“Trent, stop it. You’re a younger son. I know we’ll always be comfortable, but I can’t expect you to be able to live like your brother.”
Trent tilted his head back. “No, not like my brother. But probably similarly to your father.”
Adelaide sat upright and twisted in the bed to stare at him. There was no way that he was as rich as her titled father. He was a younger son whose brother had already inherited. “It’s not necessary to go into debt to impress me, you know.”
Trent laughed and pulled her back into his arms. “My father left me a generous sum, and Colin’s been managing that for years, even before I knew he was managing it. Interfering brothers are sometimes beneficial.”
“Oh.” Adelaide went back to tracing designs across Trent’s chest, wondering if she dared ask what had been bothering her all day. For several days really. She knew their delicate idyll couldn’t last forever, but did she really want to be the one to break it?
“Trent?”
“Yes, my dear?”
“Will you please tell me about the pineapples?”
Chapter 36
He tensed, and it actually pulled her closer to his chest until he was hugging her to him. That more than anything convinced him it was time. It was time to let down his guard, time to let her in.
Time to be married.
“I don’t know if I can explain it.” He took a deep breath. “But I’ll try.”
She smoothed his hair back with soft fingers but didn’t say anything, patience lacing her content expression. A part of him wanted to lash out, though, tell her it wasn’t her business, tell her that, if she hadn’t looked into his private papers, she’d never have known about the pineapples and they could have gone happily on in their current bliss.
“It’s foolish,” he whispered.
She propped her head up on her hand and gave him an encouraging smile. “I thought the plans looked quite brilliant, actually. A remarkably efficient use of space.”
Trent laughed, surprised that he could, given what he was about to tell her. She was going to think he was touched in the head. “Not the plans themselves. The reason they’ve stayed in that drawer.”
“Oh.”
He sat up and ran his hands through his hair. It helped that he couldn’t see her face now. “Planning crops and making changes to the way things run is something a duke does.”
She frowned. He couldn’t see it, but he could feel it. Adelaide expressed herself with her whole body. “No, that’s what estate owners do.”
He shrugged. “And when I was growing up, the estate owner was a duke. And I learned about estates because I sat in on lessons with my brother, the future duke. So those things . . . Those are ducal things. And I don’t want to be good at them.”
The blankets rustled as she sat up and then shifted to her knees in front of him. “Trent, just because you weren’t born to the title and don’t make plans for half the country doesn’t make your abilities any less than Griffith’s.”
“No, you misunderstood me. It’s not that I don’t think I’m any good at it—it’s that I don’t want to be. I don’t want God to look down and think that I might be a better duke than Griffith.”
Trent swallowed hard, knowing what he was about to say was absurd, was not logical, that it was a bit of nonsense implanted in the mind of a young boy. And yet he couldn’t get past it. “That’s how I lost my father.”
Adelaide crawled into his lap and wound her arms around his neck, laying her head on his chest. He could feel her breath, thought maybe he could feel her heart, unless that was his own pounding hard enough for two. It made it easier, holding her but not having to see her face. He could accept her comfort without worrying about her censure. “God saw that Griffith would be an amazing duke, and He made it so. Father even said it was going to happen. I just don’t think he thought it would happen so soon.”
There was quiet for a long time. Trent wanted to fill it but he didn’t know what else to say.
Eventually she broke the silence for him. “Trent, growing pineapples won’t make you any more fit to be a duke.”
“It’s not the actual growing of the pineapples. It’s the act of getting involved in things like that.”
Adelaide sat up and took his face in her hands. “May I be blunt, Trent?”
Trent froze at the sternness of her words. He’d been expecting gentle understanding, maybe even some platitudes and comforts. “Of course.”
“You would make a terrible duke.”
The tension eased out of Trent, and he laughed. “I would, would I?”
“Yes. There is so much more to having a title than seeing that your estates are profitable. You also have to manage people. And you, my dear husband, would be terrible at that.”
Trent looped his arms around her waist. “I beg your pardon. People love me.”
“Exactly. People love you. You set them at ease. Before your altercation with Mr. Givendale, when have you ever seen the bad in someone? Trent, you are a fabulous person, and the world is better off because you’re in it, but I’m afraid you would have a very difficult time foreseeing potential problems if you were a duke.”
Adelaide’s observation didn’t cure his irrational fear right away, but it did help put it in perspective. It gave him a tool to combat the insecurities and fears. It gave him the courage to consider doing some things without constantly looking over his shoulder to make sure Griffith was all right.
He pulled Adelaide into his arms and kissed her. He wasn’t sure what he was putting into this kiss, but it was something more, something different than he’d given her before, and she kissed him back as if she realized it.
Then he held her and kissed her on top of the head. “Have you ever eaten a pineapple?”
Adelaide’s happiness rose with the sun. All was right with her world . . . until Fenton announced that her mother and sister had arrived for a visit. Then the happy bubble burst into a dozen pieces, still recognizable and probably even fixable, but broken nonetheless. How did her mother always seem to know when Adelaide was finally feeling happy? Did Adelaide’s happiness somehow siphon off some of her mother’s own joy? Did the world really shift that much just because Adelaide smiled? It had been over a week since the altercation in the ballroom, and Mother had been doing a very good job of avoiding her or keeping their public encounters polite and brief.
Apparently it was too much to ask that they settle into that routine for the foreseeable future.
She had Fenton take them to the drawing room, even though it was a bit sparse. Workers were coming tomorrow to re-cover the walls and hang new curtains. Adelaide hadn’t decided the furniture she wanted yet, unable to find something both sturdy and feminine to fill the space, but she didn’t see that as a reason to continue looking at shabby walls. Particularly since one of the windows was already bare.
With a glance in the mirror to ensure that she wasn’t too disheveled, Adelaide went downstairs to greet her guests, reminding herself they were, indeed, her guests and this was her home. She asked Mabel to have tea sent to the drawing room. There was no reason to dawdle over things and prolong the visit unnecessarily.
She felt a bit guilty, wishing her family hadn’t come for a visit while at the same time busily planning for an extended visit with Trent’s. But the truth was, her family wasn’t as nice as his. And while she truly wanted to honor her mother the way the Bible told her to, she was having a hard time reconciling it with the verses that told her to stay away from fools.
If she took a little longer going down the stairs than normal, no one would know but her. And if she made a face at the drawing room door before pushing it open with a smile, that too remained her little secret.
“Darling.” Mother rushed forward with her hands extended in a show of affection Adelaide hadn’t even seen her bestow on Helena. “I’ve been so worried about you. I haven’t really been able to speak with you since The Incident.”
Adelaide hadn’t known some
one could actually talk in capital letters, but her mother had managed to do so. An awkward pat from Adelaide brought an end to the uncomfortable hug.
“I don’t think it’s as dramatic as you’re making it out to be, Mother. Certainly not an occurrence that needs to be referred to with its own name.” Adelaide perched on one of the faded chairs just as Lady Blackstone had taught her. She could easily rise if need be but didn’t look as if she were trying to rush her guests out the door.
“Even I heard about it.” Helena’s eyes were wide as she gave her head a solemn nod.
Adelaide’s eyes narrowed at her sister. “You subscribe to every gossip rag in London, Helena. Of course you heard about it.”
Helena dropped the false innocence. “And your husband’s altercation was written up in every single one of them.”
“So was your exchange with Lady Raebourne two years ago, but we didn’t give that occurrence its own name and speak of it in hushed tones.” Adelaide couldn’t believe she was calling forth the biggest scandal her family had ever had—or ever been caught in, as Adelaide was beginning to believe was the case. She felt a twinge of guilt at bringing up the past, but if Helena was going to attack Adelaide’s husband, everything was fair game. “If I recall, you wrote me that the entire thing was being exaggerated and shouldn’t have been worth more than a few drawing room giggles.”
Adelaide paused while Fenton brought in the tea service. Once he departed, she looked back at her sister. “Do you still wish to use the number of articles as a gauge for an event’s level of scandal?”
“Really, Adelaide, the two events hardly compare.” Mother folded her hands in her lap and pursed her lips.
Adelaide didn’t know why they’d come, but it seemed she’d somehow managed to put a crack in their intentions.
Her moment of satisfaction died when her mother took the teapot and began pouring Helena’s cup. This was Adelaide’s home. She should be serving the tea. For her mother to take up the pot was an establishment of power that went beyond rude to insulting. As Adelaide debated whether or not to wrestle it from her just to prove a point, the drawing room door opened.
Expecting a servant but hoping for one of her new sisters-in-law, Adelaide turned to see who was entering. She was very glad she wasn’t holding the teapot when Trent walked in. Shock would have probably had her dropping the thing.
“Sorry I’m late, darling.” Trent crossed the room and sat on the settee with her as if it were perfectly normal for a husband to take visitors with his wife. It was amazing how different the word darling sounded on his lips than her mother’s. “Oh good, I’m glad I didn’t miss tea. Five sugars and a splash of cream, if you will.”
Mother frowned as she prepared the cup, but the tight compression of her lips she passed off as a smile was back by the time she handed the cup to his waiting hands. She then proceed to make Adelaide a tea nearly white with cream before making one for herself.
Adelaide took a closer look at Trent. She thought he’d said he was going to be fencing with Anthony today. As he leaned forward to accept his tea she noticed his pulse jumping in his neck. His hair, tousled in the current fashion, looked damp at the temples and a little more rumpled than it had when he left the house that morning. Had the man run from Anthony’s house to be here with her so she wouldn’t face her mother alone? Fenton would have had to send Oswyn even before he’d come upstairs to talk to her.
What man made those kind of arrangements if he didn’t care about his wife? No one. They hadn’t gotten there through any conventional means, but no one would be able to convince her there wasn’t at least a little love in their relationship.
She took a sip of her tea and found Trent frowning at her cup. She gave a tiny shrug, trying to tell him that she didn’t care overmuch that her mother had poured. Whether the message was conveyed or not, Trent decided to move on.
“I trust I’m not interrupting anything.” Trent settled deeper into the settee and sipped his tea. It was more than obvious that he didn’t care if he was interrupting or not—he wasn’t going anywhere.
“Of course not, my lord,” Mother said behind her teacup.
Adelaide bit her lip to keep from grinning. Trent, being a younger son set to inherit nothing beyond some money and family connections, was all but worthless in Mother’s eyes. As a countess she outranked Trent in her own opinion, and it must rankle to have to appease him, even a little bit.
Helena, however, had no such problems.
“Were you part of the horse race last week, my lord?” She fluttered her eyelashes in Trent’s direction. His eyes widened and he made a hasty swallow of tea before coughing lightly.
“I don’t believe I was. I do sometimes gallop through the park in the mornings, though, so I may have inadvertently joined a pursuit in action.”
Adelaide gave him a little grin. “Do you often join races accidentally?”
“It’s been known to happen.” Trent grinned back at her, ignoring the other two women in the room.
“And do you win?”
“Of course.” Trent saluted her with his teacup. “Why play if you’ve no intention of winning?”
“Even when you had no intention of playing.”
He winked at her. “Sometimes those wins are the most satisfactory.”
Adelaide ducked her head in a blush, having a sudden feeling they weren’t talking about horse races anymore.
Mother set her cup down with a rattle. “I hear your sister is giving a ball next week.”
And thus the true purpose of the visit was revealed. They still hadn’t received invitations to the ball. Knowing how Miranda felt about Adelaide’s family, that slight had probably been intentional. And brazen in a way that only a famously eccentric duchess could get away with.
“Is she? I wouldn’t know. I don’t handle the invitations. Particularly not hers.” Trent sipped his tea again.
Adelaide tried not to smirk. She really did.
Helena smiled and fanned the room with her lashes once more. “I’d be happy to help you learn how to organize your social calendar, Adelaide. You’ve never really had to do such a thing before.”
“Yes, I know. Such skills are certainly easier to practice when one comes to London for a Season.” Only the fact that she held a cup of hot tea kept Adelaide from clamping her hands over her mouth. Where had such an impertinent statement come from?
She glanced at her husband, expecting stunned censure in his face—instead he looked almost proud.
The silence that fell over the drawing room was thick enough to swim in. The only person who looked comfortable was Trent. He drank his tea and smiled at everyone as if he had no idea of the undercurrents that had been stirred up.
“I’ve heard that Montgomery House has a lovely ballroom.” Helena ran a finger along the edge of the saucer. “I’ve heard the floor is inlaid with the image of a peacock.”
“Is it?” Trent lifted his brows in Adelaide’s direction. “Won’t that be exciting to see? Of course, I don’t know that we’ll be able to see it with the crush of people Miranda’s invited. We’ll have to go by another day to look at it properly.”
“That sounds lovely,” Adelaide murmured, wondering how long it would be before her mother and sister asked outright for an invitation or gave up hope. She was almost embarrassed for her family and desperate to change the subject to something they wouldn’t feel humiliated by. “How is Father doing?”
Mother waved a hand in dismissal. “He’s doing acceptably well. Bernard is down from school for a while, and your father’s been taking him around to some of the clubs and such. Not that he can join yet, of course, but it’s so important to teach young men the proper social interactions early. I was able to do much the same with Helena.”
Adelaide saw her cup shaking in her hand, heard the rattle of china. Part of her knew she’d eventually drop the thing if she didn’t put it down, but that part of her didn’t seem to be in control of any of her motions. Her mouth worked,
however, though without her normal discretion. “Bernard is in London?”
“Of course. What else would we do—leave him in Hertfordshire with the nanny?”
“That’s what you did with me.”
Gentle fingers pried the rattling cup from her hands before wrapping her icy fingers in warmth.
Mother looked stunned, as if she suddenly realized her faux pas. “Your father has only Bernard to deal with. I couldn’t very well teach you and Helena the same things at the same time. You were too young back then. Besides, things are different for gentlemen.”
“Yes, they are.” Trent squeezed Adelaide’s hands and then stood. “For instance, a gentleman is perfectly within his rights to remove people from his home when they upset his wife.”
“My lord—”
Trent crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the countess.
Mother turned her attention to Adelaide. “Adelaide, I—”
“Before you say anything, you should know I have no intention of asking Miranda to adjust her invitation list.” Adelaide was still shaking, the quakes coming from somewhere deep inside her and causing her voice to tremble slightly. There was no misunderstanding her words though.
Helena shifted to the edge of her seat. “I can’t tell you how upset it always made me when Mother insisted we leave you behind. I tried, Adelaide. Truly I did. Perhaps now that we’re both on our own we can finally be sisters.”
Adelaide frowned, still focused on her mother. “Nor will I ask Trent to stand up for Helena’s husband. He owes you no such thing.”
Mother looked as if her head were about to explode, making Adelaide very glad the workers hadn’t come by to replace the wall coverings yet.
Adelaide stood and wound her arm around Trent’s, clinging to him to keep herself upright. “This has been a lovely visit. But I’m sure you’ll understand that I have a pressing engagement to prepare for. I’ll have Fenton see you out.”
Trent smiled at her. A full-blown smile, complete with dimples and teeth and a light dancing in his eyes. “Shall we, my dear? I believe we’re scheduled for dinner with the Duke of Spindlewood.”
An Uncommon Courtship Page 31
