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The older man nodded across the table. “My nephew’s wife died in childbirth several years ago. He mourns her still.”
Furness looked more furious than grief-stricken as the table’s attention shifted to him. He was clearly startled, and outraged, at having this information shared with strangers.
The earl turned to Daniel. “Whitfield’s parents were killed in a shipwreck eight months ago on their way back from India,” he continued.
Given the way things had been going, Daniel wasn’t completely surprised by this unauthorized sharing of his private affairs. He called on the stoicism that had sustained him through this period and replied, “Quite so. A dreadful accident. Storm drove them onto a reef. All hands lost.” He looked around the table and shrugged. “What can one do? These things happen.” He met curious glances and deflected them. He didn’t intend to discuss the sudden upending of his life with these strangers. Why would he? There was no point. Railing against fate changed nothing.
“Chatton lost his wife to a virulent fever a year ago,” Lord Macklin said.
“I didn’tloseher,” the gentleman exclaimed, his thin face reddening further. “She was dashed wellkilledby an incompetent physician and my neighbor who insisted they ride out into a downpour.” He looked like a man who’d suffered an intolerable insult rather than a bereavement.
Daniel considered a hasty exit. He could legitimately plead a press of business and lack of time. It would be rude, but he could live it down. He braced to rise. The earl’s blue-gray gaze shifted, caught him, and somehow kept him in his chair.
“And Compton’s sister died while she was visiting a friend, just six months ago,” their host finished.
The youngest man at the table flinched. “She was barely seventeen,” he murmured. “My ward as well as my sister.” He put his head in his hands. “I ought to have gone with her. I was invited. If only I’d gone. I wouldn’t have allowed her to take that cliff path. I would have…done something.”
“I’ve been widowed for ten years,” interrupted Macklin gently. “I know what it’s like to lose a beloved person quite suddenly. And I know there must be a period of adjustment afterward. People don’t talk about the time it takes—different for everyone I imagine—and how one copes.” He looked around the table. “I was aware of Benjamin’s bereavement, naturally, since he is my nephew.”
Furness gritted his teeth. Daniel thought he was going to jump up and stalk out, as he’d longed to do himself. But the earl spoke again before either of them could move.
“Then, seemingly at random, I heard of your cases, and it occurred to me that I might be able to help.”
“What help is there for death?” said the marquess. “And which of us asked for your aid?Icertainly didn’t.” He glared around the table as if searching for someone to blame.
Time to wrap this up and get on, Daniel thought. Pushing a little back from the table, he said, “Waste of time to dwell on such stuff. No point, eh?”
Compton sighed like a melancholy bellows.
“Grief is insidious, almost palpable, and as variable as humankind,” said their host. “No one can understand who hasn’t experienced a sudden loss. A black coat and a few platitudes are nothing.”
“Are you accusing us of insincerity, sir?” demanded Chatton. His fists were clenched on either side of his plate, and his face was bright red. Choleric hardly covered it.
“Not at all,” answered the earl. “I’m offering you the fruits of experience and years of contemplation.”
“Thrusting them on us, whether we will or no,” the other replied. “Tantamount to an ambush, this so-called dinner.”
While true, this seemed unhelpful. Daniel disliked brangling, particularly at the dinner table. The thing was to get over rough ground as quickly and smoothly as possible, and escape. “Nothing wrong with the food,” he said, ignoring the marquess’s scowl. “Best claret I’ve had this year.” He had only to offer thanks and depart, but their host spoke before he could.
“Well, well,” said Macklin, clearly not affected by their responses. “Who knows? If I’ve made a mistake, I’ll gladly apologize. Indeed, I beg your pardon for springing my idea on you with no preparation. Will you, nonetheless, allow me to tell the story of my grieving, as I had hoped to do?”
Such was the power of his personality that none of them refused. Even Chatton merely glared at his half-eaten meal. Lord Macklin ought to be running the government instead of arranging dinners for strangers, Daniel thought. He’d roll right over opposition.
“And afterward, should you wish to do the same, I’ll gladly hear it,” added the earl. He smiled—sage, reliable, a picture of paternal benevolence.
Inexplicably, a scene from years ago flashed through Daniel’s memory. He stood, with his nanny and some other servants, watching a carriage drive away from his home in Derbyshire. He waved, but no hand showed at the vehicle’s windows to return the gesture. The carriage merely grew smaller and smaller in his sight until finally it disappeared around a bend in the road. He hadn’t realized he was crying until he was scolded forunmanlyweakness.
A pang of regret shook Daniel. He shoved the memory aside. There was no reason to be thinking of this now. Lord Macklin didn’t resemble either of his parents in the least. The oak paneling might be similar, but White’s had nothing to do with his home. And wallowing accomplished precisely nothing. He dragged his attention back to Lord Macklin’s words.
The earl said his piece, which Daniel found quite touching. And then the others spoke, briefly, with varying degrees of enthusiasm and candor. Compton came very near tears, while Furness was tight-lipped and laconic. The talk was surprisingly engrossing. Of course, when they were done, and the goodbyes had been said, none of it made the least difference. The important thing was to get on with life, Daniel thought as he headed back to his hotel. And he had a hundred things to do.
One
Daniel set his jaw as he surveyed the piles of documents and ledgers before him and wondered if he’d ever see the bare surface of the desk again. The estate office in his ancestral home was a study in chaos. It seemed to him that records and correspondence had been flung through the door like stones skipped across water and left to molder where they landed. As with everything else, Papa and Mama had been more interested in visiting far-flung lands than in anything occurring in their own. And so the piles of paper on this desk had grown higher, the disorder had increased, and next to nothing had been done.
His father hadn’t bothered to inform him that their estate agent had left some time ago. Whether the fellow had gone out of incompetence or frustration, Daniel didn’t know. How could he? If he’d been told that Briggs was gone, he would have found a new agent, at least. Wouldn’t he? But that was the point, wasn’t it? His parents hadn’t cared to tell him anything. He’d long ago stopped expecting them to. And so, when the weight of responsibility suddenly descended upon him with their deaths, it was compounded by this wretched mare’s nest. There was so much information to absorb, so many decisions to make, while the information needed to do so could never be found.
Daniel gazed longingly at the green landscape spreading outside the windows. Of course he preferred riding and shooting and fishing and lively society to tenancy reports and dry columns of numbers. Didn’t everyone?
