“Not at all,” Mr. Philipson replied vaguely, his eyes skimming over him. Something was clearly on his mind. “The estate is quiet without any family… without your presence, Your Grace. I merely was wondering whether you might… Oh, never mind the ramblings of an old man.”
Entertainments like wives and family, he means. I already tried the former and thus gave up on the latter. Perhaps it takes the household longer to accept such truths.
“Indeed, mere ramblings.” Tristen gave him a nod. “All is well, but this trip is merely for business matters. There are some complaints from the tenants I need to address, as well as some land disputes. Speaking of which, Philipson, I’m looking for some old contracts. They are from my father’s time, regarding the Redcliff property line. Do you have an idea where I can find them?”
The butler furrowed his brow. “Perhaps in his old ledgers?”
That’s not particularly promising. I’m nine-and-twenty, much too old for treasure hunts.
Waving to the nearby shelves, Tristan explained, “I’ve already checked them.”
“All of them?”
He had only been here for three days, but he’d gone through every single one of his father’s ledgers. His eyes ached, andhis head throbbed. He just wanted this work handled once and for all. It was tedious, leaving anything unfinished. He couldn’t stand such a thing.
Yet he’d made too little progress in this much time. It frustrated him. What more would he have to sacrifice to fix everything? The last couple of nights had been terrible with the little sleep he had in the master bedroom. Half the time, he was over here, sifting through more papers.
“Perhaps you could try the library. Or rather, you could visit Redcliff Manor,” Mr. Philipson suggested.
Talking to people wasn’t something that interested Tristan. However, the idea warranted consideration. They would surely have similar files on hand. The answers he needed.
He rubbed his chin, recalling the old marquess who had been his neighbor.
He was disgraced if I recall correctly. A few years ago, wasn’t it? I’ve not cared enough for the gossip rags, but I recall nothing about new neighbors since then.
So he asked, “Does anyone still live there? On a regular basis?”
“The current Marquess of Dunsbury resides in Italy year-round,” the butler explained, before pausing for a long moment. “The former Marquess’s sister lives there, from my understanding, with a sparse staff. She is quite old. If you call on her, I doubt shewill even entertain you. But she wouldn’t hold back any papers. Tomorrow morning would be a splendid time to visit.”
What a boon it would be for the staff to know him so well. The skies had been nothing but gray since his arrival. The farmers would know the weather better than any almanac. Besides, a ride in the fresh air would surely relieve his migraine.
I could be there and back in time for luncheon with everything solved. Perhaps I could be off for Scotland in a day instead of a week.
“Very well,” Tristan decided with a nod. “I’ll ride over in the morning. What time is the visiting hour? Eight?”
“Eleven, Your Grace.”
He wrinkled his nose. Rubbish city hours. But not everyone kept to country hours even while away from London.
“If you say so.”
“Would you like a reminder when the time draws close tomorrow?”
“No. I’ll remember. Thank you, Philipson, that will be all.”
Tristan spent the rest of his evening there, in his study. A quiet life where no one else bothered him. It was just the way he likedit. Needed it. He slept half the night in his chair before slowly making his way to his bedchamber.
He counted down the hours after the sun rose—still hidden behind the clouds—to make his way to Redcliff Manor.
Eventually, he rode out of his cold and quiet estate, gray stone walls that harbored a past he tried not to remember.
Everything he left behind him was neatly managed. Clean. Tidy. Well-contained. The servants knew their roles well. Nothing had changed throughout the years until recently.
But it would all be taken care of soon.
Tristan slid down from the saddle and squared his shoulders upon reaching the unpromising grounds of Redcliff Manor. It was exactly what he would have expected of a disgraced marquess. Wild ivy taking over derelict walls. Dull and neglected gardens.
He tethered his horse to a nearby tree before moving toward the door. He would only be there for an hour if he could help it.
