have. He hadn’t been interested enough to pay attention to much beyond the basics of his solicitor’s correspondence. Difficult as it was, he summoned a smile. “I can’t think of any man better suited to run the estate, Pollett.”
It was true. Unexpected his brother had seen it too. He wouldn’t have credited Harry with such good sense.
Pollett’s face creased in concern. “The estate isn’t as it should be. I did my best, but…”
Gideon made a dismissive gesture. “It doesn’t matter.” The house stood, and anything else could be fixed. If he could summon heart for the task.
“We’ve been short-staffed. And Sir Harold…”
Gideon met Pollett’s eyes and a silent message of understanding passed between them. Harry had already been a hopeless drunkard when Gideon left, for all he’d only been nineteen.
Sir Barker had been a man of stubborn opinions. He’d considered drinking, like hard riding and ceaseless womanizing, an essential manly attribute. Gideon’s open contempt for his sire’s swinish pursuits was just one of many conflicts between them.
A memory of Harry before the liquor got to him assailed Gideon and aroused a pang of genuine sorrow. His brotherhad been tall and gold like a Norse god. Strong. Hearty. Stupid as an ox but not vicious.
Any viciousness in the family had been his father’s.
Pollett swallowed visibly as Harry’s bluff ghost hovered, then vanished. “All will be well now there’s a real Trevithick holding the reins.”
Dear God, how much more of this could he take? The hope and joy in Pollett’s face made Gideon flinch. He didn’t deserve this unconditional welcome.
To avoid the old man’s gaze, Gideon turned back to the carriage. He looked inside to where Sarah shrank into the shadows. “Come out, Miss Watson.”
He stood back as she reluctantly obeyed. When she emerged, Pollett’s face lit with curiosity and the beginnings of speculation. “Are felicitations in order, Sir Gideon?”
If a man traveled alone with a woman, she could fill few roles in his life. A relative, and Pollett intimately knew the sparseness of the Trevithick family tree. A wife. A mistress.
Gideon stifled grim laughter. He wished to hell he was normal enough to have a mistress. If he did, she’d be a damned sight better turned out than Miss Watson. However low the Trevithicks sank, they always dressed their ladybirds comme il faut.
The girl hovered at his side with visible uncertainty. She’d raised the greatcoat’s collar around her face, and her shoulders hunched.
Shame was so familiar, he had no trouble recognizing it in another. He hated seeing such a proud spirit brought low. She hid her injuries, as though they marked her unclean, contagious. More than that, she must know her virtue was in question.
She waited silently, gazing at the ground. Poor Sarah. Hurt. Alone. Helpless.
Her brothers’ violence cast her into an unforgiving world. How she must loathe relying so totally on strangers. In this isolated place, she had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.
His glance swept the small crowd arrayed before him.Generations of service tied these men and women to the Trevithicks. He drew himself up to his full height, and his voice rang with authority. “Miss Watson is an acquaintance who needs somewhere to stay.” He ignored her muffled gasp of horror as he used her name. “It’s imperative nobody knows of her presence. I entrust her safety to your good sense and discretion.”
Sarah mightn’t realize it, but he’d just claimed her as a denizen of his private kingdom. Penrhyn had always been a realm unto itself, loyal to those who belonged, suspicious of incomers. He waited as first one maid dropped into a curtsy, then another, and the men bowed acknowledgment.
Gideon gestured for her to precede him up the stairs and into the cavernous hall. But as he followed her into the house, reluctance weighted his tread.
The day’s last sunlight poured in dusty rays through tall
It was true. Unexpected his brother had seen it too. He wouldn’t have credited Harry with such good sense.
Pollett’s face creased in concern. “The estate isn’t as it should be. I did my best, but…”
Gideon made a dismissive gesture. “It doesn’t matter.” The house stood, and anything else could be fixed. If he could summon heart for the task.
“We’ve been short-staffed. And Sir Harold…”
Gideon met Pollett’s eyes and a silent message of understanding passed between them. Harry had already been a hopeless drunkard when Gideon left, for all he’d only been nineteen.
Sir Barker had been a man of stubborn opinions. He’d considered drinking, like hard riding and ceaseless womanizing, an essential manly attribute. Gideon’s open contempt for his sire’s swinish pursuits was just one of many conflicts between them.
A memory of Harry before the liquor got to him assailed Gideon and aroused a pang of genuine sorrow. His brotherhad been tall and gold like a Norse god. Strong. Hearty. Stupid as an ox but not vicious.
Any viciousness in the family had been his father’s.
Pollett swallowed visibly as Harry’s bluff ghost hovered, then vanished. “All will be well now there’s a real Trevithick holding the reins.”
Dear God, how much more of this could he take? The hope and joy in Pollett’s face made Gideon flinch. He didn’t deserve this unconditional welcome.
To avoid the old man’s gaze, Gideon turned back to the carriage. He looked inside to where Sarah shrank into the shadows. “Come out, Miss Watson.”
He stood back as she reluctantly obeyed. When she emerged, Pollett’s face lit with curiosity and the beginnings of speculation. “Are felicitations in order, Sir Gideon?”
If a man traveled alone with a woman, she could fill few roles in his life. A relative, and Pollett intimately knew the sparseness of the Trevithick family tree. A wife. A mistress.
Gideon stifled grim laughter. He wished to hell he was normal enough to have a mistress. If he did, she’d be a damned sight better turned out than Miss Watson. However low the Trevithicks sank, they always dressed their ladybirds comme il faut.
The girl hovered at his side with visible uncertainty. She’d raised the greatcoat’s collar around her face, and her shoulders hunched.
Shame was so familiar, he had no trouble recognizing it in another. He hated seeing such a proud spirit brought low. She hid her injuries, as though they marked her unclean, contagious. More than that, she must know her virtue was in question.
She waited silently, gazing at the ground. Poor Sarah. Hurt. Alone. Helpless.
Her brothers’ violence cast her into an unforgiving world. How she must loathe relying so totally on strangers. In this isolated place, she had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.
His glance swept the small crowd arrayed before him.Generations of service tied these men and women to the Trevithicks. He drew himself up to his full height, and his voice rang with authority. “Miss Watson is an acquaintance who needs somewhere to stay.” He ignored her muffled gasp of horror as he used her name. “It’s imperative nobody knows of her presence. I entrust her safety to your good sense and discretion.”
Sarah mightn’t realize it, but he’d just claimed her as a denizen of his private kingdom. Penrhyn had always been a realm unto itself, loyal to those who belonged, suspicious of incomers. He waited as first one maid dropped into a curtsy, then another, and the men bowed acknowledgment.
Gideon gestured for her to precede him up the stairs and into the cavernous hall. But as he followed her into the house, reluctance weighted his tread.
The day’s last sunlight poured in dusty rays through tall
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