Page 49 of The Recluse of Wolfeton House (Ladies of Devon 4)

“What has happened to cause you to wake so early?”

“Early?” Warren asked, crossing the room and seating himself at the table. “Is it not past nine?”

Bentley cocked an eyebrow. “Precisely.” Lifting the teapot near him, he indicated it in question.

Warren nodded, then served himself mutton and rolls. “I met a woman when I was at the Carters’ ball last week.”

Bentley’s hand jerked as he poured, spilling tea onto the table. He filled the cup and set down the pot, tossing his napkin over the spill to sop up the majority of the mess. “A woman? And you only tell me this now?”

Warren accepted the teacup and took a tentative sip. “I cannot seem to remove her from my mind.”

“It does not sound as though she made much of an impression if it took you a week to tell me of it.”

Warren shrugged, taking a bite of his roll. “Is an impression really necessary? I’m not looking for a wife, Bentley. But a bit of fun has never gone amiss.”

Bentley’s body heated, anger ripping through him with swift ferocity. The idea of anyone considering Hattie a bit of fun was enough to make him want to land his friend a quick uppercut to the jaw. Swallowing down his anger, he leveled Warren with a look. “I do hope you will think twice before taking any unsavory measures against my neighbors.”

“I did not mean…” Warren paused, regarding Bentley. “I did not say she was your neighbor.”

“Did you not?” Oh, blast. Bentley swallowed, searching for a way out of this. “You met this woman at the Carters’ ball, yes?”

“Yes, but I wouldn’t exactly call the Carters your neighbors.”

Thankfully, neither would Bentley. “I only made the assumption from that. I gather she does live somewhere close?”

“Closer than you’d imagine, in fact,” Warren said. “As luck would have it, she happens to live nearby. I was surprised to learn that others from Graton were in attendance.”

Bentley lifted his teacup and took a sip. He hoped to sound off-hand, that this was of little worth to him. “Oh?”

“And I’ve a mind to call on her today.”

Well, that was just…lovely. Simply lovely. “Who is the lady?”

Egerton appeared in the doorway, a silver salver in his hand. He cleared his throat, gathering their attention. “A letter, Your Grace.”

Bentley motioned him forward and retrieved the missive, his stomach souring upon recognizing the hand his direction was written in. Bah. Not this again. He tossed the note on the table and turned his attention to cutting his mutton with more vigor than necessary.

“You don’t plan to open it?” Warren asked, his gaze straying to the sealed missive.

“I’m not sure what more she could possibly say that might entice me to come.”

“She is your mother, I presume? And she is requesting that you visit her?”

Bentley swirled his tea gently, the smooth, glasslike surface shaking from the motion before he took a large swallow to chase his mutton. The meat had become dry, and he could not seem to chew it enough. He reached for the letter, tearing it open and reading it swiftly.

Devil take it. He bought time by swallowing the remainder of his tea, allowing his gaze to trip over the words again before looking up into Warren’s interested face. “Apparently, my mother’s husband is dying.”

Warren’s mouth dropped open. “But Bentley, that means—”

“I know what it means,” he said sharply, though the implications had yet to fully sink into his mind, wisps of potential darting through his consciousness without taking root. It could mean so many things, and yet, he could not allow himself to consider any of them. Chair legs scraped against the floor as he stood, marring the stillness in the room. He left half of his breakfast on his plate; his appetite had fled, and now so would he. “I am going out.”

“For a lengthy ramble?”

“Yes,” Bentley said, not allowing his cousin to shame him. The compassion lurking in Warren’s eyes was frustrating, and Bentley wanted nothing to do with it. “I’m certain I’ll be gone for quite some time.”

“I shan’t hurry to return, then.”

Return? Bentley paused at the door, glancing over his shoulder only to find Warren cutting another bite of his mutton, seemingly unperturbed. Ah, Hattie. Warren was going to visit the woman he’d met at the ball, and Bentley would be with her somewhere else. Should he warn his cousin to go another day? No, it was an impossible task without giving himself and their lessons away, and that was simply something he was unwilling to sacrifice.

Turning quietly, Bentley let himself from the room. He gathered his hat and gloves, allowing Egerton to help him into his overcoat as his horse was sent for. He did his best to put Warren from his mind. It would be better for Bentley to warn Hattie of Warren’s intentions first, before her heart became engaged.

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