“No,” Wren admitted.
Tolhurst chortled. “That’s what I like about you, Mr Lofthouse. Brief and to the point. I’m certain you must share some of my feelings on the matter. You, who have managed the trust since the day Felix inherited all. The sheer wealth he came into. And how he has squandered it. On drink, on dissolute friends, gambling, the company of unfortunate women—there is no vice left unexplored. Well,” he added with a wry smile, “save yours.”
Wren clenched his jaw to keep his silence.
“But unlike Felix,” Tolhurst continued, “you need not let your vice destroy you.”
Wren did not see fit to tell him it already had.
“If you are here,” said Tolhurst, “rather than out in pursuit of Miss Fairfield, I must conclude you are either extraordinarily negligent in your service to Mr Grigsby, or that you have enjoyed more success than myself in your search for her.”
Wren, startled by the shift in subject from Felix to Miss Flora—or rather, Daniel—caught his prepared speech on his tongue. Which was something of a feat, given that his prepared speech explained not only how much of Felix’s fortune remained and how Mr Grigsby would manage it in his absence, but also how the trust, upon Felix attaining his majority, would doubtless be claimed by his remaining creditors, unless Felix himself called upon Mr Grigsby to attempt have the debts declared void on account of his youth. This, and how, for the purpose of inheritance, the courts would presume Felix alive and able to reclaim his trust at any moment—until seven years had passed, at which point Tolhurst might petition the courts to declare Felix dead and, as his nearest living relative, inherit all. Not that there would be much left to inherit after the money-lenders claimed their due.
“When I ponder the many terrible fates that may befall a young lady alone in the world separated from her guardians…” Tolhurst shook his head. “Where did you find her? Or perhaps I should ask, where have you put her for safe-keeping?”
To this, Wren could give but one answer. “I’m afraid I’ve given my word that I will not reveal her whereabouts. It must be enough for you to know that she is beyond harm.”
Tolhurst’s smile faded. “No, Mr Lofthouse, I’m afraid it is not enough. I must ask a great deal more of you.”
Wren spared a glance for his manuscripts on the desk before meeting Tolhurst’s gaze again. In a dry tone, he replied, “I admit you’ve assumed a position of significant advantage in our negotiations. What would you have of me?”
“You’re a practical man, Mr Lofthouse, despite your artistic endeavours. You must understand my concerns in this regard. Though you’ve sworn yourself to secrecy, and it speaks well of your character that you wish to keep your word, surely you feel no such compunction towards a mere slip of a girl who has no idea of her own best interest? You see how it would be better to entrust the knowledge of her present location to a steady and forthright man of the world.”
“Such as yourself, I presume you mean,” said Wren.
Tolhurst smiled. “If I may flatter myself so far, yes.”
“As a steady and forthright man of the world, would you then tear Miss Fairfield away from what happiness and security she has found for herself?”
Tolhurst’s smile faded. “Her greatest hope of happiness and security lies with me.”
Wren sincerely doubted it.
Tolhurst didn’t require Wren’s commentary to continue his speech. “You have managed Miss Fairfield’s fortune ever since you came into Mr Grigsby’s service, but you never met her before last year. You cannot hope to know her as I do. From the very moment she first entered Mrs Bailiwick’s Academy, at the tender age of eleven, an orphan all alone in the world and bereft of protection. To watch her sweet innocence bud into the fragrant blooms of womanhood. If you had known her as I have known her—guiding her growth as the trellis guides the rose—even a man of your own predilections could not fail to love her.”
Wren had assisted Mr Grigsby in choosing which finishing school would bring up his ward. They’d settled on Mrs Bailiwick’s Academy not only for its sterling reputation of respectability in churning out fine young ladies but also because Tolhurst had taken the position of music and dancing master. Mr Grigsby had assumed Tolhurst would prove as much an uncle to his nephew’s betrothed as to his nephew himself. Wren’s guts twisted to think how Tolhurst had betrayed what ought to have been his familial love for his future in-law. Small wonder Daniel had felt loath to trust Wren. Wren had thrown him into the very den of lions he sought to escape.
“And when Mr Knoll returns?” Wren asked—though he knew no such thing could occur, and it seemed Tolhurst knew it, too. Still, if Felix’s engagement had kept Tolhurst at bay for all these years, then perhaps the reminder of it would recall him to reason now. Or at least convince him to abandon his pursuit long enough for Daniel to evade his grasp. “What then?”
As if to confirm Wren’s suspicions, Tolhurst replied, “I do not anticipate my nephew intruding on Miss Fairfield’s happiness after she has become Mrs John Tolhurst.”
“While Mr Knoll has flown his creditors,” Wren said, forcing himself to speak as if he believed it, “he must intend to return when he has gained the means to deal with them. And when he does, surely he will wish to return to his betrothed, as well. I cannot imagine him well pleased if he returns to find she is wed to his uncle. Such an occurrence must make life very difficult for her, no matter her husband.”
Tolhurst appeared in no way moved by this argument. “I assure you, my nephew has quite given up Miss Fairfield.”
Wren weighed his words with careful consideration. “If I may be so bold as to ask, sir, how is it you can feel so certain of your absent nephew’s intentions?”
Tolhurst regarded him for a moment. Then, to Wren’s astonishment, he raised his hands to his cravat, untying it and unbuttoning his shirt to dip his hand under his own collar. From beneath his shirt-front Tolhurst withdrew a chain, from which dangled a minuscule object.
“He relinquished this,” Tolhurst said as he drew the chain over his head and held the item out for Wren’s inspection with as much reverence as a bishop would show the relic of a saint. “Prior to his departure. You cannot believe he would do so if he ever meant to return for her.”
Wren stared at the painted miniature of a blonde, blue-eyed, sweetly smiling young lady. It bore every resemblance to Miss Flora, and none to Daniel, which rendered it unnerving to Wren’s eye. Yet he recalled it as the one which Felix had carried with him ever since its commission in his first year at university. The warmth of Tolhurst’s flesh suffused it still.
“He gave it into my care,” Tolhurst continued as Wren regarded the miniature in disbelieving silence.
“And the lady as well?” Wren managed despite the sudden dryness in his mouth.
Tolhurst gave him a speaking look, though Wren couldn’t fathom what it meant to impart.
