at least, to reconcile her reaction to the attack. She’d fended off the other assailant quite handily. Thomas had been too focused on beating the man who’d gone after her to see what she’d done to make him run. Or how she’d obtained his pistol.
Thomas thought of the weapon he’d locked in a case in his chamber. Then he thought of Beatrix’s pistol. She’d had a gun! And apparently knew how to use it. He was simultaneously shocked and impressed by her capability. He was also not entirely certain he understood her explanation.
That she was allowed to move about freely after dark, armed with a pistol or not, was concerning. He had a half mind to talk with her sister. But that would almost certainly ensure they wouldn’t meet anymore.
He blew out a frustrated breath. Yet, that’s what should happen. He was putting her reputation at risk meeting with her like that. Yes, she’d already risked it herself by coming here to spy on her father, but Thomas was now compounding matters. Furthermore, he’d asked her to notify him of further meetings so he could coordinate them. He was rather formally contributing to her potential ruin.
Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on the desk, then put his head in his hands and closed his eyes.
“My lord?” Baines said softly.
Thomas lifted his head and blinked at the butler. “Yes?”
“Mrs. Holcomb has arrived.”
“Thank you, Baines.”
“How are your hands?” the butler asked tentatively.
Thomas splayed his hands and held them in front of his face. The abrasions on his knuckles were red and raw. The wounds stung, but less now than when he’d arrived home. “Cook had a poultice that Mrs. Henley insisted I use.” His valet had applied it twice already. To a person, no one had asked how he’d sustained the injury. Baines, however, had asked if he was all right.
“You’re certain you’ve no other injuries?” Baines asked.
“Thank you for your concern.” Thomas gave him a weak smile. And then, because he would have to tell his aunt a story, he said, “It’s been a trying time. I’m afraid I took out my agitation on the tree in the garden.”
Baines stared at him a moment. “I see. Did that…help?”
Thomas shrugged. “In the moment, yes. But now I have sore hands to contend with.” The smile he generated now was more genuine. Or he hoped it was, anyway.
Baines nodded. “Mrs. Holcomb is in the drawing room. She has a gift for Miss Devereaux.”
That would be the third gift Aunt Charity had brought for Regan this week. She wanted to make sure Regan didn’t miss her mother, which wasn’t really necessary.
“Thank you, Baines.” Thomas stood and left the study to make his way upstairs.
Situated at the front of the first floor with a pretty view of Grosvenor Square, the drawing room was where they gathered as a family. Aunt Charity sat in the central seating area, a box tied with a bow on the settee beside her.
“Good afternoon, Aunt.” Thomas walked toward the seating area. “Thank you for bringing Regan another gift, but it’s not necessary. She is almost entirely unaffected by…what happened.”
“You’re lucky she’s so young. And that her mother was a poor excuse for a parent.”
Thomas acknowledged things could be much more difficult, and for that, he was grateful. Not for his sake, but for Regan’s. He didn’t want her to be sad. Yet sadness and disappointment were part of life. He’d learned that at a very young age. Which was precisely why he didn't want his daughter to experience it. She had plenty of time to feel hurt and despair and loss. His chest stung—how he wished he could protect her from such things forever.
Aunt Charity stood and came toward where he stood near a chaise. “Goodness, what on earth did you do to your hands?” She took them in hers and frowned down at the wounds.
“I expended my energy on a tree. It relieved some tension.”
She let go of him and gave him a wry stare. “You can’t just drink excessively or gamble or take a mistress like other men?”
“I’m doing my best with the drinking.”
“Pffft.” She waved her hand. “I don’t believe you. And I know you don’t gamble much, and you certainly haven’t taken a mistress. God knows you should have.”
So many people had encouraged him to do that. His valet. Friends. And now his aunt. At what point would he take the advice?
He knew who he wanted in his bed, but she wasn’t someone he could take