inside, Lucas noted that, despite the faded portraits and worn furnishings, everything was immaculately clean and polished. Pride still lived here, even if fortune no longer did.
It angered him to see it.
Lord Trenton had once stood near the top of his world—respected in Parliament, influential in London society, his shipping enterprise among the most profitable in England. But since the accusations of corruption, he had been cast out of the House of Lords and shunned by his peers. Lucas had long understood, in theory, the damage such rumours could do; he had heard them repeated a hundred times at White’s. Yet seeing the consequences with his own eyes filled him with a quiet, bitter fury.
“Lady Trenton and Miss Tremaine will be with you shortly,” the butler said, drawing his attention from a portrait hanging in the foyer. “If you will follow me, Your Grace, I shall show you to the drawing room.”
Lucas inclined his head, though his gaze lingered for a heartbeat on the painting—a girl of perhaps ten, bright-eyed in a yellow gown, smiling as though the world were still kind.
The drawing room fared little better than the exterior. The wallpaper was faded, the furniture threadbare, but the air of the room was unmistakably homely—well-lived in and well-loved.
Left alone, Lucas wandered to the hearth. Above it hung a family portrait: the baron and his wife, much younger, with a laughing infant Elowen perched upon her mother’s lap. He found himself staring at the child’s open, eager expression—so different from the guarded composure she wore now—when a soft voice behind him made him start.
“Your Grace.”
Lucas whirled at the voice. Miss Tremaine was standing at the door, the faintest frown on her face. She held on to the doorknob as if she wasn’t certain if she should come all the way in or not.
“What are you doing?” she asked, her tone cautious.
For a moment, her words scarcely reached him. He knew he ought to answer—ought to stop staring at her like a fool—but his thoughts tangled hopelessly as he took in the sight before him.
She wore a gown of soft yellow, uncannily like the one in the portrait outside. Yet on her, the colour lent her an almost golden glow. The cut was a few Seasons out of fashion—he recognised that much from Catherine’s endless shopping excursions—but she carried it with such grace that no one could have thought it anything but elegant. Her hair was piled elegantly atop her head in a mass of auburn curls; she was a true sight for sore eyes.
Before he could speak, Lady Trenton swept in, saving him from his own silence.
“Elowen, why are you standing there like that?” she asked—then spotted Lucas and brightened at once. “Your Grace! Forgive me if I seemed discourteous.”
“Not at all, my lady,” he managed, forcing his voice to sound composed despite the thunder of his pulse. “You have a charming home.”
“Oh, you are far too kind,” Lady Trenton said, colouring slightly.
“I assure you, I speak only the truth.”
Elowen said nothing, but he could feel her gaze fixed on him, watchful, unreadable.
Lady Trenton, however, beamed. “Elowen, dear, you have not yet greeted our guest.”
At once, the wariness vanished behind the practised mask of polite civility. She stepped forward and curtsied. “Good day, Your Grace.”
“Good day, Miss Tremaine.”
She hesitated. “Will Miss Beaumont and Lord Westbrook be joining us at the museum?”
“Ah.” He saw the flicker of suspicion return to her eyes before he even spoke. “I’m afraid not. It will be only us this afternoon.”
Her gaze sharpened. “And why is that?”
“Catherine and Henry found themselves otherwise engaged,” he replied evenly. “And my mother was unable to attend.”
“How... odd.”
And byodd, she clearly meantsuspicious. Lucas couldn’t blame her. He’d had to convince Catherine not to come with them this afternoon and, after much bribing and promises to explain himself later, he’d succeeded. His mother, on the other hand, had been far too pleased to let him go, interpreting his invitation as a promising sign of interest in the baron’s daughter. He was not certain what he would tell her upon his return.
