Page 50 of Nothing But a Rakehell
Sterne then returned to the company for dinner, but Tensford stayed out to supervise the transfer of his prize to the small workshop he’d set up long ago, adjacent to the stables.
When the ladies removed to the parlor after the meal, Glory excused herself and went to check on Tensford and his fossil.
He had the tiny space brightly lit. She found him bent over his treasure, poring over it with fingers caked with dirt and covered in dozens of small cuts.
“It looks like you’ll need newer, better gloves,” she said from the doorway.
“I ruined mine.” He smiled up at her. “I’ve never had to cut so much stone in one day.”
Dozens of small fossils lined the room. In his years of searching and collecting, Tensford had previously found several types of specimens, both plant and animal. They were all immaculately cleaned and displayed in cabinets. The new, larger discovery had been laid out on a table in the center of the room.
“I’ll have to clean and trim it. Perhaps build a frame,” Tensford mused.
Glory stopped next to a table that held small blades, picks and brushes. Gritty dust covered them, most surfaces and the floor. “You’ve done it at last, Tensford. I’m so happy for you.”
“Oh, no. You’ve done it. You and Kes and Miss Munroe. I’ll make sure that you all get full credit for it.”
“At least something good has come from this cursed leg,” she said with a sigh, moving slowly around the workshop, examining his displays.
He watched her with sympathy. “Hope has told me that the gentlemen seem to be . . . overlooking you.” Reaching out, he gripped her hand with his dirty, dusty one—and she didn’t mind in the least. “It won’t always be that way, Glory. Trust me. You know how it was with me. No young woman wanted to come near Lord Terror—and then they laughed behind their fans at Lord Tender. I thought I would carry my burdens alone, forever. For a while, I feared I would have to marry and yet would still find myself alone—you know what I mean.” He smiled. “And then your sister and I both went after the last lobster patty at the buffet at the Loxton ball—and nothing has ever been the same.”
“Thank heavens for that lone lobster patty,” she said with a laugh.
“I give thanks for it every day. And it will be that way with you, with someone, someday. I know it.”
“The house party hasn’t been a complete loss,” she said carefully. “Some of the guests are perfectly nice—and they will be familiar faces in London if we attend the Season next year.”
“If? Your sister has given me to understand that there is very little choice in the matter.”
Glory sighed. “I know. She’s already begun bullying me about it, as well.” She bent over and ran a finger along the curve of an ammonite. Watching from the corner of her eye, she said, “It has been pleasant getting to know Lord Keswick as well. It will be nice to have a real friend in Town.”
Tensford stilled a moment, and then went on with his work.
“You’ve been close with him a long time, I understand,” she ventured.
“Yes.”
“Tensford, I have . . . questions.”
With a sigh, he set down his tools. “Glory, you need to be careful. No, you need to just put whatever thoughts you are having about Kes right out of your mind. I’m telling you this because I care for both of you, and because I know him.” He gave her a frank look. “I have loyalty to both of you, my dear, but I’ve known Kes far longer.”
“I understand. And I promise, I’m not going to pry into his deepest, darkest secrets.”
“Good.”
She moved on to the next cabinet, thinking about how to approach this. “Tensford, can you at least tell me why Keswick doesn’t keep his own horses?”
Her brother-in-law shrugged. “He spends most of his time in Town.”
“Other peers keep mounts in London. Hope keeps telling me I can ride in Hyde Park and there might be riding excursions to Richmond or elsewhere. Miss Munroe said her father takes his mount because it helps him get through all the traffic in quicker fashion.”
“Yes, well, the squire must have a house with a mews, as we do. Kes lives in bachelor rooms. Maybe he just doesn’t care for the expense of boarding horseflesh in London.”
“Maybe. He rides well. He cares for the chestnut you’ve loaned him. You know what I mean—he checks him for soundness and takes care of his hooves, he brushes him out himself and gives him little treats. He acts like a man who loves horses, not someone who has never had a mount of his own.”
“He’s definitely had a mount of his own. At least once. A sorrel chestnut that he loved.” Tensford paused in his work. “When we were just boys, I recall him saying he saved up his money and bought the animal himself. He called her Saoirse, because it means freedom in Irish, or something like that.” He grinned at her. “Kes is a bruising rider, you know. Perhaps not up to your standard, but very fine. He loved that horse. Our first year in school, he talked about her all the time. Couldn’t wait to get back to her on holiday.” Straightening, he frowned.
“What is it?”
