stopped him. ‘Tell me first if Mr Filkins will breakfast here today.’
‘He has already done so,’ the footman responded and exited the room.
* * *
Dell finally found his way to the hall. He’d been wandering up and down corridors and stairs for a good quarter of an hour before reaching the hall and glimpsing his first servant.
Unfortunate that it was the butler, Dixon, who glared at him with undisguised displeasure.
He’d faced more fearsome men on the battlefield. One grieving butler would not daunt him. He actually felt sorry for the elderly man.
‘Good morning, Dixon,’ he said in a mild voice. ‘Will you direct me to the breakfast room?’
Dixon worked his mouth, as if trying to decide whether or not to answer.
At that same moment a footman reached the hall. ‘Oh!’ he exclaimed as if surprised to find Dell there. The footman spoke to Dixon, though, not to Dell. ‘Lady Tinmore requests Lord Penford’s presence in the morning room.’
Dell didn’t give Dixon a chance to respond. ‘Show me where it is,’ He nodded politely to the butler, though, before following the footman.
When he entered the room, it was his turn to be surprised. Her sisters and their husbands had come from Summerfield House as he’d known they would. He’d merely not expected them so early.
‘Dell!’ Ross rose from his chair and crossed the room to shake his hand. ‘How are you faring?’
Dell shrugged. ‘Well enough.’ He directed his gaze to Lorene. ‘The room was comfortable. I thank you.’
She looked pale, but lovely in a plain black dress. The lack of colour did not favour her. ‘I fear the housekeeper chose one in the far recesses of the house. I apologise for that.’
He managed a half-smile. ‘It only took me a quarter of an hour to find my way to the hall. No harm done.’
‘I had your valet pack a clean shirt and neckcloth. And your razor.’ Ross gestured to his face.
Dell rubbed the stubble on his chin. ‘Forgive my appearance, ladies. I will retire and make myself more presentable.’ He turned to Ross. ‘Where are my things?’
‘We left them with the butler,’ Glenville said. ‘Did you not see him in the hall?’
‘I did, but he was not inclined to be helpful.’
‘I am so sorry!’ Lorene exclaimed. ‘Dixon is behaving very badly.’
‘He blames me.’ Dell turned back to the door. ‘I’ll be back directly.’
Lorene rose from her chair and hurried across the room to him. ‘Please stay, Dell. Your appearance is of no consequence. Have something to eat.’
Two other servants were placing dishes of food on the side board.
He shook his head. ‘I’d best clean myself up. We do not know when the magistrate will arrive and I would prefer to look presentable.’
He returned to the hall and confronted Dixon. ‘Where is the change of clothing the Marquess brought me?’ His tone was no longer mild.
Dixon disappeared behind a door for a moment and emerged with a valise, handing it to Dell without a word.
Dell found his way back to the room where he’d slept. Thank goodness the maids who made up the room had provided soap and towels. He shed his coat, waistcoat and shirt, and lathered his face. Shaving was a task his valet usually performed, but he’d had plenty of practice on the Peninsula during the war where he’d preferred to dress and groom himself.
After shaving, he changed his shirt and tied his own neckcloth. When he donned his waistcoat and coat, he felt he at least looked the part of a gentleman. Nothing with which a magistrate could find offence.
* * *
Dell had been correct about the magistrate’s arrival. He had barely finished breakfast when it was announced that the magistrate had arrived and wished to see both Lorene and him.
‘Do you wish us to come with you?’ Ross asked, ever the steadfast friend.
‘I think it best I see the magistrate alone.’
Ross’s brows rose. ‘And not show him what support you possess?’
‘I have done nothing deserving reproach.’ Except perhaps thinking he could dissuade Tinmore of his erroneous beliefs. ‘I refuse to give the appearance of needing the support of the future Duke of Kessington.’
Ross turned to Lorene. ‘And you, ma’am. Do you wish one or all of us to come with you?’
‘I want to be with you,’ Genna piped up.
Lorene darted a glance towards Dell. ‘I will see him alone, as well. We will join you afterwards.’
Genna looked about to protest, but her husband put a calming hand on her arm. ‘I will see the man before he leaves, Dell.’
Dell knew better than to resist when Ross used such a tone. ‘As you wish.’
With luck it would all be settled before then.
After Dell and Lorene left the morning room, he said, ‘I would offer my arm, but I fear the politeness would be misconstrued if seen by one of the servants.’
She nodded.
It was his first opportunity to see her alone. ‘How do you fare, Lorene?’
‘I am well.’ She averted her gaze. ‘I do not know if I am well. I suppose I am numb. I really feel very little of anything.’
That was better than suffering, he knew.
‘I am dreading this interview, though,’ she murmured.
Of course she was. Telling of it would bring it all back.
‘Speak with complete candour,’ he said. ‘That is the only way.’
Dixon attended the door. He gave them a smug look that set Dell’s teeth on edge, but acted the proper butler, opening the door and stepping ahead to announce them.
The room Dixon had chosen was not the opulent drawing room with murals of gods and goddesses where he and Ross had once been received in this house. This was another lesser drawing room tucked away in one of the corridors on the first floor. Once they entered the room, Dell knew exactly why the butler had chosen this place. Every available space on the wainscoting walls was filled with family portraits, reminding those entering that generations of Tinmores would be watching.
Lorene’s step faltered.
Two men were present in the room. One, a pleasant-looking, somewhat corpulent man in his fifties, sat behind a desk, paper, pen and ink in front of him. The other man, taller, thinner with dark assessing eyes, stood at his side.
‘Lady Tinmore and Lord Penford,’ Dixon announced in a voice tinged with disdain.
The gentleman behind the desk stood and walked around to greet them. ‘Come in. Come in.’ He spoke as if inviting them for tea.
Lorene walked up to him. ‘Squire Hedges. Do you remember me? I was Miss Lorene Summerfield, now Lady Tinmore. You were frequently a guest in my father’s house.’
‘Ah, yes, indeed I remember you,’ he replied with an engaging smile. ‘But you were in a pinafore last I saw you. Your father and I were indeed fast friends...for many years until he...but never mind that. I was sorry to lose him.’ The Squire seemed to collect himself and his expression sobered. ‘May I express my condolences? For the loss of your husband, I mean. Not your father.’
‘I do understand, sir.’ She made a nervous glance to the other man.
Dell had heard of Squire Hedges, a local