Trevor went about the important work of cleaning his plate, while Jeanette contemplated a jaunt out to Surrey to call upon Viola. Was it meddling to warn off a meddler? Would antagonizing Viola make the situation worse, or turn that lady’s active mind to the more productive challenge of seeing her two unmarried daughters fired off? Jerome had five sisters, and the first three had married respectably but not impressively.
The next in line—Diana—was making a belated come out. In the spring of her eighteenth year, her next oldest sister had yet to marry, and thus Viola had decided that Diana’s presentation could wait. Diana had broken an ankle in the spring of her nineteenth year. Her maternal grandfather had died in the spring of her twentieth year, and last year, her dear grandmama’s death had once again prevented a court presentation.
Viola was understandably determined to see her daughters well launched. Jeanette was equally determined that Trevor should make his own decisions regarding the eventual taking of a wife.
“What will you do with yourself today, Step-mama?” he asked, refilling his tea cup.
“No social calls. I was out a bit later than I’d planned last night.” Though the excursion had been successful.
“You ask me about ankles, and I must return fire by inquiring about handsome cavaliers. Has any fellow caught your fancy?”
And there was proof that the sweet boy was gone forever. “I have no wish to remarry, Trevor, you know that.” He did not know why Jeanette held marriage in such low regard, but Trevor was a perceptive fellow. He had grasped early in life what his father expected of him and had met those expectations with every appearance of good cheer.
If Trevor ever did decide to kick over the traces of propriety, his rebellion would be well earned.
“I’m not suggesting you remarry, my lady, but neither must you take holy orders. You are deuced pretty, and more than a few of my friends… Well, suffice it to say a good opinion of your looks is frequently expressed.”
A year ago, Trevor would have blushed to offer that compliment. Now he simply returned to the sideboard for another round of sustenance.
“I am content,” Jeanette said, and she was also wise enough to treasure her contentment. That somebody sought to disrupt her hard-won peace provoked as much anger as it did fear.
“Do you seek for me to be merely content, my lady?”
“I seek for you to be happy.”
“Well, then.” He grinned as he returned to the table, his syllogism complete according to his lopsided male logic. If a bride was the sure guarantee for his happiness, then a husband must be the sine qua non of Jeanette’s. “Let the right fellow waltz you onto a few moonlit terraces and strive for more than mere contentment.”
I am done striving for anything where moonlit terraces and waltzing partners are concerned. “You ask about my plans for the day. I will be off to the soldiers’ home for much of the morning, and I am meeting with the solicitors this afternoon. If you are available, I hope you’ll come with me to call upon the lawyers.”
Trevor consumed this plateful directly without bothering to build himself any sandwiches. “What is the agenda for the meeting?”
Putting the fear of waste, fraud, and chicanery into a law office that had never earned Jeanette’s trust.
“The usual quarterly review of the investments. If your allowance is inadequate, I will direct Smithers to increase it.”
Trevor took an inordinate interest in the bottom of his tea cup. “A bit more blunt would be appreciated. Town life puts a few demands on the exchequer.”
Trevor’s bills were sent to Jeanette, who paid them out of the fund set up for his direct maintenance. She had insisted he have his own money besides, enough to hold his head up among his chums, not enough to get into trouble.
Again. “Another twenty percent?” she suggested.
Trevor’s relief was disturbingly obvious. “My thanks, and no, I am not gambling it away. Jerome has mentioned dropping around to The Coventry Club for a few hands, but I told him I’d go along strictly as an observer.”
Jeanette had offered to show Trevor around at the Coventry, but apparently her company on such a sortie paled, as it should.
“I haven’t been on the Coventry’s premises since last autumn,” she said. “The Dorning brothers were very helpful at the Wentwhistle house party. If you see them, please give them my regards.”
She would warn the footmen of Trevor’s plans, for they were as close as she could come to assigning him bodyguards. Her own footmen were loyal to the Vincent family, and she could not rely on them to safeguard her wellbeing if somebody—say, Uncle Beardsley or dear Auntie Viola—was intriguing against her.
“I thought I detected a bit of liking on your part for Mr. Sycamore Dorning,” Trevor said, refilling his tea cup.
“Both Dorning brothers comported themselves honorably.” Sycamore’s honor had surprised her and pleased her, hence her recent request of him. He was not a sweet boy making a calm transition into young adulthood. He had likely never been a sweet boy.
Sycamore Dorning was shrewd, self-interested, and quietly ruthless—also tall, dark-haired, and charming, as well as possessed of exotic, amethyst eyes that saw much and gave away little.
Jeanette would pretend the suppers he’d asked for were a bit of a penance, but the truth was, she liked him. She also trusted him to keep his word to her, and that was far more than she’d trusted any other man since speaking her misbegotten marriage vows nearly ten years ago.
Chapter Two
In his first two years overseeing the Coventry, Sycamore had anticipated the spring Season with delirious glee. The controlled pandemonium in the kitchen, the tumble of the dice against felt-covered tables, the whirr of the roulette wheel… Those had been his odes to joy, and
