Page 27

He had not, of course. But the thought of her had lingered, driving through his mind all through the night until sleep took him, and tarrying there still this morning, even at the solicitors’.

Footsteps in the hall brought him to attention. He cleared his throat, and after a brief knock the butler stepped in.

“Lady Manion and Miss Trent, my lord.”

Julian bowed as both ladies entered, a smile coming readily to his face. “Lady Manion, Miss Trent. Good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon, Lord Carrington.” Lady Manion spoke first, composed, her hands clasped lightly before her. “I hope all has gone as you expected?”

“It has.” But while he answered the sister, he looked to Miss Trent, who held all his attention. She wore a gown of light green that seemed to deepen the color of her hair and eyes, her cheeks flushed from the warm drive.

“You had the solicitor’s leave, then?” she asked. “And the papers are here?”

He stepped aside, showing her the table behind him. “As you see. I have untied every ribbon, but I have read none of them. This is everything they hold that makes mention of my family or yours.” They had reasoned that the anonymous letters must come from someone connected to him who wished him to have the house, and so they would search both his family’s ties to Lady Warrington and Miss Trent’s. Julian expected far more of his own mother and father in these pages, but it could not be helped.

Lady Manion seated herself. “I confess I understand little of legal papers, but I shall help as I can.”

“I thank you.” He handed her a small stack. “If you would look through these, I shall take another few, and Miss Trent, if you would as well?”

“I do hope you will not suffer for this,” Miss Trent said, a little doubtful as she took her share. “The executors truly have no objection?”

Julian hid a smile. “Mr. Braithwaite objected for a full quarter of an hour, and then allowed that the estate’s interest and my own are, in this matter, one and the same.” The lopsided smile he gave her put a flicker of humor into her eyes. “It is not the usual practice, I admit. But then, Lady Warrington’s will was not quite as expected either, was it?”

She laughed, the first time he had ever heard her do so, and the sound made him smile so broadly it felt as if his heart had been lifted clean out of his chest. He paused, the papers in his hands, and let himself rest a moment in the joy of it. Miss Trent did not look away. She held his gaze, and the shared smile between them brought him a fresh swell of feeling.

“Come now, Viola.” Lady Manion’s voice broke the moment like a dropped ornament. “Sit here beside me, and let us look through these. I would far rather we found the truth before another of those letters arrives. They have been most distressing.”

Julian cleared his throat, feeling like a schoolboy caught out by his master. “Yes. Quite.” He saw Miss Trent seated, rang for a tea tray, and took his own chair.

Some of the papers were a great deal older than others. The first held only columns of figures — small sums, his father’s name set down here and there among the entries, which were kept in a second hand that was not Lady Warrington’s. Julian thought little of them. He noticed, and thought nothing of it, that the second hand had signed in one corner — Pendleton — and supposed his cousin had done some quiet work of business for her across the years, as a solicitor in the family naturally might. He set the sheet aside and read on. The tea came in, Lady Manion offering to pour. He murmured his thanks, turning each fragile sheet with care. When he glanced at Miss Trent, he could see the concentration in her — the knot of her brows, the steadiness of her gaze, the faint tightness at her mouth.

Once, they reached for the same paper. Her fingers came down upon one corner of it in the same instant his took the other, and for a moment neither of them let go — a foolish small tug-of-war over a forty-year-old receipt for candles, of all things — and then both released it at once, so that it drifted back to the table, and Miss Trent pressed her lips together against a smile and did not look at him. Julian bent his head over his own stack and read the same line three times without taking in a word of it.

There was a pleasantness in it he had not expected — the shared table, the rustle of old paper, her sleeve an inch from his when she leaned to pass him a sheet. He had imagined, when he imagined marriage at all, the great occasions: the ball, the wedding breakfast, the heir. He had never once thought to imagine this — a quiet room, a common task, a person whose nearness made the work better rather than worse. And now he could imagine nothing else.

On they read, the silence broken only by china set down in saucers. There was nothing.

“I see nothing here.” Miss Trent sighed, set down her pile, and rose to take up the last few. “Perhaps there is nothing of use to find.”

“Do not be downhearted,” Lady Manion said gently, before Julian could speak. “Even if we find nothing, you will at least know you searched to the very best of your ability.”

“Very true.” Julian shared an appreciative look with her. “And reason enough to go on. There are only a few left now.”

The quiet returned, but altered, thickening with a tension Julian could not ease even in his own chest. If they found nothing at all, that would be a disappointment past any encouragement, and he would not know where next to turn. He tugged a finger at his collar.

Miss Trent caught a sharp breath.

Julian’s gaze flew to her, his heart slamming against his ribs as she stared at the paper in her hand. Neither he nor Lady Manion moved.

“I — I do not know how this came to be among them,” she said softly, still staring. “It must be a mistake, for the papers either side speak of investments and the like, and here, in the midst of them, is this.” She lifted her eyes to his, then dropped them, reading swiftly. “It is in Lady Warrington’s hand.”

“And it mentions your father?” Julian asked.

Miss Trent pressed her lips flat, then looked up. “No,” she said, very quietly. “It mentions yours.”

The room seemed to shrink. Julian’s breath drew in and would not leave him. Lady Manion rose in a swish of skirts, with a brief smile.

“If you will excuse me a few minutes,” she said, offering no explanation. “This is plainly a private affair, and I have no need to hear it.”