Tenacious Trents 02 - A Perfect Gentleman

by Jane Charles

  He settled behind his desk and tried to concentrate on next week’s sermon. The children’s laughter carried on the wind and into his open window. He could not work this way. He needed silence. Matthew rose and walked out of the room. He stood in the middle of the hall and wondered where he could move his office. On this side of the house was the parlor, a library and his study. Across the hall was the dining room and kitchen. There were four rooms upstairs, but those were reserved as bedrooms. On the other hand, he was a bachelor. How many bedrooms did one need? His decision made, Matthew went upstairs to the room farthest from where the children played. The bed and armoire could be stored in the attic and his desk, table and bookshelves would be brought here. He would no longer hear Miss Cooper and thus be able to concentrate.

  Grace did not know what to make of Vicar Trent. His sermons were delivered with passion. Though sober and serious, there was still emotion in his words. She rarely saw him smile. Yet, he was kind and courteous to her father when others dismissed him. One thing was clear, he did not like her. It seemed like he could barely stand to be in her presence and she could not for the life of her understand his disdain.

  She wished it were different for she would like to know him better. It was important that a parishioner be able to speak in comfort with her minister, but she was not sure if Vicar Trent was approachable.

  Perhaps if he wasn’t so handsome she would feel differently. She had even been distracted by his eyes during the sermon today. When his voice boomed to make a point clear his blue darkened and when he sang, they became lighter. If she watched his eyes she would always be able to tell his mood. This revelation had been disconcerting since they always darkened when he spent any amount of time in her presence. Since she was happiest when she sang she assumed Vicar Trent was the same and since his eyes darkened only during the more forceful portions of the sermon. Grace came to the conclusion that his eyes darkened around her because he did not like to be in her presence.

  There wasn’t much to be done about it. He had judged her. She had left poor first impressions and those could not be taken back. Perhaps in time he would come to view her differently. She would just need to learn to be less disruptive to his life and maybe they would become friends one day.

  Her stomach plummeted when she reached the crest of the hill and looked toward her house. There was no mistaking the carriage in the drive. Uncle Henry, Baron Stillwaite, had come to call. Grace raced toward the house, afraid for her father and wondering how long her uncle had been here. It could not have been all that long for surely Vicar Trent would have mentioned it to her, wouldn’t he? She didn’t fear Uncle Henry would hurt her father, not in the physical sense, but he had threatened several times to see him committed if his condition did not improve, without ever once visiting to see if he had. If only Draker, Richards and Thorn hadn’t written, then her uncle probably wouldn’t have given her and father another thought.

  She flew into the house and came to an abrupt stop when her uncle turned toward her. His face red with rage. “You lied to me,” he yelled.

  Grace refused to back down. “I did no such thing.”“You said my brother had improved.” He gestured to her father who sat in a comfortable chair by the fire. “He has not.”

  Grace walked over and stood beside her father, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “When you last saw Father, he could not leave the bed. His condition improves daily.”

  “Ha.” The man walked over and helped himself to her father’s brandy. “He can’t even speak. What makes you think he comprehends?”

  “Because I know he does.” She raised her chin in defiance.

  Uncle Henry drained the liquid in his glass and poured another. “I should have known better than to leave his care to you. My brother does not need to be in a house coddled by women. He needs a hospital where he can be properly taken care of.”

  Grace clutched her father’s shoulder. “You mean an asylum.” It was her biggest fear. She knew no judge would stand for her against her uncle as she was simply a female of twenty years. Her father’s left hand came up and patted the one on his shoulder.

  “I prefer the word hospital, but it would serve the same purpose.”

  She moved to stand in front of her father, as if by sheer will she could protect him. “I won’t let you take him.”

  “You won’t have much of a choice.”

  Panic seized her heart and her breaths came in shallow puffs. “I will fight you with everything I have.”

  The man laughed and emptied his glass again. “Fight, but in the end I will win. Enjoy your time with your father for I am off to see the magistrate.”

  Tears stung her eyes and she clutched her skirts. She could not let him get away with this. She had to find a way to stop him somehow. If only Lord Crews were the magistrate, but he was not. Lord Brachton, the absent marquess was. She could only hope he was not at home. Since he had inherited Brachton he had only been to his estate three times that she knew of, and she had yet to meet the man. What would he think of her father and this situation? Was he of a mind as her uncle?

  Grace blinked back her few tears and decided not to worry about that Brachton would or would not do because she had no control over his decision at the moment and would simply need to wait. In the meantime, she needed to gather whatever help she could.

  “So this is how the perfect vicar lives.”

  Matthew glanced up to find his brother, Jordan, leaning against the doorjamb. Of all his brothers, Jordan was the last person he expected to see in his home.

  Jordan pulled away and walked into the room. “It is rather humble, don’t you think.” He settled into a settee. “What would Father think? I had to let myself in because no servant answered the door.”

  “Due to my profession I live modestly.” Matthew tried to quell the irritation at his brother’s intrusion and insults.

  “But we both know you can afford to live a bit immodest. Surely a maid or footman wouldn’t be overindulgence.”

  “A young woman comes in the morning to cook breakfast, the midday meal, clean and do laundry. She leaves early on Sunday.”

  “Is she pretty?” His brother grinned.

  Matthew put down his quill and stood. “Why are you here, Jordan?”

  He studied his manicure. “I was bored in London.”

  “I forgot you have no responsibilities, in London or anywhere else?” He anchored his fisted on his hips.

  Jordan stiffened. “Not by choice.”

  “Father is dead. You can do what you want now.”

  “As can you,” Jordan retorted. Did his brother guess that Matthew never felt the calling to be a vicar, only that it was expected of him? He had studied, learned everything he could, knowing this was his lot in life, and prayed. But, he was never perfect enough and there was little choice for him now. He didn’t know how to be anything else, whereas his brother didn’t need to be anything at all, being left a good portion of father’s fortune so he never had to worry about a thing for the rest of his life.

  “Actually, I am here on business as well as to visit my younger, but much wiser brother.”

  “What kind of business could you have in Yorkshire?”

  Jordan rose from his seat and roamed the room. “No brandy?” He turned to look at his brother.

  Matthew lifted an eyebrow in censure. He did enjoy a good brandy in the evening but the one thing he hadn’t stocked was any liquor. He had planned on sending a letter off to his favorite vintner in London but had not gotten the opportunity. He had only been here little over a week and it was taking him longer to get settled in than he anticipated.

  “Not even wine at dinner?”

  “On occasion, though I rarely eat dinner here.”

  His brother walked over and stood to look out the window. “Where do you eat?”

  “I have invitations to dinner for the next two months from different families in the community.”

  Jordan turned to him and smiled. “And how
many have eligible daughters?”

  “Too many.” Matthew groaned.

  Jordan barked out laughter. “Well, at least you are allowed a respectable marriage with a respectable girl. Father would probably rise from the grave, objecting loudly the moment the banns were cried for me.”

  “Are you sure a respectable girl would have you?” Matthew chuckled.

  “Haven’t you heard, reformed rakes do make the best husbands?”

  “But, are you ready to reform?”

  The smile fell from Jordan’s face. Something bothered his brother, but Matthew hadn’t noticed it until now. Jordan was his normal, cheerful sarcastic self, but the smile was forced and eyes more strained.

  His brother gave a quick shake of his head as if to dismiss what was on his mind and focused on Matt. “I just learned something about Adele and Julia. John told me after Clay and Eleanor left for their wedding trip.”

  “What kind of news could there be? They have been dead twenty-three years.”

  Jordan leveled his eyes on Matthew. “That is just it. They didn’t die. Father lied to us.”

  Adele and Julia were killed when he was seven. Their carriage rolled off a bridge during a storm. Their bodies had not been recovered, but there was little likelihood they survived. Why would their father lie about such a thing? Besides, Father had married a year later. He wouldn’t have done so if his wife was still alive?

  Or would he?

  Matthew shook the thought from his head. It wasn’t possible. The ramifications of such a union were far too large to consider since it meant his father’s marriage to his third wife, Rose, was not valid, leaving their baby sister, Madeline, a bastard. No, he couldn’t think about that now. This would destroy Rose and completely ruin any chances Madeline had at a proper marriage. Jordan and John were wrong. They had to be.

  Pounding on the front door interrupted his thoughts and he pinched the bridge of his nose. This was poor timing indeed and he couldn’t imagine who would come to call. At the moment his concerns lay with his brother because something was bothering him, more than the sudden news of Adele and Julia.

  “I’ll see who is paying a call.” Jordan strode from the room as if he couldn’t wait to get out of there. Yes, something was on his brother’s mind and Matthew would find out what it was as soon as they were alone.

  Miss Cooper’s voice intruded on his thoughts.

  “I need your help. Wait, you are not Vicar Trent. I need to see him.”

  “No, I am his brother. May I be of assistance?”

  Matthew recognized the seductive tone in Jordan’s voice. He hurried to the foyer before his brother successfully seduced the innocent young woman.

  Miss Cooper stood just inside the door, her hat askew and dark ringlets tumbled to her shoulders. Her face was flushed and she was a bit out of breath. “Is something wrong, Miss Cooper? Has something happened to your father?”

  Her turbulent green eyes focused on him. “Not yet, but if I don’t find help somewhere, they are going to take him away.”

  Matthew reached for her elbow and escorted her into the parlor where she could sit. “Tell me what has happened.”

  “My uncle Henry came to visit. He does not believe papa can understand anything.”

  Jordan stiffened at his side and looked from Miss Cooper to Matthew and back to Miss Cooper. He muttered under his breath and walked away, shaking his head.

  Matthew wanted to ask Jordan why he was so agitated since he didn’t even know Mr. Cooper or his daughter, but he needed to focus on Miss Cooper first. Jordan probably didn’t appreciate the interruption. But, his brother would have to wait. Matthew was here to serve his congregation and then he and Jordan would talk.

  He turned back to Miss Cooper. “How could he draw such a conclusion?” Though in truth, most of the parish believed the same. “Did your uncle speak with your father?”

  “I imagine he tried but when Papa could not answer back in the way he expected he determined he needed to be institutionalized.” Tears swam in her eyes. “I don’t know what to do. He has gone for the magistrate.”

  “Who is the magistrate?” Jordan asked.

  Miss Cooper looked over at him. “Lord Brachton. I don’t know him, as he recently came to title when the former Lord Brachton passed. I believe he was a great-nephew.”

  Jordan brightened. “Then I don’t see it as a problem, for the moment.”

  “You don’t?” Miss Cooper and Matthew asked in unison.

  “I left Brachton in London a few days ago. He does not plan to return to his estate until the end of the week.”

  “You know Lord Brachton?” Miss Cooper sniffed. Matthew found a handkerchief and placed it in her hand.

  “We are friends, yes.”

  Matthew narrowed his eyes in suspicion. Most of Jordan’s friends were not what one would be called upstanding with the only respectable thing they could attach to themselves was a title, or titled relative. However, what argument could be made against a marquess? As he was the highest ranking member of society in the area, he was the magistrate. Yet, he remembered Brachton from his earlier days. Brachton and his brother were rarely separated, unless it was to take whores into different rooms.

  Matthew banished the thought from his mind. That was several years ago, when Brachton, though he was Lachlan Campbell at the time, was sent from the Highlands to get an English education because he would inherit one day. Matthew really had no cause to judge a now titled gentleman based on his conduct of youth. Besides, Brachton had spent as much time in Scotland as he did England, preferring to be north. He must hate it now that he is an English Lord.

  Miss Cooper stood and smoothed her skirts. “At least that gives me time. I need to be ready for when Uncle Henry pleads his case.”

  Matthew gently grasped her hand to offer comfort. “I will give testimony, if necessary, Miss Cooper, that your father has full capacity of his faculties.”

  She turned a grateful smile on him and his heart hitched. He needed to stop letting her affect him.

  “You have no idea how much I appreciate your assistance.” She pulled her hand away and Matthew immediately felt the loss of warm. “I must return home. By now, uncle knows Lord Brachton is not in residence. He will not be happy. I don’t dare leave him alone with Papa.”

  Her statement alarmed Matthew. “Would he hurt either of you?”

  “No, but he yells so much and is angry most of the time. I can’t bear to be around him, but I know it is harder on my father.”

  “Let me escort you home,” Jordan stepped forward.

  “That is very kind of you, but you don’t know my father and we haven’t been properly introduced.”

  Jordan looked expectantly to Matthew. This was one introduction he did not wish to make. “Miss Cooper, I would like to present my brother, Jordan Trent.”

  She dipped a quick curtsey. “It is a pleasure to meet you, and I thank you for the offer, but I can see myself home.”

  “I will escort you home, Miss Cooper,” Matthew announced. She should not be walking alone and it would be dark soon. And, he would be damned if he allowed Jordan to be alone with her. Only Jordan made him curse. At least the words hadn’t been uttered out loud, scandalizing Miss Cooper.

  It was even odd for Jordan to show an interest. Innocent young misses were not usually his brother’s choice of female companionship, but regardless, from ballrooms to bordellos, women fell in love with him. Matt’s stomach clenched. Miss Cooper would not be falling in love with Jordan if he could help it.

  “It really isn’t necessary.” She didn’t meet his eyes, yet she had with Jordan.

  When did she become shy around him? Unless she preferred Jordan over him, not that Matthew could blame her, but he wasn’t giving her over to a wolf. “I insist. Let me bring the carriage around.”

  “That isn’t necessary.” Jordan stepped forward. “Mine is out front. We can both escort Miss Cooper to her residence.”

  A blush formed on her chee
ks and it irritated Matthew to no end that his brother managed to cause this reaction in her. Matthew used to think the reaction from women was because of his brother’s reputation, but Miss Grace knew nothing about Jordan. Once she learned the truth, she would be blushing from the embarrassing knowledge and not flattery.

  Grace settled into the plush seat on the carriage. She had never ridden in anything so fine. The brothers sat across from her. She looked between them. They were very much alike. However, Mr. Trent had a bump on his nose, as if it had been broken and a small scar on his chin. He also had deeper lines at the corners of his mouth, as if he laughed often, and his eyes were a darker blue. Vicar Trent did not possess such lines as he was serious most of the time.

  “It is kind of you, both of you, to escort me home.” She grew uncomfortable under the warmth of his gaze. Not Mr. Trent’s but Vicar Trent. Though the man had not been exactly solicitous toward her in the past, he had been kind when she arrived on his doorstep uninvited. But what was she to do? Lord Crew was away for at least a week and she knew of no one else who could testify to her father’s intelligence.

  “It is no problem.” Vicar Trent offered an encouraging smile.

  “My pleasure.” Mr. Trent grinned.

  She had never met anyone like Mr. Trent before. He practically oozed seduction. At least that is what she thought it was for he made her very uncomfortable. Yet, there was no attraction and she wondered if something was wrong with her. The man was loaded with charm and he must send any number of women swooning each day. She much preferred a gentleman like Vicar Trent, who was intelligent, focused and took time to know people, such as her father. And even though the brothers looked very much alike, Vicar Trent was by far the most handsome. His blue eyes were warmer whereas Mr. Trent’s were a bit sad. He may grin often, but the emotion was not in his eyes.