Lady Warne had written, her florid feminine hand evident in the largest packet, and Nita had written as well. There was a thin epistle from a location obscured by the rain having gotten to the sender’s direction—Beck supposed it to be from one of his factors on the Continent—and a note from Nick.
Nothing was banded or sealed in black, so the news couldn’t be that awful. That he didn’t yet have to leave Three Springs came as a relief, and not simply because it meant the earl yet drew breath.
Pushing his beer across the table, Beck opened the note from Nick first. Nick was the realm’s largest grasshopper, shifting about from one residence to another, one friend’s holding to another’s, one county to another with a speed and frequency that left his family dizzy.
But he made up for it by being a good correspondent, in two senses. First, he was conscientious, and second, he was to the point.
Becky Dearest,
Am up to my miserable arse in dancing slippers, cravats, and interminable small talk. I do not wish you were here, not when I feel about as comfortable with this charade as the Regent would riding a lame donkey. No countess yet, and I shudder at the potential candidates. They all look as desperate as I feel. If you ever have sons—for I shall not—don’t make them promise to marry until they’re at least forty.
No bad news from Nita. I’ve asked her to keep you well informed while you are in the provinces. Lady Warne is delighted you’re on premises down there, and says to warn you the women on staff are her personal friends—I don’t know if she means you are honor bound to flirt with her collection of relics, or you’re honor bound not to. I know Papa appreciates the effort you’re making, as do I. When the day comes that the title befalls me, the last thing I’ll have time to do is racket around the South Downs, restoring Three Springs.
Don’t let the old dears pinch your tender bottom too hard. If you should make a progress to Sutcliffe and run into Thomas Jennings doing the same, I specifically told him to leave you in peace, but recall, Linden is just a few hours the other side of Brighton if you need reinforcements. He says Loris fares well and is nowhere near as big as a freshening heifer. If you’re going to bide there for a spell—and I encourage you to, the scenery up here being pathetic—then I’ll have Nita send you some pigeons.
Papa would want to hear how you go on, as do I.
Love,
Wee Nick
Beck set the letter aside, vowing to return fire soon. Nita’s letter was equally brief, but reassured Beck the earl was comfortable, if “fading.” Nita’s guess was the old man would hang on until Nick had chosen his bride.
The letter from Lady Warne was indeed accompanied by sealed notes for Polly and Sara, but the tone of Beck’s missive was puzzling.
My dear boy,
Trust I am keeping an eye on that imp of a brother of yours. I will not allow him to indulge in too much folly in the choice before him. Still, one wishes you could be two places at once, because your ability to discreetly manage our Nick would come in handy. Instead, you have been set to checking up on my property, for which I am grateful. Nicholas has hinted all might not be in order with Three Springs, but I have assured him you have my power of attorney and will soon address whatever minor neglect has occurred.
You will please ensure the enclosed are delivered to their respective addressees in person, because there has been a peculiar quality to my correspondence with my staff. While the Misses Hunt are most amiable and competent ladies, I’ve found their attendance to epistolary matters oddly unreliable. They write only sporadically, seldom answer the direct questions I put to them, and often remark on matters of random interest. I’d be concerned, except Mr. North’s quarterly reports arrive timely into the hands of my secretary, who assures me they are current and complete.
When you are done rusticating, you must come up to Town that I may sport about on your arm and be the envy of my friends—and their granddaughters.
Your loving Grandmother
Della, Lady Warne
The letter explained at least one thing: Lady Warne was not reviewing North’s reports herself. She left them in the hands of her secretary, a cheerful, practical little man who’d looked exactly the same since Beck had first been introduced to him fifteen years ago. Three Springs, alas, was falling through the cracks, with the secretary certain the earl was managing it, and the earl comfortable to leave it to his shifty solicitors.
And as for managing Nicholas, Beck attributed that to harmless flattery or willful misdirection on Nicholas’s part.
The other part of the letter, the almost querulous description of communication from her house staff at Three Springs, that bothered Beck, and put him in mind of Sara’s comments regarding Lady Warne’s own letters and notes.
“Whiling the morning away as I work myself to a nubbin.” North grunted as he slid into the snug beside Beck. “Any news?”
“My father lives so you will not yet be rid of me, my brother is not yet married, and Mistress Innkeeper has cashiered the twins into Portsmouth because they were foolish enough to disclose they’d lost their livelihoods.”
North caught the eye of a serving maid. “All in all, a good report. I’ve bought out the shops for the ladies and heard there was a young lord buying up hay at the livery. Big devil, but spoke like a toff.”
“Village life makes up in charm what it lacks in privacy,” Beck said. He slit open the final, flimsy missive and then set it down. “This is not for me.” He flipped it over and eyed the address more closely. The ink was slightly smeared, on both sending and receiving addresses, but it was clearly sent to Three Springs.
“Perhaps”—he slid it over to North—“it’s for you, my lord.”
North eyed the single sheet of paper with distaste. “Bugger all.”
Beck took another sip of his ale and waited in silence. The letter had begun with a florid, obsequious greeting to his lordship, Gabriel, Marquess of… And Beck had folded it back up, lest he read more that he didn’t want to know.
North scanned the letter, scowling mightily, then folded it into an inside pocket as a serving maid approached.
“Your pint, Mr. North.” She set it down and curtsied, her gaze running over North with veiled appreciation.
“My thanks, Lolly. How’re the boys?”
Lolly’s tired countenance lit up. “Growing out of everything they own. Can’t wait until I can turn them loose in the garden and get their noise and rumpus out of the cottage. They’re still learning their letters this winter, and it’s hard for ’em, but Gran and I insist. It’s all their pa asked of me, and I intend to see it done.”
“They won’t regret it,” North assured her. “And neither will you.”
She left the table, a little more bounce in her step, and Beck tilted his head to consider his lordship.
“Tell me this much, North. Is there anybody who will be coming around, out for your blood and uncaring of the welfare of those around you?”
“No.” North was emphatic. “You have a right to be concerned, because the appearances are troubling, but no. I have no enemies who’ve tracked me to Three Springs, and the ladies have nothing to fear.”
“Jolly good for them. You, however, will have a considerable enemy in me if I find whatever game you’re playing threatens harm to them or Lady Warne’s assets. Are we clear?”
“Oh, cut line, Haddonfield.” North’s tone was weary. “I ended up at Three Springs intending to stay only a season or so—that was my initial arrangement with Lady Warne—but the place needed somebody, and I couldn’t leave it to the twins, could I?”