Philip gave a quick grin. “Thus the reason I think the timing is perfect for us to visit our out-of-town holdings. Huntingdale is trying to draw Rose out by involving her in Lady Cecily’s wedding preparations. That will keep her occupied while we’re gone. We will travel Monday to Ashton Park, where we will meet with the steward and the tenants. Then Robert and Michael will go on to the properties in Wales, while you and I return here for a short rest, then travel to Manchester for a few days. I want you to meet the mill managers and hear their ideas on innovation.”
Thomas dropped back down in the wingback. This was what he had agreed to in April—to spend time learning to be a duke. Even if he did not inherit the bulk of the estate, he needed to know how the businesses ran if he ever hoped to make the entailed properties self-sustaining and provide for Rose as well as the title. He tried to calculate the time they would be gone, even given decent weather for travel. “We will be out of London more than a month.”
“Possibly less. By the time you get back, Lady Cecily will be married, and Rose will have had time to herself for some deserved peace and quiet.”
“I did not want to be away from her so long. I do not like this.”
“Considering you asked the archbishop about a special license, I’m sure you do not.”
Thomas’s eyes narrowed. “So do you knoweverythingthat goes on in London?”
Robert chuckled. “Don’t be daft. He only knows most of it.”
“Knowing how this city, its government, its society, and its businesses operate is part and parcel of maintaining this estate. Bacon and Hobbes had it right. Knowledge is power.”
“Yet you haven’t set foot in a Society ballroom in more than twenty-five years.”
Philip’s mouth twisted into the crooked smile common to all the Ashton men. “Lady Rose is not the only one with a system of gathering information.”
Robert leaned forward. “So how many peopledoyou have delectable details on?”
“Probably as many as your friend Bill, and none of which I’m about to share with either of you. Yet.” He rubbed his hands together, then stacked the ledgers and paperwork into neat piles. “Time for luncheon, then we can bring Michael in to make more plans. Gentlemen, consider this a break from the demands of Society on your time. It’s June. The weather will be conducive for a speedy turn.”
A rumble of thunder set Robert to laughing. “All of Parliament listens to our father, Thomas. Not so the Lord in the heavens above.”
“Not yet anyway,” said Philip with a wry smile, as Robert left the study.
Thomas paused, a question still twisting in his head. “Father?”
Philip turned back to look at him. “Yes?”
“Why did you really seek out Huntingdale?”
Philip looked at Thomas closely, his head tilting slightly to one side. “For the same reason that your mother coached you off the roof the day my father died. And why I sent you to St. James Street to retrieve Robert and Michael.” He put a hand on his son’s shoulder. “You and Rose—you take on a lot by yourselves, as if you can rely on only yourselves. But you need to remember that you are not alone in this world. You do not have to get through it alone. Maybe you should remind Rose of that as well.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Rose fidgeted.
She hated fidgeting. It revealed too much. Too much nervousness. Too much insecurity. She clutched her fingers together to try to calm them, without much success, then realized she’d entwined the skirt of her gown in her fists and now had matching clusters of wrinkles over her thighs. Annoyed, she tried to smooth them out, but the green satin receiving gown she’d chosen did not surrender wrinkles easily.
Rose glanced at the ormolu clock on the drawing room mantel. Ten before two; only two minutes had passed since she had last looked.
Inhaling a deep breath, which did nothing to calm her nerves, she stood and went to the window. She had tried reading—no luck—and she knew better than to pick up anything involving a needle. Unfortunately, the drawing room window looked directly at Newbury Hall, and her mind immediately went to a vision of the boy Thomas on the roof, all gangly arms and legs and that unruly shock of dark hair. Even then his eyes had looked out on the world with an unnatural curiosity and wariness, as if he had a wisdom no ten-year-old should have.
A tap on the open door drew her attention as Davis entered with a tea tray. He set it on the low table in front of the settee and straightened. “Should I pour your tea, my lady?”
She shook her head. “I’ll do it after he arrives. When he arrives. If he arrives.”
Davis’s eyebrows arched. “Whenhe arrives, I’ll show him right in.”
Rose grinned. “Thank you. Did Lady Dorothea say anything about when she and Cecily would return?”
“She only mentioned that I should serve His Lordship his tea in his study.”
“That’s no help. He always takes tea in his study.”
“Indeed.”
