Mr. Trelawney's Proposal. Mary Brendan
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‘Due to the rather dilapidated state of the property, I wouldn’t like to estimate how long it might take to achieve a sale,’ Victor Willoughby mentioned, drawing Luke’s thoughts back to business, as he leafed through documents in front of him. ‘Perhaps if I were to arrange for minor work to be carried out…neaten the gardens, a little redecorating, for example…’
Luke cut in quietly. ‘I haven’t the time or inclination to tarry here. I would be willing to accept offers for the freehold which reflect its state of disrepair. Renovation is necessary, I agree. But the building is solid and free from any rot as far as I can detect.’
‘Indeed, my lord, I’m sure. I only meant…’
Luke interrupted him mildly. ‘I know what you meant and I thank you for your concern. The highest price possible isn’t my main consideration. Returning to Cornwall is, at the earliest opportunity.’ He gave the slightly disconcerted man a brief, conciliatory smile. ‘Shall I leave it to you to arrange for the sale of the freehold? And to deal with staff remuneration?’
‘Indeed, my lord,’ Victor Willoughby assured the preoccupied man who was again gazing through the rain-spattered glass into the drizzly-grey distance. ‘It may mean that several of my clerks will be working on your behalf, my lord.’ He coughed delicately. ‘Will payment for my firm’s services be taken from the proceeds of the estate sale, or will an earlier…?’
A small, cynical smile escaped Luke but he didn’t turn away from surveying the sodden landscape as he informed Willoughby levelly, ‘You will receive interim payments. I want the estate dealt with as a matter of urgency and will pay for that service accordingly. Your fees will not be dependent upon the actual sale. Should the matter be closed in record time, however, a bonus might…’ He allowed the enticement to hang between them for a moment. ‘I shall be travelling back to Cornwall next week and would like to leave in the sure knowledge that everything possible is being done to expedite matters. And that it is all in capable hands.’
‘Of course, my lord,’ Victor Willoughby assured him, but sensing that somehow he had just received a subtle reprimand.
A light tapping at the door heralded the arrival of Judith with a laden tea tray. She smiled at Luke, informing him pleasantly, ‘I’ve brought you some treacle biscuits, my lord. You remember, those you liked yesterday.’
‘Thank you, Judith,’ Luke said graciously, with a small smile for her. She blushed happily, pouring tea into wafer-thin china cups. Once this was accomplished and tea distributed she loitered, shifting uneasily from one foot to the other.
Luke raised querying brows at her, wordlessly inviting her to speak if something was troubling her.
‘It’s nothing really, my lord…’
‘Mr Trelawney, Judith…I thought we had agreed you would use that,’ he reminded mildly, hoping that Victor Willoughby was also taking due note.
‘Yes, sir, I mean, Mr Trelawney. Well, sir, it’s nothing really, as I said, it’s just your brother…’ Judith tailed off and shuffled uncomfortably again.
Luke sighed out, ‘Yes, what now? Is he sliding down the banisters? Rolling drunk in the drawing room?’
‘No, sir. He’s…er…rolling dice with Joan and Sally…in the hallway. If you want dinner tonight, Mr Trelawney, he had best leave the girls be so I can get them to the vegetables.’ She rubbed appreciative hands together as she expounded, ‘It’s to be smoked trout and roast guinea fowl with roast potatoes and fruit tarts with cream and…’
‘And as you pass him in the hallway, Judith, tell him I want him, would you?’ Luke cut into her menu, a slow hand spanning his forehead, soothing his temples.
Judith bobbed a quick curtsy before bustling busily from the study.
Poking professionally about in his cavernous document case, Mr Willoughby seemed deaf to the unusual discourse. But he ruined his nonchalance by admitting with doleful sympathy, ‘I have a younger brother…’
Luke nodded acceptance of the man’s tacit condolences before getting back to business. ‘The Summer House Lodge…where is the lease for that building? I haven’t found it among any of the documents in this study. Do you hold it?’
‘The Summer House?’ Mr Willoughby repeated, a trifle surprised. ‘Oh, you won’t find any lease for that; there is none.’
Luke frowned enquiry across the desk at him. ‘Are you sure? The building is presently used as a small school, by Miss Rebecca Nash. She rents the premises on a lease, I would have thought.’
As Ross sauntered back into the room, Luke glanced up idly, scowling a little at his brother’s impenitent smile. Picking up the newspaper he had previously been reading, Ross strolled across to the window by Luke’s desk, as though enjoying better light there to study it.
‘Well, yes, she does reside there. But there is no lease,’ Willoughby confirmed as his pale eyes darted from one brother to the other.
‘Why not?’ Luke asked a little too quietly.
Willoughby noisily cleared his throat and slid nervous fingers between his stiff collar and his warming neck as he sensed an atmosphere fomenting. ‘There was never any need of one,’ he quickly advised Luke. ‘Robin Ramsden and Miss Nash appeared to have…an agreement. She just resides and works there and he—’ He broke off, desperately seeking the right words, aware of two sets of brown eyes watching him now. The silence strained interminably.
‘And he…?’ Luke finally prompted him, in a voice that was silky with danger, while his eyes relentlessly pinned down the weak blue ones seeking to evade him.
‘And he allowed her to,’ Mr Willoughby concluded quickly, pleased with his innocuous phrasing. It didn’t have the desired effect of diverting Luke Trelawney’s piercing gaze.
‘Possibly he took pity on her…because of the tragedy which occurred some five years ago,’ Willoughby suggested hastily. ‘It would have been about the same time she took up residence at the Summer House. Yes, that must have been it.’ He nodded, sure he had now satisfactorily managed a delicate situation.
‘Tragedy…?’
Just one soft word coupled with a penetrating, fierce stare and Victor Willoughby readily explained. ‘Miss Nash lost both her parents in a carriage accident in the winter snows. Within the same week she learned of the death of her fiancé in the Peninsula…er…he was a captain in the Hussars, I believe. Then her brother disappeared, too. That I believe was, financially, the crux of the matter. For her brother held the purse strings on her father’s death. He was charged with administering her small inheritance for her but no one could find him. I believe they still can’t.’ He licked dry lips and glanced warily at Luke Trelawney, noting his narrow-eyed thoughtfulness.
‘And Robin Ramsden‥?’ Luke interrogated him calmly.
‘And Robin Ramsden appeared to take her under his protection…er…I mean to say, he looked after her, so to speak,’ Mr Willoughby flustered, unwilling to imply too much of what he had never been certain. He had his own theories but he was not going to voice them. Definitely not to this man who had become rather daunting in the past few minutes.
Miss Nash was a lovely woman…he had seen her once or twice and had drawn the only logical conclusion he could for his late client’s continuing aid and protection. This new lord of the manor seemed also to have taken an immediate personal interest in her. It was no concern of his…but she was very beautiful…
Luke shoved back in his chair and stood up. He walked to the window and stared out, appearing oblivious to his brother barely a yard away, even though Ross’s anxious hazel eyes followed his movements. But Luke was peripherally aware of Willoughby behind him, gathering together his papers and stuffing them abruptly into his case in readiness to depart.
A hard, humourless smile curved Luke’s mouth as he finally allowed himself to concentrate