“That is kind of you,” the duke murmured, quickly losing interest.
Kind? The man was planning to buy the lady’s property for a song and probably throw them out into the cold before the year was over.
The balding man joined them next, dropping into Jeremy’s recently vacated chair. “Any idea when the ladies might return?”
“Not soon,” the duke announced.
Jeremy was watching Lord Thwaite’s face and saw a flicker of anger at the news. He very quickly excused himself and slipped from the chamber. Jeremy was happy that he had gone, but hoped he wasn’t headed straight for the Hawthorne property to pressure the widow to sell to him.
He turned his attention to the balding fellow who had remained. So far, no one had said his name out loud.
Lord Samuel moved to stand beside Jeremy. “That’s Letterford, he owns the Heybridge estate about three miles south of here.”
“Thank you. No one has thought to introduce us yet.”
“No one ever does. He’s an amiable old fellow. Widowed. His children are grown. The man who just left was Lord Thwaite. His heir is expected to arrive in time for the wedding, I hear. He’s to stand up with Rafferty as best man.”
“Where is Thwaite’s property located?”
“A little closer. You could say his property is nearly a neighbor to my father’s estate.”
A few things he’d heard clicked into place inside his head. “Is it because of the Hawthorne land’s location, that it’s not?”
“Yes, that’s right. I’m surprised that you would realize that.”
Jeremy shrugged. “I must have overheard something about it earlier, I suppose.”
Lord Samuel was quiet for a moment and then he whispered, “What exactly did you hear?”
Jeremy glanced at the duke’s second son, the scoundrel spare, and shrugged. “Thwaite mentioned a plan for expansion.”
“Not with the Hawthornes’ land?”
Jeremy held his stare. “It’s what he hinted at.”
Lord Samuel scowled fiercely. “Couldn’t wait till the old fellow was buried before making a move on the widow.”
“I don’t think he’s done anything yet,” Jeremy admitted. “He mentioned a lack of funds.”
“Thwaite has been eyeing that property for years. Excuse me. I think I should call on the new widow. My children have no doubt ventured there again.”
Lord Samuel whispered in his father’s ear and then strode off out of the room.
The duke frowned after him, but then shrugged. “Do you know Hawthorne could always best me with a bow? Devilishly clever shot with it. Mind you, he couldn’t shoot down game with anything else. Remember that time we all went out and he shot off the tip of the tallest tree on my land?”
“We were just boys then,” murmured Lord Milo, the duke’s heir.
“You and I tried to be just like him that summer,” Whitfield added with a smile.
Lord Milo frowned. “Didn’t Hawthorne keep that bit of tree as a souvenir?”
The duke nodded. “Yes, it’s in his study to this day. We always have a good laugh whenever I visit him.” The duke’s lips pressed together firmly. “When I had…”
Whitfield clapped the duke on his shoulder when it appeared Stapleton had become too emotional to continue speaking. That had happened a few times in the past day. Whitfield raised a glass high. “To our friend and his poor aim with a rifle.”
“To Hawthorne.”
Glasses were raised, drunk from, and then silence, the gentlemen each falling into their own introspections. Lord Milo left to circulate with the remaining guests until they departed.