Two days after his arrival in London and Adam’s feet had barely touched the ground.
So much to take in about this new life…none of which he had asked for or, if he was honest, much wanted. He’d spent much of his time with his solicitors, all of whom, so it appeared to Adam, subscribed to Dursley’s opinion that the earldom and the Kelridge estates would be far better off with Adam’s uncle, Grenville Trewin, at the helm. Not that they said it outright, of course. It was the subtext of what they said, under the guise of educating Adam about his new responsibilities…the sly insinuation that the estate was bound to deteriorate under new stewardship. More than ever he was determined to appoint new solicitors as soon as all the legalities around his return had been completed.
He’d received his summons from the House of Lords and had taken his seat yesterday, his skin prickling with the weight of so many stares even though, according to one speaker, attendance in the chamber was surprisingly thin. Adam sat there, watching and listening, feeling nothing like a lord. He did not belong in this world of the aristocracy where, although everyone was curious about him—where he had been, where his mother was, why he had not come forward until now—still he could sense the reserve of the people he met. He had always prided himself on getting along with any man, no matter his birth but…this was different. It was no longer simply a matter of polite interaction with these people. Now, he must, somehow, fit into this world. Their world.
He’d enjoyed the debate, in which he had not taken part as he knew next to nothing about the application of duties to imported timber. When he’d returned home, however, the thought had come into his head that he perfectly embodied that old saying, a fish out of water. His servants had resisted all his efforts to create a less formal relationship with them. It seemed they had their own peculiar pride and had no wish to serve a master who, in their opinion, crossed the line between upstairs and downstairs. They wanted a master they could take pride in serving…not one who tried to blur the boundaries between his world and theirs.
Adam belonged neither with the aristocracy nor with the servants and, during the night, he had decided to cut his losses with London and its strict hierarchy, and travel to Kelridge Place that morning.
Until Robert knocked on his door.
Robert, Earl of Fenton. How strange…unsettling, even…to realise the scruffy, grieving eleven-year-old lad who had dogged Adam’s footsteps during his stay at Fenton Hall was now a man. And another lord. How many were there in London? It seemed every person he met had some kind of a title within their family. And the remainder of the population seemed to exist simply to make the lives of this privileged elite easier. He’d known, of course, it was the case and that it was the way of the world, but never before had it been thrust in his face in quite such a blatant manner.
So now, Adam had an invitation to dine with Robert and his family that evening which meant he must delay his departure for his Hertfordshire estate. And this afternoon, rather than venture forth to sample the delights of the promenade hour in Hyde Park, where he would be subjected to even more stares and speculation, he opted to stay at home with a bottle of claret and…brood, Ma would call it. He huffed a laugh. She’d be right, too. He was brooding…all these changes—so many in so short a space of time—dominating his thoughts until he had little space left to think about anything else.
He jerked to attention as the door opened and Green entered the room to present him with a card.
‘Mr Bartholomew Trewin has called, my lord. Are you at home?’
Adam frowned at yet another example of the stiff formality he so disliked.
What if I was to say, no, I’m not at home? This house is not so vast that my cousin could fail to hear Green speak to me.
But he was curious to meet his cousin, and so he said, ‘Yes. I will see him, and please bring another glass and a fresh decanter, Green.’
His cousin had evidently been the one to inform Robert that the new Earl of Kelridge was the same person as Sir Angus McAvoy’s apprentice, who had stayed and worked at Fenton Hall fifteen years ago. As ever, the thought of that time sparked memories of Kitty. He’d discreetly enquired about her father, only to discover he’d died and the title and estate had been inherited by a distant cousin. Adam had been reluctant to include Kitty in his enquiry because they’d never officially met.
He stood up as a gentleman walked in through the door. Green glided across the room and set a fresh decanter and a second glass on the table next to Adam’s chair before silently leaving and closing the door behind him.
‘Mr Trewin?’ Adam bowed. ‘I am Adam, your cousin. Please, take a seat.’
His cousin bowed, then strolled across the room to take a chair near Adam, giving Adam the opportunity to study him. Thirty years of age, according to Robert, Bartholomew had until recently been a captain in the cavalry and was a veteran of the war against Napoleon and of Waterloo, that epic battle where the tyrant was vanquished at long last. He had a handsome, boyish cast to his face, if one ignored the livid scar that slashed diagonally from forehead to left cheekbone. His missing left eye was covered with a brown-leather patch and his light brown hair was carefully styled to conceal the upper part of the scar, but did nothing to hide the scar that puckered his cheek.
‘I’m pleased to meet you, Coz,’ Bartholomew said, his tone—as with so many in this world, Adam had discovered—a light, amused drawl. ‘Do call me Tolly. All my friends do. That is, if you care to be friends… Rob tells me you seem a decent sort and I trust his ability to read a man’s character.’
‘Tolly it is, then.’
Adam didn’t know Robert the man well enough yet to know if his judgement was truly sound, but he’d told Adam that Tolly was a good man and Adam was willing to believe it until proved otherwise.
‘Claret?’
‘Thought you’d never ask.’
Adam grinned and poured another glass of the rich red wine, handing it to his cousin.
‘Robert tells me ye served in the cavalry.’
Tolly grimaced, lifting his hand to his eyepatch. ‘I did. I got this at Waterloo. Best to get that out of the way from the start, otherwise it becomes the one thing nobody dares to mention and that’s enough to stifle many conversations.’
‘It must have been painful.’
Tolly shrugged. ‘It has its compensations. The ladies seem to love the piratical look…happy to soothe a fellow’s pain. They’re not called the caring sex for nothing, y’know.’
He raised his glass as though in a toast, then swigged the wine. Adam puzzled over that hint of sarcasm…almost as though Tolly were mocking himself. Then he caught up with his cousin’s purpose.
‘And in the spirit of getting awkward subjects out into the open…’ Adam favoured the straight approach, too ‘…how do ye feel about my reappearance after all this time? It would be natural if ye bore some resentment towards me.’
Tolly put his glass down and leant back in his chair. ‘I knew I’d like you. Rob said you were direct. And to answer your question, I am pleased you have returned. My old man—your Uncle Grenville—would die rather than admit it, but the burden of responsibility is beginning to weigh on him.’
‘He’s been running the estates since my father fell ill, so I understand.’
‘And before that! He resigned from the cavalry thirteen years ago, went home to Kelridge and took over. Your father, my Uncle Gerald, was never interested in the estate, or in dealing with business matters, and was happy to leave it all to my father.’
‘Why?’
At Tolly’s questioning look, Adam elaborated. ‘I mean, why was my father not interested in the estate? And why would your father be content to give up his independence and take on such responsibility?’
‘Near as I can fathom it, my uncle was too busy living the high life after your mother left and cared not if the estate went to rack and ruin as long as the rents came in and funded his pleasures. My father, on the other hand, adores Kelridge Place.’ Tolly shrugged. ‘It’s his family home…taking over meant he could live there after he left the cavalry and that he could run it in the way he saw fit. It suited them both.’
‘So…’ Adam frowned, thinking. ‘Your father…he is unlikely to welcome my return?’
Tolly’s eye narrowed. ‘It could prove a little awkward after all these years of him being in charge. He is a mite set in his ways and you may need to tread warily at first, until he gets used to you. But I still think your return is a blessing in disguise for him.’
‘Thank ye for the warning. What about…does your mother also live there?’
‘No. She died when I was seventeen. It’s just Father and me now.’
Tolly left soon afterwards, leaving Adam with plenty to think about until it was time to change for his dinner engagement at Robert’s house.
* * *
Some time later, Adam trod up the steps to the elegant town house belonging to Robert, Lord Fenton. The door swung open before he reached the top.
‘Lord Kelridge.’ And still he felt like an imposter saying that name.
The butler bowed. ‘Good evening, my lord.’ He clapped his hands and a maidservant hurried forward. ‘Allow me to take your hat and then please follow me.’
As the butler handed the hat to the maid, Adam took in the surroundings—the graceful open-string staircase, with its triple barley-twist balusters topped by a polished dark wood handrail that finished in an elegant spiral at the foot of the stairs. He then followed the butler upstairs to a pair of double doors, which he flung open.
Adam stepped past him and over the threshold into a spacious salon papered above the dado rail in a fashionable grey-green floral design wallpaper and crammed, it seemed, with people. He halted, striving to keep his expression blank. Robert had assured him that they would dine en famille, with one or two additional guests. This…this…was too much. Every muscle in his body tensed as a hush descended upon the room. Without exception, every single person was staring at him. Appraising him. Judging him. His mouth dried and his breathing quickened, causing his pulse to pound as he stared back at the pale, featureless mass of faces. Then a movement broke the moment and Robert emerged from within that mass, striding towards him with a smile on his face, allowing Adam the time to recover his composure, determined to conceal how uncomfortable he felt in his new situation.
‘Kelridge! Welcome, my friend. Come…’ Robert ushered Adam further into the room ‘…allow me first to introduce you to my stepmother, Lady Fenton, and my sister, Miss Charis Mayfield.’
Adam’s mouth stretched into a polite smile as his gaze skimmed over the two ladies. He bowed. ‘Delighted to make your acquaintance, ladies.’
Is that correct? Should I have said Lady Fenton and Miss Mayfield?
Neither lady appeared scornful or, worse, laughed at him, so he hoped he had not committed a faux pas in front of all these strangers. He breathed easier as the two ladies bobbed curtsies, Miss Mayfield—a pretty girl with greenish-hazel eyes and fair hair—eyeing him with unabashed interest while Lady Fenton lowered her eyelids and had yet to look directly at him. As she rose from her curtsy, however, the crescent of her thick, dark lashes lifted to reveal a pair of clear grey eyes and, as their gazes collided, recognition hit Adam with the force of a lightning bolt.
Kitty!
He had hoped they might meet, but he’d not expected it so soon. He’d even wondered if she might prove difficult to find without revealing their previous acquaintance. Deep inside him, a bud of pleasure unfurled, radiating happy contentment. But even as his lips began to curve in a smile, so he recognised the signs that Kitty did not share his joy at meeting again. There was the frosty directness of her stare. The tight line of her lips. The fine groove etched between her eyebrows—a groove that deepened by the second. The stubborn tilt of her chin—a familiar habit from fifteen years before.
Adam blanked his expression yet again, recalling the bad terms on which they had parted, realising that while he knew he had denied his love for her in order to protect her from a naive mistake, Kitty had not been privy to his reasoning. There was no chance for explanation, however. Not yet.
‘Welcome to our home, Lord Kelridge. I am pleased to meet you.’
Not by a flicker did Kitty reveal they were already very well acquainted and the spread of joy that had already stuttered to a halt now shrivelled and died.
Adam studied his hostess. Robert’s stepmother…but Robert was Lord Fenton, which made Kitty a widow.
No. Not a widow. The widow…of the Lord Fenton who had appointed Sir Angus to design and oversee the restoration of his fire-damaged house; the Lord Fenton who had lost his wife, the mother of his children, in that same fire. Robert’s father who—so Robert had informed Adam that very morning—had married unexpectedly within two weeks of Adam leaving Fenton Hall.
Two weeks! She swore undying love and claimed her heart was breaking, yet, within days, she accepted another man’s hand?
Adam’s head spun. Had she lied? She must have lied! If she’d truly loved him as she’d claimed, she could never have given herself to another man so soon. He had never quite recovered from his youthful love for Kitty—no other woman he had met had come anywhere close to banishing his memories of her—and yet she had forgotten all about him within two short weeks and married another man. And not just any other man, but Lord Fenton.
God, I’m such a fool! A stupid, blind, trusting fool!
Fenton must have been…what? At least forty years old at the time Adam had known him. Forty years to Kitty’s seventeen? Adam’s gut clenched. What the devil had possessed her to throw herself away on a man so much older than her, a man with four children already, to boot? No wonder she did not look happy to meet him again. He was no doubt an unwelcome reminder of her youthful infatuation and would be mortified should her stepchildren discover the truth of her behaviour.
Adam struggled to rise above his pain, vowing never to let her know for how long he had ached for her after his return to Edinburgh…not when she had moved on to another man without a second thought.
Lies! They all lied to me—Ma. Sir Angus. And now Kitty.
He reined in his anger and struggled to contain his sense of betrayal as he continued to study her.
She was still relatively young—only thirty-two—and she had matured into a fine woman indeed. Her pale yellow gown draped enticingly over a slender but lush figure—curvier and more womanly than he remembered. Unsurprising in view of her youth when they had last met. He wrenched his attention from her body to her face—the same face that had haunted his dreams for many months after his return to Edinburgh. It was older, but no less appealing: the plump smoothness of a young girl’s cheeks had given way to high, sculptured cheekbones; the rosy robustness to a more subtle creamy glow; the brief smile she afforded him was measured rather than eager to please—no sign now of the dimples he had adored—and the eyes that had been a window to her every thought and feeling were now guarded. The full pink lips were the same, as was the glossy mahogany-brown hair, but they were physical features—they did not reflect the person…the character…
She was a stranger now, that was the truth.
Who knows what has happened to her in the past fifteen years, or what sort of a woman she is now? And this… He cast a glance around the salon and its occupants. This is a new world to me…the haut ton…the aristocracy… Mother warned me how disapproving this world can be.
He would be wise to move through society with a cautious tread until he could better understand it and, if Kitty chose not to reveal their past acquaintance, then he would respect that wish.
‘I am honoured by your invitation, my lady.’
Another smile flickered over her lips and was gone. ‘Robert will introduce you to our other guests, sir’, and she turned away to greet the arrival of yet more guests.
Robert guided Adam towards the nearest of his fellow diners and the following half an hour became a jumble of names and a blur of faces, although he found his gaze drawn frequently to Kitty despite his best efforts to ignore her.
Robert assured Adam there were no more than four-and-twenty diners—all of them, evidently, Hertfordshire residents and, therefore, neighbours of Adam’s seat, Kelridge Place—but it seemed like twice that number. Some of the guests were cautiously friendly. Others appeared more suspicious. But every one of them was curious and they vied with one another to slip intrusive questions about Adam’s past into the conversation, as though trying to catch him out.
Just as he began to despair of ever reaching the end of the introductions, Robert gripped his elbow to turn him, whispering into his ear, ‘This is the last of them, I promise. I should warn you, though…she is the highest-ranking lady in our area of Hertfordshire and she expects to be treated according to her consequence. But she’s not a bad old trout.’ He raised his voice. ‘And this is the Marchioness of Datchworth. My lady…please allow me to present the Earl of Kelridge.’
The Marchioness had swept into the salon only moments before and Adam bowed for what felt like the hundredth time. The lady in question was around sixty years of age, with an upright posture and a sprightly, energetic step that surely rendered the slender cane she carried in her right hand superfluous. She was dressed in a peacock-blue gown and sported a turban of the same hue, trimmed with a fluttering white feather. In her left hand she held a white lace fan.
‘I knew your mother.’ The Marchioness pinned him with a piercing look from her sharp blue eyes. ‘Has she ever mentioned me? Araminta Todmorden? That was my maiden name.’
‘I’m afraid not.’
‘You are very Scottish-sounding.’ She continued to eye him suspiciously.
‘Aye. That is because I am Scottish.’
‘Do not be ridiculous! You are as English as I. You were born in Hertfordshire. I remember it very well.’
‘Aye…well…’ What the devil did the woman want him to say? ‘I—’
‘Lady Datchworth…’
A floral scent with a hint of citrus wreathed through Adam’s senses. He half-turned and there was Kitty at his elbow. The scent was unfamiliar…it did not conjure up the girl of his past. He must get used to it. That Kitty was gone…vanished into the mists of the past…and this lady, this stranger, occupied her space in the world. But he couldn’t deny she had matured into a very attractive woman—one who stirred his blood as effortlessly as the younger Kitty, despite the pain caused by that revelation of her speedy marriage to Fenton.
‘It is time to eat,’ Kitty said. ‘Will you take Fenton’s arm to lead the way to the dining room, ma’am?’
‘Not on this occasion.’ The Marchioness, although shorter than Kitty by a good three inches, still managed to look down her nose at her. ‘Kelridge will escort me. I expect him to be seated next to me. I have questions.’
Far from looking put out by Lady Datchworth’s edicts, Kitty bit back a smile as her eyes danced with amusement.
‘Of course, ma’am.’
The Marchioness snapped her fan closed and tapped Kitty upon the arm. ‘Do not imagine me blind to your insolence, young lady. You always were too opinionated for your own good. Young gels these days…full of new-fangled notions and opinions. It wasn’t the same in my day. Come, Kelridge. Let us proceed. I know my way, even if you do not.’
Adam slid a sideways look at Kitty, intercepting her glance at him. Her expression was as blank as he strived to make his own, leaving him at a loss as to how to she truly felt about them meeting again and about his change of circumstances.
He vowed to speak to her privately before the evening was out.