had to be. He would eventually remarry to produce an heir. No matter the attachment between them.
Her foot faltered on the step.
This was why she’d avoided romantic entanglements for the better part of twenty years.
I’m not very good at them.
“My lady.” Greenhouse came up the stairs. “This arrived for you a short time ago. My apologies. With all the—”
“Thank you.” She interrupted him, taking the note, her annoyance with her butler clear. The writing was Tomkin’s. Her latest report on the state of the ruination of Pendleton as well as Nighter’s efforts in regard to Miss Higgins.
Remorse filled her at the thought of Miss Higgins.
Shaking off Felice, she clutched the note in her hand.
“A bath, Felice. See to it at once. Greenhouse, tea please, in my room. Also, send one of the footmen to the flower market. I’m sure no one has been there yet today as nothing in this house smells fresh.”
As her maid and butler rushed to do her bidding, Marissa flopped onto her bed, Tomkin’s note falling to the coverlet.
She would read it in due time.
24
Trent regarded his eldest daughter from across the carriage, taking joy in her happiness. And Jordana was absolutely, blissfully happy.
It was amazing what could be accomplished with the promise of new books and a trip to Thrumbadge’s. Jordana’s fingers traced the outline of each book’s spine, fluttering over the brown paper and twine in which the tomes were wrapped with obvious anticipation. She could hardly contain herself; Trent was sure she would run upstairs with her treasure as soon as they arrived home.
Which was what Trent had intended. He wasn’t ready to answer his daughter’s questions about Marissa. Books were a perfect distraction.
Jordana was far from stupid. He thought she’d probably ascertained how he felt about Marissa. If she hadn’t, the whispers that had followed him about Thrumbadge’s would have informed her.
The moment he had stepped inside the booksellers a low hum had started up, though Thrumbadge’s was far from crowded. Trent ignored the curious looks sent in his direction. The conversations that ended as soon as he turned a corner. He imagined Lady Stanton was even now sitting in her drawing room, besieged by callers who all wanted to express their horror at yesterday’s events with a pitying glance at Lady Christina.
Until now, Trent had forgotten how much he detested the way society gossiped.
Marissa hadn’t been exaggerating about the scandal. He’d kept the papers from her as he drizzled honey over her toast, but she’d probably seen them by now.
The rescue of a certain older lady by a much younger gentleman set London on its collective ear yesterday. One wonders if our thrice-widowed Lady C.F. is doing more than performing chaperone duties for Lord H. Our sympathies to Lady C. S.
Yesterday, when he’d seen the packages topple from the carriage and she had fallen to the ground, Trent had thought of nothing but getting to Marissa. He’d shocked Lady Stanton speechless and blatantly ignored Lady Christina, shaking her fingers from his arm. His temper had flared out of control, stoked by his worry over her well-being, when another man had also rushed to her side.
I suppose no one thinks her merely Jordana’s chaperone any longer.
Truthfully, Trent had been committed to Marissa since their night together at Brushbriar, she just hadn’t realized it. He knew she still assumed their understanding to be little more than an affair, one which may well last years but would eventually end. She was still holding onto the absurd notion that he needed an heir, assuming Trent would one day toss her aside in favor of a younger woman. One whom he wouldn’t love, all to procure an heir he didn’t need.
At least she’s made peace with our age difference.
Trent pressed a finger to his lips and looked out the window. Not exactly. Her absolute horror at the exact amount of years between them had been hard to mistake. She was so dismayed over those nine years, Marissa hadn’t even asked how he knew her age.
But Lady Waterstone had been very forthcoming.
Christ, I hope the papers don’t set her off.
She had agreed to an understanding with Trent.
He intended she agree to a great deal more.
“Papa?” Jordana said as the carriage rolled to a stop in front of his house. “You have a visitor.”
Trent recognized the black carriage with matched bays. He didn’t need to see the crest on the door. What does Pendleton want? He’s already taken every penny I have.
“It would appear so.”
If Pendleton thought to