“Out with it, Frederick,” Lucas sighed, facing him once more.
“You asked me to report any movement within the Tremaine household,” he said begrudgingly. “Frankly, it feels rather beyond a solicitor’s duties.”
At the mention of the Tremaines, Lucas’s pulse gave an involuntary lurch. He could not think of that name without picturing Elowen—the fire in her eyes, the sharpness of her wit, the guarded way she held herself. They had parted ways two days ago, but the memory of her lingered like a splinter under his skin.
He had half a mind to call upon her again. Only, he didn’t yet know what he would say.
Good day, Miss Tremaine. I hope you are having a wonderful afternoon. What did you say your favourite flower was?
“Well?” he prompted, noticing Frederick’s reluctance.
“The son has returned home,” the solicitor muttered.
“William?” Lucas’s tension eased. For a moment, he had imagined an endless parade of suitors calling at Tremaine House, each vying for Elowen’s attention.
“If that is his name, yes. He returned yesterday from Oxford.”
“This is good news, Frederick,” Lucas said with a grin. “William is currently undergoing his studies at Oxford in order to succeed his father. I cannot say what has drawn him back so suddenly, but his return may prove… useful.”
Frederick frowned. “Useful, Your Grace? In what respect?”
“The baron’s scandal and my father’s death are not isolated events,” Lucas said quietly. “They are strands of the same design. Lord Trenton may know it, but his health leaves him unable to pursue the matter. His son, however, is young—and perhaps less easily deterred.”
Frederick sighed. “I suppose Your Grace must know best. I cannot begin to fathom what you intend.”
Lucas arched a brow. “Is that sarcasm I hear, Frederick?”
“I am never sarcastic, Your Grace,” Frederick said solemnly.
That, he believed.
“In any case,” the solicitor went on, standing with a rustle of papers, “I must be off.”
“Allow me to escort you,” Lucas said, rising. “It would be most cruel to subject you to a second assault from my cousin.”
Lucas chuckled when Frederick visibly shuddered at that. “That would be greatly appreciated, Your Grace.”
As luck would have it, they reached the front hall without incident. Frederick departed hastily, glancing over his shoulder as though expecting Catherine to materialise from the shadows.
Once alone again, Lucas returned to his study—but not to the desk. The work awaiting him there could wait a while longer. He poured himself another drink and sat, thoughts churning.
Despite everything Frederick had reported, his mind returned—again and again—to Elowen Tremaine.
There had been no mention of her today, yet she lingered at the edges of his thoughts, a quiet, stubborn presence he could not shake.
He wondered what she was doing that very moment.
Whether she ever thought of him.
Whether things might have been different had her father’s ruin never come to pass.
He took another slow sip of brandy, his jaw tightening.
The only thing that kept him from seeking her out was knowing that he would see her tomorrow at Lady Westbrook’s dinner. He had been the one to suggest the idea to Henry—and had ensured that the Tremaines were included among the guests. He would see her then. Until that time, he would do his best not to think of her.
***
Westbrook House was aglow with candlelight, a golden beacon along the darker streets at the outskirts of London. Few among thetonchose to keep their principal residences here, but the Westbrooks had ever been known as fashionable outliers.
