“‘I shall send for you if we require more.’ Bollocks.
“Problem was, Ineededso very much for this to be true; I had my own crisis with the riots.”
He stopped pacing and turned to her. “I have no idea why I’m telling you this. The end point is, I was neglectful and selfish. I took her at her word because I was ill-equipped to cope with the alternative.”
“You cannot force someone to return home if they do not wish it,” said Miss Trelayne.
“Beatings?” he asked, ignoring her. “Did Imogene say ‘beatings’?”
Miss Trelayne cleared her throat. “But how did they return to your... purview? If you’ve only now learned of their... situation, I assume it wasn’t you who retrieved them from the, er, temple?”
Ian shook his head. “They turned up on my doorstep in the summer, the three of them. Unannounced, no explanation. Timothea told me nothing except that she ‘felt it was best they return home.’
“Ivy has barely spoken,” he continued. “I’ve heard her voice more this morning than ever before.
“Imogene—” He shook his head. “Well, you see how she is. Defensive, cagey, the goal of every conversation is to provoke.”
In his mind’s eye, Ian saw the cold, wet huddle of Timmie and his two nieces, now so grown he barely recognized them, crowded on Avenelle’s stoop. Dressed in dour, sad clothes, their cheeks hollow, their possessions little more than a small basket shared between the three of them.
He swore and spun away, walking to the wall. He leaned his head against it, forehead to the cold plaster.
“I am to blame,” he said to the wall. “I should have gone to them after Tribble died. I was too involved with the disaster in my own life. There are no excuses.”
“But did the girls appear... unwell?” she asked. “When they returned to Avenelle?”
Ian rolled sideways, his back against the wall, facing her. “Who can say? They looked wild and unkempt. Their clothes were god-awful. I know bollocks about female attire, but even I could see this. Timothea has always preferred to burrow in her clothes more than wear them; there’s no accounting for the way she dresses. The girls looked underfed but they did not complain. That first night, I had Cook bring out everything in the larder, butthey barely ate. There was no crying or carrying on. They simply walked through the halls of Avenelle, gazing at ceilings and stairs as if they’d never before seen the inside of a manor house.”
“But how would you categorize their life before Lord Tribble died? Were they... comfortable?”
Ian shrugged. “He was a baron of some means. The house was not so grand as Avenelle, perhaps, but perfectly suitable. A country manor.”
“Have they no claim to this house?”
“A nephew inherited. The new baron invited my sister and the twins to remain, but she claimed she did not get on with the man.”
Slowly, mindlessly, he began a rhythmic tapping with the back of his head against the wall.
Miss Trelayne eyed him, her misty blue-green eyes enigmatic. How calm she seemed, standing there, asking logical questions. She rested a hand on the counter, like someone for whom a solution might be within reach, written on a recipe card, perhaps beneath the countertop. In his mind’s eye, he saw himself grabbing up her hand, pulling it to his chest, absorbing some unknown... proficiency from her.
Retaining her.
Do not go, do not go, please do not go.He couldn’t believe he’d doubted her just an hour ago.
“But do you believe that the girls were entirely sheltered when they resided on the grounds of this... church? No outside contact?” she asked.
“Your guess is as good as mine, honestly. They have steadfastly refused to discuss it. I’ve asked a thousand questions since their return. Only today have I learned even the slightest clue of their situation.”
“Right.Well, they claim to know how to... read and write. They are not illiterate.”
“God only knows.” He shoved from the wall and began prowling the room.
“I only brought them to London,” he explained, “becauseI was at my wit’s end. I knew they required . . .something, but I’d been unable to identify what. Timothea was no help, although she consented to the idea of a London Season. I thought perhaps a change of venue might do them good. I thought, what young lady does not relish the idea of new frocks and parties and dancing? I was grasping at straws.” He ran a hand through his hair.
“It was not a bad plan,” she ventured. “Anything could go wrong I suppose, but they do not seem opposed to the idea of a debut. Ivy is anxious but I shall work with her. Imogene pretends to be indifferent, but she is intrigued.”
Ian stopped walking. He turned to her. “You’ll stay? This means you’ll stay on.”
“I—Well, I was under the impression that I served at your discretion. The prince—”
