Page 37 of The Recluse of Wolfeton House (Ladies of Devon 4)

“Because I never leave,” Bentley said dryly. “Of course I’d be here.”

“You can always change that, you know. No one is forcing you to remain hidden away from Society.”

Bentley lifted his cup, taking a swallow of the amber liquid. The idea of leaving Devon was so odd, it jarred him. He recognized that his isolation was self-imposed, but that did not lessen his need for it. He raised an eyebrow. “It is necessary. I think you recognize that.”

Warren shrugged, his gaze tripping over the bookcase-lined walls before settling on the painting above the mantel. “I see you’ve replaced the Kent coastline.”

Bentley emptied his glass and set it on the small table beside his chair. “No, that’s still in the parlor.” He indicated the painting above them now, the rolling green Devonshire hills depicted on a sunny day. “This is new, though.”

Warren was clean-shaven, his bright red hair damp from the rain and pushed to the side as though he’d tried to tame it with his fingers. He looked up again at the painting above the fire and nodded. “I’ve always liked it here. I can see why you’ve settled so far from home.”

“My father must have liked it too, or he wouldn’t have purchased this property.”

“Do you have memories of coming here with him?”

“No, but I didn’t leave Kent much.” Bentley ran a hand over his prickly facial hair. He really should shave. “Then it wasn’t easy for him to travel later in life, of course.”

Warren nodded, understanding. As Bentley’s cousin on his mother’s side, Warren was the closest thing to a brother he could claim. They argued and disagreed like siblings, but the familial bond which linked them also kept them together. It was just the sort of relationship that suited Bentley, for they went months, even years sometimes between visits, but cared no less for one another because of the distance. This friendship forged in the small years of boyhood and occasional summer holidays had been the only thing from Bentley’s life that he’d gladly carried with him into his solitude. Well, perhaps not the only thing. He’d also brought along his most trusted servants.

“How long do you plan to stay? I hadn’t expected you until Christmas.”

“Just a fortnight or so,” Warren said. “You remember Thomas Carter from Eton?”

Bentley clenched his teeth. Yes, he remembered the idiot and how relentlessly he’d picked on younger classmen or those who were different. Bentley escaped the privilege of being ruthlessly bullied because of his future title, but he’d watched on with disdain as Thomas Carter hadn’t been so kind to others.

Warren was never one to join in either, but neither did he stand up for those who could not defend themselves. In fact, Bentley sometimes wondered if the reason he had not been bullied had less to do with the dukedom he’d one day inherit, and more to do with Warren’s friendship with Thomas, for his cousin would not have tolerated any ill treatment of Bentley.

“Unfortunately, I do remember him,” Bentley said.

Warren laughed. “Well, he’s bought an estate just south of Melbury. I stopped in to see him on my way through and learned that he’s hosting a little rout next week.”

“How nice for him. I assume you will go?”

Warren swallowed the last bit of brandy before setting his glass down with a soft thud. “When I told him where I was headed, he extended the invitation to you as well.”

“You’ll have to devise some excuse on my behalf.”

“Oh, come now,” Warren said. “How long has it been since you’ve ventured into Society? How long since you’ve set eyes on a woman?”

Just yesterday. But Bentley wasn’t about to tell Warren of Hattie’s recent existence in his life. It was bound to be short-lived anyway. “You know I cannot go, Warren.”

Warren’s lips flattened. “I know you think you are protecting yourself, but how many people will truly recognize—”

“No.” Bentley’s voice was cool, infused with steel. “I care not what Society thinks of me. It is my family name I wish to protect—my father’s reputation.”

Nodding, Warren let out a long, slow sigh. “Though I cannot think he would have expected you to go to such lengths, I do concede that it is a noble motive.”

“There is nothing noble about doing my duty,” he said smoothly.

Warren looked as though he wanted to argue further, but Bentley had had enough of this conversation. They did not have to agree on this matter. Even if he had determined that it was time to return to Society, he certainly wouldn’t do so under Thomas Carter’s presumptuous roof.

“You are welcome to come and go as you please,” Bentley said. “And to stay as long as you wish. It is always good to see you.”

“And you,” Warren said warmly. His sincerity flagged at times, but when it really mattered, Bentley could count on him.

Crossing to the sideboard, Warren refilled his glass as Bentley’s mind roamed over this change in plans and how it would affect his lessons with Hattie. He had agreed that it was imperative they keep the painting a secret. But he also was not willing to give it up.

He had a few days to come up with something, a way for them to proceed while avoiding Warren, and he was determined.

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