But if he wished to leave Town, why did he not go home? Why did he not tell any of his friends where he was going? Or send his regrets regarding invitations he’d accepted? Why did he not pack up his household? Why only leave with his valet?
Perhaps that was it. He’d only taken his valet because wherever he went was to be a short trip. Of course that must be it. There was no sinister mystery. There was nothing wrong. He’d probably gone off to see a relative somewhere. Her mind only panicked because, well…
But why was it a secret?
Carlson came in with the tea tray and laid out the things.
“What do we think, Carlson?” Lord Lymington said. “What do we make of the weather just now? Will the sun stay out?”
Carlson glanced out the window. “It is hard to say, my lord. Things are calm at the moment, but one never knows when a disturbance might erupt.”
Lord Lymington took his teacup and nodded knowingly. “Dolphins,” he said.
*
Harry had spenthours walking through the house and touring the estate to see what the potential might be. It was almost enraging to note the resources the earl had at his disposal and not a one of them had been utilized. There was good land for farming, room for a sizable dairy, and a vast forest full of good wood and plentiful game.
The earl was either an idiot or the laziest man in England. Or both.
Now, though it was becoming very late to turn up unannounced, he’d ridden to Lord Bertridge’s estate.
He was shown into the drawing room and found Bertridge and his wife, as he expected he would find. He had not expected to find Lady Easton there too, but could easily enough guess the cause. Lady Bertridge must be soon going into her confinement and Lady Easton would not like to be left behind on such a matter. Not when they’d all heard so much from Lady Mendleton about her astoundingly advanced grandbaby and now Lady Heathway had her astonishingly alert grandniece. Lady Easton would require an equally original infant of some sort.
“Vance,” Bertridge said. “Come in, we got your letter and were expecting you to arrive at some point.”
Lady Bertridge said, “You are very welcome here, Mr. Vance. Do excuse that I do not rise in my current condition.”
“Do not tire yourself on anybody’s account, Lady Bertridge, least of all me,” Harry said. He turned and bowed. “Lady Easton.”
“Mr. Vance, I have seen the odd communication you have sent. What does it mean? What are you here to do?” Lady Easton asked with her usual directness.
“I am here to rectify the Earl of Somerdon’s deficiencies and had hoped to speak to Lord Bertridge privately about the situation, Lady Easton.”
Lady Easton frowned. “But why should you involve yourself with the earl? What connection can there be?”
“I have become acquainted with the earl’s daughter, Lady Isabel, and it has come to my attention that his behavior has affected her deeply and scarred her psyche.”
Lady Easton shook her head. “What should you know of the lady’s psyche? Dear me, no. If there is anybody who should rectify the earl’s situation, it ought to be somebody…”
“Somebody related? Or somebody she is engaged to? Like Lymington?”
“Are they engaged! I hadn’t known,” Lady Easton said, her delight all too apparent.
“They are not, and I pray they never will be. Now, if I might be so bold, Bertridge, may we step out somewhere? I am at a loss as to how to even describe the shambles I found in the earl’s house. Work must begin immediately.”
Lord Bertridge nodded. Lady Bertridge only looked amused.
“A shambles, you say?” Lady Easton asked. “What sort of shambles?”
Harry was not certain precisely where Lady Easton’s interest lay though he, along with everybody else in the world, knew of her obsessions with both time and order.
He said, “There is not an inch of the place that is not covered with dust, the larder appears to be bare, there is only one servant in the house and the fellow is eighty if he is a day, there are windows broken, roof tiles falling, linens molding, very little silver in the drawers, no decent tea or coffee service, the tea chest itself is empty, birds are nesting in the attics, rats roam the cellars with impunity, and there is not a clock in that house that is set to the right time.”
Lady Easton appeared rather staggered to hear of this description. She nervously grasped at her fichu. “How many clocks has he insulted in such a manner?”
“I counted five,” Harry said, though he had not really paid much attention to them.
“Five clocks out of time,” Lady Easton murmured. This seemed to prompt some sort of internal struggle, her expressions changing with great rapidity. Harry thought she was hard-pressed to fathom such a thing and her fingers itched to set those clocks right.
