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“I became acquainted with Whitfield because I grew interested in the many forms of grief.”
What sort of trick was this? Penelope wondered.
“And hoped to be of help, as I’ve experienced a good dose of it myself,” he added.
This wasn’t what she’d expected.
“You’ve heard that he lost his parents? In a shipwreck?”
She nodded.
“A sudden death is a great shock. As you must have felt.”
Penelope stiffened. Here it was. “Lord Whitfield told you about my brother.”
“He did.”
“Must I say it again? I knew nothing about his activities or associates or political writings. Yes, it is strange that two people living in the same household could be so separate. But we were!” She bent her head. “As I was sad to discover.” She’d regretted that distance in so many ways, not least in her failure to understand her only brother.
Lord Macklin took a step back. “I beg your pardon.”
Penelope looked up, surprised. Where was the doubt, the barrage of questions?
The earl bowed. “I’ve upset you. Forgive me.”
None of her questioners had asked forgiveness.
“I won’t keep you any longer.”
She hesitated briefly, not daring to believe, then turned and hurried along to the door of the estate office. “Good day, Lord Macklin,” she said, and entered the sanctuary of the estate office.
The older man stayed where he was, pensive. Clayton found him there some minutes later. “I sent Tom off with the message,” he said.
“Good. Thank you, Clayton.” He still didn’t move.
“Something wrong, my lord?”
“My conversations with Miss Pendleton don’t go well.”
“What are you aiming at, my lord?”
“That’s the problem, isn’t it? I’m not sure I know.”
“She seems like a pleasant enough young lady,” answered the valet. “The servants here say she’s quality.”
“But does she add up?”
“My lord?”
Arthur sighed. “I suspect she’s been treated shabbily, and I’m sorry for that. But I’m really here for Whitfield. I’d like to see him happy. Is she the sort to make him so?”
“You should receive replies to your letters soon,” said Clayton.
“Yes.” Arthur gazed at the closed door of the estate office as he tried to be satisfied with this.
* * *
“They taste good even if they look ridiculous,” said Daniel on the other side of the panels. He took a second bite of a Shrewsbury cake that he’d shaped so ineptly. The room seemed different with Miss Pendleton installed in a chair beside his at the desk. Fresh and lovely in a blue cambric gown, she transformed it from a place of dry drudgery to a chamber full of possibility. She’d seemed harried when she first came in, but the sight of his documents, and the donning of her oddly charming dust sleeves, had visibly settled her.
