Tom left Alcott early in the morning, before anyone in the house was awake, and rode the five miles to Foxhill House, his family estate on the edge of Carrington. He’d been promising the family a visit, and his nephew’s birthday seemed like an unavoidable event.
It was barely lunchtime, but his sister-in-law had already made three veiled threats about how he ought to stay. She mentioned his ready room, how his nephews missed him, how his brother relied on him. It would take all his strength to break away and return to Alcott in time for dinner. He wanted to be annoyed by her smothering, but he was well loved, so it had to be forgiven.
His nephews were in rare form today. Tom did his duty and chased them about, letting the two younger lads ride him like a horse, but he was now thoroughly done in. Dear little Caroline was the youngest and the only girl. She sat curled up in his lap with her favorite doll as he took a much-needed breather. The boys still charged about like an angry swarm of bees.
Tom’s brother Colin sat next to him in a comfortable chair, the sun blocked by a large awning set up for the party. “Hmm,” he said, glancing up from his paper. “I’d quite forgotten to ask you. Did you hear the news out of Yew Warren?”
Tom looked up sharply. Yew Warren was the family seat of the Edgecombes. The age gap between Tom and his brother meant that Colin was away at Cambridge when Tom had his affair with Marianne Edgecombe. It was a secret known only to Tom and the lady…and Burke and James, of course.
Tom never spoke of her now. His friends did their best to honor his wishes. He chose to think of her as dead. More accurately, he chose to think of her as the ghost that might haunt him if she were ever summoned by name.
“I’ve had no news from Yew Warren,” he replied, readying himself for the worst.
“You’ll remember that daughter of old Sir John’s…Miss Marianne?”
Tom quietly groaned, the dull echoing beat of his heart slowing in his chest. “It’s Mrs. Young now,” he replied flatly.
“Aye, Mrs. Young,” Colin echoed. “Well, that’s just the thing. I heard it from Sir John last Sunday that Mr. Young died. Quite unexpected it was…though he was a bit older from what I remember. Did we attend her wedding?”
Tom shook his head. “No, I was out on my first tour to the West Indies.” The truth was, he’d volunteered for that tour because of Marianne’s wedding.
“Oh, that’s right…I could have sworn we attended that wedding together.” Colin shrugged. “Well, in any event, Mrs. Young is now a wealthy widow, and at the tender age of twenty-six.” He set aside his paper and stretched his legs. “Mother had an idea that you were sweet on the girl once…”
Tom wasn’t listening, he was too busy imagining Marianne’s porcelain face covered in a black veil. As much as he hated her, he was also loath to picture her in black bombazine, haunting her London townhouse like a beautiful, lonely raven.
Marianne was a widow. Her marriage hadn’t even lasted eight years. For Tom, it was eight years of mourning. Well, perhaps only two years of full mourning. Then another two of debauchery and distraction…followed by four much more peaceful years of denial.
“I say, were you sweet on her?” Colin repeated.
“Hmm?” Caroline wiggled on Tom’s lap, tucking her head into his shoulder. “I…that was a long time ago,” he replied noncommittally.
“Well, it could be a possible answer to your current predicament,” Colin said with a smile. “You need to marry a lady of some wealth, and Marianne just inherited her husband’s fortune. If she was sweet on you once, she might be sweet on you again. Could be worth a call up to London to offer your condolences and…test the waters, as they say.”
Tom was in a daze. How, after eight long years, could he still not have this woman out of his life? Was this meant to be some kind of sign? He was at last ready to look for a wife and his first love was once again available…
He shrugged Caroline out of his lap and into the lawn chair as he stood. “I need to go.”
Colin blinked. “Go? But Agatha said you were staying for dinner—”
“No. I was planning such but…can’t stay…already made a commitment.”
Colin rose from his chair with a frown. “Surely you can stay one night with your family. Rejoin the house party tomorrow. Are you so desperate to be rid of us?”
“It’s not that,” Tom replied. “I need…this is…I need to see James. I need to speak with him about this.”
“Can you not speak to me? Christ, man. I’m your brother—”
“And I love you, Colin, but I must go.” He clapped him on the shoulder. “I’m sorry. Tell Agatha thank you for the hospitality.”
“Tom—”
He gave his brother a weak smile. “I’ll be fine. I’ll see you all in church on Sunday, if not before.”
With that, he left in search of the groom to order his horse saddled. He couldn’t stay here another second. He needed his friends, needed their advice. It didn’t settle him one bit to admit that he wasn’t actually sure whether they would talk him off this ledge…or give him an almighty push.
