Thomas

by Grace Burrowes

  ***

  “We’re supposed to taste the ale before we buy it,” Nicholas said as he and Thomas left the Trieshock brewery. “Then we taste it again when we get the barrels back to Linden. This is how it’s done. I thought you were once a respected man of business, Sutcliffe.”

  Thomas had been a man of business, and now he was a man who meant business.

  “Stop dawdling, Nicholas. I intend to get back to the livery before Miss Tanner does, because I want to show you something. She was determined to hover at our elbow earlier, and I can only hope what I need to show you is still there.”

  Nick’s steps slowed even more. “Whatever it is, wouldn’t you rather show Fairly?”

  “Fairly is enjoying the company of his lady wife, which in this heat, says volumes about the extent of their marital devotion. Come along, Nicholas.”

  “They go to the pond,” Nick said. “At night. It’s… inconvenient, when a fellow thinks to finish off his day with a swim.”

  “They don’t spend the entire night at the pond. I’ve seen them wandering up to the house by moonrise. Any balcony along the back side of the building has a view of the path. Their progress is anything but purposeful.”

  Thomas would never regard a certain sturdy oak in quite the same light. When Fairly had kissed his wife against the tree’s trunk—kissed her, at least—the very boughs had shaken in a celebration of spouses reunited.

  “I’ve heard the gossip,” Nick said. “Even here in Sussex. Her ladyship once managed Fairly’s brothel. One marvels that the woman could have any enthusiasm left for the male of the species.”

  A memory rose from the dust at Thomas’s feet, of a very tall gentleman flirting gently with the ladies at the Pleasure House. He’d been blond—not as blond as Nick Haddonfield—an earl’s heir, and well regarded by the women, though Thomas had no recollection of any woman taking the fellow abovestairs. Dressed to the teeth, genial, generous, self-possessed….

  Bellefonte’s heir . Thomas had preferred to spend his evenings at the Pleasure House in the office, with the ledgers and receipts, rather than in the parlors, unless the ladies summoned him forward to enforce good manners among the patrons. He’d seen Nick only the once on the premises, in the smoky shadows of late evening, but even across a dimly lit room, a man of Nick’s proportions made an impression.

  “Fairly’s related by marriage to a marquis, an earl, a viscount,” Thomas said, picking up the reins of the conversation. “He does business with any number of dukes, princes, and lower angels. He and his viscountess will not participate in greater society, but neither will they be cut. Letty will be happy with her viscount.”

  Thomas and Nick had reached the livery, which enjoyed a good deal of shade. Horses hitched out front dozed or swished at flies. A pair of stable boys sat scrubbing bridles beneath the tree.

  “In here,” Thomas said, leading Nick back to the stall where Rupert stood munching hay. “Look at this.” He pointed to a boot print below the wooden water bucket hung in the corner. Anywhere else in the stall, a horse or a stable boy would have obliterated the print in the course of a normal day.

  “This print is the same as the one you and Belmont saw?” Nick asked, going down on one knee.

  Thomas unfolded the sketch he carried with him everywhere. “This track isn’t fresh. The edges are not as crisp, there’s dust collecting along the grooves, but it’s either the same or an uncanny match.”

  Nick peered at the print and laid the sketch beside it. “That’s a match, Baron. If that boot belongs to your culprit, your culprit was here.”

  “Yes, but when?” The print could be two days old or two weeks old. It could mean nothing, or it might lead to the identity of the arsonist.

  “Shouldn’t Belmont be informed?” Nick asked, straightening.

  “I’ll tell him. He’s bringing over his best draft team to help tomorrow.”

  “Tell him today, before half the shire is thronging your stable yard. You’ll want lookouts watching the ground for this same boot print.”

  “The boys you found pilfering cheese have been assigned that task.” Among others. “What are you staring at, Nicholas?”

  For Haddonfield was peering over Thomas’s shoulder, but when Thomas turned, all he saw were the usual elements of a busy stable yard on a summer morning—milling horses, gossiping men, dust drifting in the air behind a passing carriage, a barefoot boy eating a piece of bread in the branches of the oak.

  “I thought I saw Miss Tanner,” Nick said, rubbing his chin, “whom you must also inform of the day’s developments.”

  Nick was lying—he’d seen something unexpected—though he had a point.

  “I’ll discuss what we’ve seen with her. If Chesterton is our miscreant, Miss Tanner needs to keep an eye out for him.” Nobody had seen Chesterton since the fire, which might be coincidence—and it might not.

  “Shall I fetch the horses?” Nick asked.

  “Are you in a hurry, Haddonfield? First you drag your feet, now you want to be away from this place? Have you seen one of your London creditors, perhaps? I can’t imagine any other explanation for why an earl’s heir would be rusticating with a muck fork in his hands.”

  The heat had snatched those words from Thomas, for he hadn’t meant to confront Haddonfield here, now, in a bustling livery stable with Loris due to come upon them at any moment.

  Nick raised a hand, catching the eye of a groom. That single movement—elegant, casual, confident—banished the last of Thomas’s doubts about his stable master’s identity. Nicholas Haddonfield expected to be obeyed. He expected that his smallest gesture would merit compliance, and not simply as a result of his height and brawn.

  “You had a hand in running Fairly’s brothel,” Nick said. “Is that where you saw me?”

  Relief trickled through the irritation Thomas felt with his stable master, and with himself. Secrets were distasteful, but a man was entitled to reasonable privacy.

  “You don’t deny you’re an earl’s heir, pretending to be a rural stable master?”

  “Why should I?” Nick asked, keeping his voice down. “Working for a living has not been outlawed, though finding decent employment has become damned difficult. I’ll be on my way once the harvest is in, as will Beckman.”

  “Your brother?”

  Nick nodded. A stable boy led Rupert past; another led Evan out.

  “Why rusticate at all, Haddonfield—or should I use a courtesy title?” Thomas moved off in the direction of the stable yard, Nick following. For the balance of this conversation, they needed quiet, and to be able to spot Loris before she could hear them.

  “The courtesy title is Viscount Reston,” Nick said as they gained a corner of the shady stable yard. “If you use it, I will knock you into the dirt, and then Miss Tanner will be wroth with me.”

  “I would have to return your felicitations,” Thomas said, “and then Fairly would be amused at our mutual expense. Does he know?”

  Apparently, when Nick Haddonfield lied, he rubbed his chin. “His lordship might have seen me at the same establishment, correct?”

  A question for a question. Fairly knew, or Nick suspected he knew.

  “Her ladyship would have seen you, but why hide, Haddonfield? Will Belmont have to take you up in the king’s name when he learns who your father is?”

  The small boy leapt down from the tree and scampered off, darting through the passersby to head straight for… Loris. She exchanged a few words with the child, shook her head, and hurried on.

  “My crime,” Nick said, “is being an unmarried heir to a title, and having a very determined father. Many share my fate, but I refuse to submit to it. The earl agreed I could have two years to rusticate with Beckman, who has benefited from some time in the country.”

  “Oh, right. With the muscle he’s sporting, your baby brother can next seek employment as a pugilist. You’re both simply hiding from the matchmakers?”

  Fairly had dodged a few of those, and even Tho
mas had felt their hot breath on the back of his bachelorhood once word of the barony had got out.

  “Hiding from the matchmakers,” Nick said, “and in Beck’s case, from bad memories and the folly they can tempt a man to. Miss Tanner approaches, and I’d appreciate it if you’d not disclose my antecedents to her.”

  “She’ll not pester you for your hand in marriage, Haddonfield, not if you’re next in line for the crown itself. Find the time to tell her the truth, though, for she’s been lied to, misled, put in difficult positions, and otherwise disrespected enough.”

  Nonetheless, Loris should know by now that anybody seeking to further imperil her welfare would answer to Linden’s present owner. On that thought, Thomas went to greet his intended, and left Viscount Muck Fork standing under the tree.

  * * *

  The new stable was a simple wooden rectangle with a tin roof, and most of the interior work yet to be done. As Loris had in the position of steward, the new stable met the demands of necessity, but was hardly an ideal exponent of its class.

  “I have not been this tired since… I have never been this tired,” Thomas said, taking the place beside her on Linden’s back terrace. The sun had dropped, the moon would soon be up, and a nightingale offered a melody to its mate, though the season for courting was long past.

  “I spent most of my day tripping over children,” Loris said, as Thomas’s arm came around her shoulders. She’d also tripped over Giles Pettigrew at least twice an hour. “By noon, half the men were tipsy, and shortly thereafter, the women were dipping into the sangria.”

  “And yet, the stable stands plumb,” Thomas murmured.

  He’d bathed, and his hair curled damply at his nape. Loris had purposely avoided him throughout the day, but she’d seen him, shirt sleeves rolled back, shirt open at the throat, sawdust in his hair, and a tankard of ale in his hand.

  She’d fallen in love all over again, with a man willing to work hard, get his hands dirty, exchange a wink with the ladies, and thank each man individually for his help. In one day, Thomas Jennings had done more to secure the esteem of his tenants than many landowners did in a decade.

  “Your stable stands plumb, while I can barely stand at all,” Loris said. “The viscountess deserves a medal. She kept everybody fed without Cook having a single tantrum.”

  “Letty was raised in a vicarage,” Thomas replied, taking Loris’s hand. “She knows about soothing ruffled feathers. Do you truly dislike children, Loris?”

  Thomas had given his little cheese thieves assignments, and they’d been underfoot at every turn.

  “I suspect the problem is that I do not like my own childhood.”

  Since yesterday, Loris’s adulthood had taken a turn for the worse too. Bad enough Papa had sent her a note, then he’d expected her to have a reply ready to transmit through some grimy boy who’d accosted Loris near the livery. All she’d been able to do was confirm receipt of Papa’s summons.

  “I’ve asked my sister to visit,” Thomas said, kissing Loris’s knuckles. “She’ll probably have an apoplexy when she gets my letter.”

  Loris let her head rest on Thomas’s shoulder, sadness and relief giving her weariness a crushing weight.

  “I’m proud of you, Thomas Jennings. Old hurts don’t heal themselves, we must find the courage to heal them. Your sister will weep with joy when she reads that letter, and you will welcome her with open arms.”

  Though very likely, Loris would not be on hand to witness the reunion. Thank God that Papa was alive and apparently well, but damn Papa’s timing along with all of his other reprehensible traits.

  “You will not be as impressed when you learn my motives, my dear. Fairly and his lady will return to London after the assembly on Saturday. My sister is old enough to be an adequate chaperone, and her presence will allow you to remain under my roof.”

  Oh, my love. “I’ve asked nearly everybody, Thomas, and no one has seen Chesterton in days. If he’s left the area, then I have no need to bide at the manor house.”

  “Am I intruding?” Nicholas asked, from the French doors.

  Loris sat up but remained at Thomas’s side. “Of course not, Nicholas.”

  “Of course you are,” Thomas countered, “but you did the work of six men today, so I must express myself graciously.”

  “That’s your version of gracious?” Nick muttered, arranging a wrought iron chair to face out across the lawn.

  “If I haven’t said it before,” Thomas went on, “thank you. You are a prodigious hard worker, as is Beckman. Miss Tanner, I am in danger of falling asleep at your side, so I will leave you in Nicholas’s company, though the porter is on duty just outside the library door if you need anything. If Haddonfield makes the least improper advance, he’ll be dead by morning.”

  Thomas brushed a kiss to her knuckles, rose, and slipped into the house.

  “Sutcliffe is in love with you,” Nicholas said after a moment of silence. “Unless I very much mistake the matter, you are fond of him as well.”

  Would this day never end? “You mistake the matter, egregiously. I am not fond of Sutcliffe, I am utterly besotted. Why that is any of your business, I do not know.”

  Loris bolted to her feet, unwilling to be lectured by anybody on the topic of her loyalties and affections, but Nicholas encircled her wrist in a gentle, implacable grip.

  “If you will give me twenty minutes of your time, Miss Tanner, I’ll explain why your situation is very much my business.”

  * * *

  The lady resumed her place beside him.

  Nicholas Haddonfield considered himself among the humbler men facing inheritance of an earldom, and yet, he’d been very proud of his scheme to hide in the wilds of Sussex. He’d planned to dodge holy matrimony for a time, give Beckman a place to find his balance, and look after a familial obligation too long neglected.

  Sitting in the dark with a besotted, unhappy Loris Tanner, Nick was anything but proud of himself.

  “Nicholas, do not play games,” she said. “I’ll kick you where it hurts, and then Thomas will finish the job, abetted by Lord Fairly.”

  “To provide that aid, Fairly would have to extricate himself from the arms of his viscountess, which he is unable to do except at mealtimes and for Sunday services. I’m your cousin, in a manner of speaking.”

  Oh, that was smoothly done of him.

  “You’re my cousin?”

  “Step-cousin, actually. My step-mama and your cousin were first cousins, and Beckman is my half-brother, so you and he are cousins in truth. We have four sisters and a few more brothers too, also your cousins.”

  Nick had chosen his moment out of desperation, and now wished he’d at least found a time and place where he could see the lady’s face.

  “I have cousins? This has to do with Papa, doesn’t it? Every single bad, hard, embarrassing thing in my life has to do with Papa.”

  Having cousins should not be bad, hard, or embarrassing. “Please keep your voice down, or you’ll have Sutcliffe out here breathing fire.”

  She rose, and Loris Tanner was nearly the same height as Nick’s sisters, all save little Della. Loris had their chin, their swooping brows. Haddonfield women were a striking lot, and Loris would fit in with them well.

  Out of simple courtesy, Nick got to his feet.

  “Thomas is too tired to breathe fire,” Loris said, wandering to edge of the flagstones, “and he’s worried as well. I dearly hope you have an explanation for remaining silent about your relationship to me, Nicholas. I am not pleased with you.”

  The fragrance of lavender wafted on the humid air, and lavender symbolized mistrust. Nick favored it in his biscuits, when ginger was in short supply.

  “I am not pleased with myself,” he said, making no move to approach her, “but I gave your father my word I’d keep my silence. If you’d like to hear the rest of my tale, I’ll finish breaking that word.”

  The benefit of a conversation held in darkness was that Loris could not see Nick’s e
xpression either, could not see his self-loathing, could not assess how weary he was of keeping this and other secrets.

  “Why would you break your word?” Loris asked, resuming her place on the settee where she’d been cuddled up with Sutcliffe. “You seem like an honorable fellow.”

  “I am honorable, mostly. When your father ran afoul of the widow, he had nowhere to turn for help except his deceased wife’s family.”

  Nick could see enough to know Loris was resting her forehead on her updrawn knees, like a weary girl. Micah Tanner had much to answer for.

  “Papa ran afoul of the bottle, Nicholas. The widow merely took advantage of that misstep.”

  “Micah Tanner is sober enough now,” Nick said, though the statement was as much hope as fact. “As near as I can tell, that is. He came to us two years ago, nothing but a decent horse and a set of clothes to his name.”

  “And Mama’s miniature and a Bible.”

  “To convince us he was truly Micah Tanner, because we hadn’t seen him since you were an infant.”

  Nick wanted to blurt out the rest, then hop on his mare and canter away into the night, but he’d promised Beckman he wouldn’t do that. For the first time, though, he understood why Beck had stayed drunk more or less for years: Sometimes, life hurt terribly, and no amount of philosophy, prayer, patience, or reason made any sense of the pain.

  “I have no memory of you,” Loris said. “I barely have any memory of my mother, and Papa rarely spoke of her. I wasn’t even sure they were married.”

  Such stark loss filled those few words, Nick took the risk of appropriating the far end of the settee.

  “Your mama loved Tanner awfully, and they were properly married in the Haddondale church, though her family wasn’t happy about the match.”

  “She loved him?”

  This would matter to a girl raised without her mother, and to a woman falling in love for the first time.

  “My father says she did, Tanner claimed she did. She loved him enough to marry him when he’d barely a penny to his name, and only an offer of employment as an under-steward to some earl in the north.”