Gut clenching, I flipped to the next page, only to find further sections ripped out.
Why?
A knock softly tapped on the door and Mr. Whittle called me to dinner. I closed the diary and set it on the desk, perplexed by what I had just read. Randall remained my father, even if I had no wish to claim such a monster. My uncle proved a far more complex man than I had first envisioned. Yet the past no longer dug tethers into my soul with the same strength as before.
I had asked Bridget if she believed a man could change.
Perhaps, the uncomfortable answer was yes...ifGod played a role in it.
The dining room, with its stone fireplace and grand table, was one of the abbey’s most impressive rooms. A pair of sabers hungon the chiseled mantel. Higher, stout beams ran across the ceiling, drawing attention from a few cracks webbing across the plaster. I hoped my guests would not notice.
Normally, I ate in the solar or within my room, but tonight I would have to play host, even if I hated the idea. I met Mr. Beaumont and Lord Ainsley in the drawing room and escorted them to the grand room. A white tablecloth draped the immense table, and Mr. Whittle had squeezed into a dusty suit to serve us white soup made from chicken stock instead of veal and spiced with nutmeg.
Polite talk of the weather and the Prince Regent marked the first course. Ainsley, who eyed my coat, suggested purchasing from Beau Brummell, an up-and-coming fashion designer. I couldn’t care less about cravats and other fripperies. How could I bother with such frivolity when I had a road to finish, a cider press to install,anda ruined orchard to recover? Too many people relied upon me to make Hawthorn Abbey a success. Regardless, I said nothing as my guests debated the latest styles with the same fervor of any young miss.
Mr. Beaumont waved his hand, the ring on his finger winking in the candlelight.
“Even the Prince Regent must abandon his jeweled waistcoats. They are no longer the thing, but you can’t advise Prinny. He fancies himself the best-dressed man in the room, thanks to the flattery ofThe Times. And he positively hates,hatesBrummell for bringing back severe fashion. I have it on good authority that Prinny and Lord Moria encountered Brummell at St. James recently. Of course, the Prince Regent ignored Brummell, a direct cut if there ever was one. Brummell, however, turned to Lord Moria and said in a voice loud enough to echo over the lawn,Pray, who is your fat friend?”
Mr. Beaumont snorted as he covered his mouth with a fist. “Prinny can’t meet Brummell’s measurements. Only a slender man can, and that fact drives the Regent nearly mad. I have it on good authority the writers atThe Timeshad quite the conversation withBrummell. A pity the Prince Regent shut down that story as fast as he could.”
I smiled to cover my discomfort with the mention of one of the more prominent newspapers to blare news about my abbey across England.
Mr. Beaumont turned to me, waggling his eyebrows. “You’ve made it intoThe Times.”
“Apparently Roman antiquities make for fascinating reading,” I hedged as I picked up my fork, yet my appetite had fled.
I discovered he belonged to the Dilettanti and had taken it upon himself to bring younger men under his wing, including Lord Ainsley. While I had heard of the Dilettanti, I had never had the luxury of embarking on a grand tour of the continent, a fact Lord Ainsley soon discovered.
“You’ve never been to the Orient?” he asked, incredulous as he dabbed at his mouth with a linen napkin.
“My travels followed the path of Bonaparte,” I replied as I fingered the stem of a crystal goblet. The claret, with the crimson hue deep enough to bring memories of the blood splattering against my uniform, made me hesitate. I chose water instead while Lord Ainsley drank freely.
Mr. Beaumont raised his goblet as if in toast. “And now you’ve inherited Hawthorn Abbey. Are you finding country life to your liking?”
“Refreshing,” I answered readily, and surprised myself. Bridget had warned that I would not find anonymity here, no matter how much I craved it. As the days passed, I realized that I no longer wanted to seclude myself within a cloak of loneliness. I had found something precious in the valley, friendship and loyalty.
He set down his goblet with a clunk, the wine too drained to slosh over the rim. “You’ve met Miss Littleton and Mr. Perry. What do you think of their enterprise?”
I hesitated. “Without her tenacity and discernment, there would be no excavation.”
Lord Ainsley waved his fork before stabbing at his cut of lamb dripping in butter. “But a woman? What business has she running around the countryside, ruining priceless artifacts? Those mosaics alone will collect a tidy sum from any museum.”
A chill swept through me. Hadn’t I thrown similar words at her, demanding to know why she wandered the countryside without an escort? To hear Ainsley dismiss her in such a cavalier manner made me bristle.
“I have found Miss Littleton to be remarkably well-spoken and informed about the history of the area.”
“A bluestocking.” Mr. Beaumont jeered. “Say no more.”
I changed the subject as quickly as I could, desiring to safeguard her reputation. I didn’t enjoy hearing her name uttered from that snide mouth. “And you, what is your interest in mosaics?”
He dabbed at his mouth with a linen napkin. “It’s simple, really. I’m a second son of an earl, destined for the church while my elder brother inherits my father’s holdings. Ainsley, lucky man, has already inherited his title. We met during our grand tour and found an invitation awaiting with the Dilettanti to join their ranks in hunting for rare art across the globe.”
“Beaumont has had the longest tour of us all,” Lord Ainsley said, chuckling as he folded his arms across his chest. “He’ll do anything to avoid becoming a rector, won’t you? Although time is running out, old boy. You’ll need to convince your father of your alternate ambitions.”
“Your father does not approve of your collecting?” I asked.
Any mirth fled from Mr. Beaumont as he drained the last of his claret. I hardly dared give him more, following a fourth glass this evening. Not if I was required to offer port later on. With his nose flushed, his eyes sparked dangerously.
