“Lord Tramel, you’re young at heart. You must let me paint you.”
He folded his hands and sat in a noble pose. His waistcoat was onyx in color. The revers cut into his jacket were smart as were his dark breeches. He wasn’t styled like an old man. I wondered how old he was.
“I should take you in my carriage back to London immediately. I know your heart is breaking. There must be something I can do for you. Yet, I’m enjoying listening to you and watching you paint. It’s a pleasure I’ve come to love. But you belong with your family, your close family.”
An errant tear fell and ran the length of my cheek. “Only you have known what I want. Why is it the man I married doesn’t? Sorry, I shouldn’t speak of this but I shall burst.”
“You tell me everything. I’m at your leisure.”
If I closed my eyes, the way he said that, I could imagine him to be Felton.
A new feeling of disappointment shook me. The duke was more attentive than my husband. “My marriage is the saddest of all my adventures. I deserved better.”
The glint in Tramel’s eyes warmed me. It said he understood and agreed. Nonetheless, I had to be careful. A broken heart could heal up wrong.
He shifted his feet and set his bronze-tipped cane to the side. “We haven’t discussed the information my informants discovered. What Gladstone said in London was true. He enslaved his wife, your sister.”
My face had to be a bowl of water, with the liquid spilling over. I couldn’t believe the fool taunting me in my husband’s house. Jeremiah Gladstone, Felton’s cousin, sold Helena to a plantation. “How could he do such? And how do I save her now? The blockades which kept her from me—”
I smelled cedar and lilies when Tramel took me in his arms. His footfalls were silent. No noise to addle me.
His embrace had more strength than I imagined. And his cane, was that not on his chair?
“Let it all out, my dear. Then I will make things better. I promise.”
With my head to his chest, I cried like a babe. “My sister, my freeborn sister . . . entangled by the fiend . . . dealt with so cruelly. I don’t even know if she is alive.”
His hand caressed the tension in my neck. Then his thumb flicked away my tears. “We must hope that she is. Once my contacts discover where she was sold and where she now resides. With all the blockades, interisland transport of slaves is high. I’ll send you there via my connections. You’ll save Helena and bring her here to me. I’ll rebuild your family. I know that’s what you want above everything.”
His gazed burned, very blue-black and shimmering of fire. Like Felton, I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but I believed the duke. “How do I thank you?”
“Your friendship and smile are enough. I’ll remain your friend even when my son seeks to end this marriage.”
I pulled away and turned to my canvas. An unexpected sharp ache stabbed at my chest. “That would be the normal course for a wife who ran away. Thank you, for your care.”
Tramel put his arms about me again. “Let’s focus on your sister. We save her, then we save you.”
My friend went back to his chair. This time I heard his footfalls and his sigh as he lowered into the seat. “Gantry may come to his senses. If I were him, I would fight for your love. Alas, I’m not. So, I will merely make your dreams come true. Perhaps seeing you happy at last will make amends between father and son.”
Rolling my brush between my fingers, I studied Tramel, trying to decide how best to capture his spirit on my canvas. A comforting silence filled the room and I stared at the openness of Tramel’s hand and the strength I imagined as he folded his fingers about the cane.
Gratitude for him should overflow into this painting. It should be my best. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
His smile lit the room.
The duke cared about my heart and would help me save my sister. Nothing else mattered.
CHAPTER16
FELTON—CLEANINGHOUSE
December 26, 1813
The Mayfair house with its candles and bits of fir branches bracketing the windows made it seem as if Felton’s town residence was abuzz with Yuletide gaiety. That was the outside, which spoke nothing of the loneliness and gloom behind the glass.
Perhaps he should’ve taken the girls to Warwick. It was beautiful in winter with the thick woods, but the dread of Tramel’s gloating and the hope that Cecilia would return for Christmas kept him in Town.
“Papa, the windows look lovely.”
