“The usual crowd. All but Hawke and your sister, but at least he writes to say when to expect him. I think that’s your sister’s influence.”
Peter rubbed his jaw as he inspected the rear of his property through the casement window. He smiled at how everything appeared as he’d left it a year ago. The kitchen garden was flourishing this year. “She has made an impression on him. I’ve never seen him smile so much.”
“I noticed that, too, the last time they came down.”
Peter spun about to face his guest. “That smile appeared at the moment they decided to marry and hasn’t faded once, no matter what happens or how busy he gets with work.”
“Thank God for Abigail.” Merton made himself comfortable. “I really did fear Hawke’s heart was growing as cold as the money he counted.”
“No chance of that now.” Peter reached for the brandy, poured a measure for his friend and one for himself. He’d been so wrong about Hawke and his sister. They were very much in love. “My sister would never stand for it.”
Another knock sounded on the door, and Peter hurried into the hall again. Linus Radley stood cap in hand, a hesitant smile on his face beside Simpson. “Good afternoon, Sir Peter. Thought I should come pay my respects early before the whole town arrives.”
“You’re late. Merton beat you to it. Come in, come in. We’re about to have a brandy.” He led Radley into the dining room and poured another drink.
When he turned, Merton looked him over curiously. “So, do tell. I’ll be the blunt one to ask the question burning on everyone’s lips. How big is your estate?”
Peter passed out the glasses and took a sip before answering. “I sold the country estate actually.”
Radley’s eyes widened. “You what?”
Peter shrugged. “Can you imagine me running around chasing cattle and geese?”
Radley shook his head. “But you had property.”
“One that didn’t suit me or my preference for life near the sea.” Peter took another drink. “I sold it for a pretty penny though thanks to Hawke’s sharp negotiations and purchased something else a little closer to home. Or rather a few little something’s.”
When his friends appeared puzzled he clarified, enjoying the expressions of surprise on their faces. “I bought the old Trent place on the hill overlooking Brighton, not that I intend to live there, as well as another smaller property for the additional income.”
Merton’s eyebrow rose. “So this house is what you mean by home?”
“Of course.” He leaned back in his chair, content at last. “It’s taken me a year to straighten it all out. The estate sold to a neighbor who’d coveted the Herford property for some time. Hawke and Abigail have moved into the London townhouse. I couldn’t see the sense in leaving it empty most of the year and Abigail and that mutt of hers have taken it over completely.”
“And you’re back now to lord your title over us all,” Merton teased.
“Hardly. I’m home to stay so I don’t intend to put on airs and be laughed at every other moment.” Peter rubbed his hands together. “It’ll be like old times.”
Merton and Radley exchanged a long look. “Well, that’s good to hear. Radley, we should go and let Sir Peter get settled. Dinner is at eight o’clock. Be prepared to have your ears talked off and be questioned unmercifully.”
Peter grinned. “I look forward to it.” He couldn’t wait to hear the local news. It was amazing how much he’d missed everyone’s chatter. Discovering news third-hand, through Abigail’s letters and confidences, had not been enough.
Peter walked his guests to the door, as he would have done before he’d gained a title, looking beyond them down the familiar street he’d spent his whole life strolling along. His gaze narrowed as Walter George, his nearest neighbor, stopped on his front steps with a distinguished looking gentleman at his side. The man was a touch taller than Walter, of similar age and carried a wrapped parcel in his hands.
Walter paused, a frown working over his features and then touched the brim of his hat. He made no move to join them and they disappeared inside his townhouse.
Peter glanced at Merton
and Radley. “What was that about?”
“Perhaps it has something to do with Miss George.” Radley shook his head, lips turning into an unhappy frown. “George is determined to see this through for his sister’s sake.”
An uneasy sensation stirred within him. “Has Miss George become engaged again?”
“No, of course not engaged.” Merton exchanged a speaking glance with Radley. “I don’t believe he knows.”
“Damnation.” Radley settled his hat on his head. “If you don’t mind, I think it best if I leave it to you, Merton. You know more about the matter than me. I’ll talk with you later, Sir Peter, if you’re still of a mind to come to dinner after all.”
He strode off as Merton steered Peter into the house. All sorts of panicked thoughts filled his mind. Was she ill? Injured? Married and with child? Why did he see pity brimming in Valentine’s eyes?