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“I don’t think Kenver’s parents will change their minds about me, particularly now that I know what they did to their own daughter.”
“No, they don’t seem persuadable. I suppose they keep a tight hand on the purse strings as well?”
This was a touchy question. But Cecelia was a trusted friend. “Kenver’s allowance is small,” Sarah admitted.
“Umm.” The duchess considered. “We will have to contrive.”
This was kind, but Sarah didn’t see what it could mean.
“We could lend you…” the duchess began.
“No.” The thought was too humiliating and anyway not any sort of solution. “Are we to hang on your sleeves for years? Lord and Lady Trestan are in robust health.” Sarah sighed. “Which I am glad of, really. I would not wish otherwise.”
Cecelia acknowledged the difficulty with a nod.
Sarah didn’t like to think of her new home as a trap, but sometimes it was hard to see it any other way. She looked over at Kenver, sitting with his parents and the duke. His expression suggested similar thoughts.
Listening to his father harangue the Duke of Tereford about the current political situation, Kenver could only admire the man’s restraint. Tereford must know far more about such matters, and yet he remained affable. Kenver wondered what they would have done if Sarah’s friends had not happened to visit. Their urbane company carried Poldene’s little society from excruciating to tolerable. They shielded Sarah, since Mama and Papa wished to keep up appearances before them. But what was he to do when the guests departed?
He’d made up his mind to act, but resolution was easier than deciding what to actually do. He would take over the state suite when the Terefords went, with its greater space and privacy. He would move without asking. Once again a fait accompli. But was it far enough?
There were one or two empty cottages on the Poldene estate, but they were run-down, awaiting renovation. He couldn’t take Sarah to such a place, even if his father would let him have one, which he would not. Beyond the basic inconveniences, the neighborhood would explode with gossip. He suspected that his mother would add to it, blaming everything on the marriage. Sarah’s father would probably come for him with a horsewhip, and Kenver wouldn’t blame him.
His mother’s brother might invite them to London next season. He and Kenver got along well enough. But his uncle was not in town now, and the season seemed very far off. There were Sarah’s old friends. But Kenver disliked the idea of turning up to visit as more or less a beggar.
He considered his sister’s unexpected letter. He couldn’t ask anything of Tamara, after the way he’d let her down. Offering refuge to Sarah was not the same as welcoming them both. Tamara had not written tohim.
He’d been searching his memories for any trace of his older sister and unearthed only a general sense of a whirlwind sweeping through the nursery, filling him with a kind of delighted anxiety. That and the shouting. It hadn’t been just at the end before she ran away, he thought. There had been various episodes of shouting. Nearly continuous, it seemed. He thought he recalled—or perhaps had been told—that Tamara had gone riding in a purloined pair of breeches. He could easily imagine his mother’s outrage over that. Tamara must have had nerves of steel. What was she like now at thirty-five? Should they consider going to see?
But he didn’t want to run away, Kenver realized. He’d had enough ducking and weaving and evading. Sarah had shown him that. He wanted to make a home for her in this place that would be theirs eventually. He wanted her to love Poldene as much as he did, though whether she ever could after all that had happened he did not know.
“Kenver?”
The tone of his mother’s voice suggested that she had addressed him more than once.
“Always with your head in the clouds,” said his father.
That was not true. But in this case, he had no idea what they’d been talking about.
“I was saying that the village summer fete is next week,” said Mama.
“Yes,” he replied. “We provided a cow for the roast.”
“I shall open the proceedings as usual,” added his mother complacently.
She ought to invite Sarah to stand beside her, as the new addition to their family. But she would not. He had no doubt about that. Pressure built in Kenver’s chest. He disliked quarrels. He acknowledged that he avoided them. But now he had to find a way to make things right for Sarah.
Kenver noticed that the duke was looking at him. Was he mistaken, or did he see understanding in the man’s piercing blue eyes? Even sympathy? The duke gave him a slight nod. Exactly what it signified, Kenver could not tell.
Ten
Under Cecelia’s direction, a swarm of workmen descended on Tresigan to begin restoring the house. “They have pulled off the ivy,” she told the duke a day later. “And found some spots where mortar will need to be replaced. Nothing too dire.”
“That’s good.”
Cecelia was sitting at the writing desk looking through a pile of correspondence that had arrived at Poldene that morning. “We’ve also solved the mystery of the cellar,” she added.
Elegantly relaxed on a settee beside the hearth, the duke looked inquiring.
