The butler’s voice echoed from the library. ‘It does take time.’
‘I know of Lord Coltonby,’ Diana said quietly as Simon looked about to explode and the butler wore a hurt expression. The last thing she wanted was to have to find yet another butler. Jenkins was the third butler they had had in a year. ‘He was there when Algernon died. One of the seconds…for the other man. It was all in Algernon’s last letter. Then Brett Farnham…’
Diana hated the way her voice trembled. She swallowed hard and steeled herself to explain about today, but Simon held up his hand, preventing her from speaking further, from telling him about her earlier encounter with Lord Coltonby.
‘By all that is holy! Brett Farnham…’ He made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. ‘I never realised your fiancé knew him. I would never have listened to Jayne and agreed to the match if I’d known that.’
‘You never wished to know much about him,’ Diana replied carefully. She refused to speak ill of the dead—neither Algernon nor Simon’s late wife, Jayne. ‘Perhaps it would have been better if you had. How do you know Brett Farnham?’
‘Farnham and I were at Cambridge together. He with his drawling voice and oh-so-smooth manner as he threatened to dunk me in the Cam for wearing the wrong cut of coat.’
‘It was mostly likely a joke, in poor taste, but an idle boast.’
‘The water was ice cold, but I swam to the other side while he and the rest of his cohorts stood braying on the bank.’ Simon’s eyes flashed a brilliant green. ‘The man is debauched, Diana. He bragged about his gambling prowess and how well he drove carriages. And the women. You should have seen the parade in and out of his rooms. He and his kind are one of the reasons I detested Cambridge.’
‘It may not be as bad you fear. Rakes are ever in need of money.’ Diana kept her head high and her voice expressionless. She wanted to shake Simon. He should have questioned her chaperon in greater detail before entering into negotiations about her marriage.
‘Why me? Why now when the engine design is beginning to show its true potential? Why am I being punished in this way?’ Simon slammed his hand down on the mantelpiece, making the Dresden shepherdess jump. ‘I should have insisted on the agreement being formal, but Sir Cuthbert hemmed and hawed about being honourable gentlemen. Honourable! Him! My great-aunt Fanny! He wagered his entire estate on a daft horse race. How can that be considered honourable?’
‘He was not the man his father was.’ Diana closed her eyes. ‘The ways of the aristocracy are very different from ours. They always honour their debts to other gentlemen.’
‘And never to their tailors. Papa finished being a tradesman before you were born and I am no tradesman’s son.’ Simon waved an impatient hand. ‘I do not need the lecture, Diana. We both know what they are like, despite our dear papa’s desire to become one. Coltonby is the worst of the lot. Mark my words. He will be up to some deviltry.’
‘You don’t know that.’ Diana laid a hand on her brother’s arm. She had to get Simon out of his black mood. A fit of the blue devils was not what anyone needed. The entire house’s routine would be upset for days on end. ‘Think logically, Simon.’
‘You are against me as well! My own sister.’ Simon slammed his fist against the table, narrowly missing the alabaster lamp.
‘Simon Clare. Do not pick a fight with me, simply because you are cross with Lord Coltonby and his treatment of you years ago. You will find the finance for the engine. Perhaps Lord Coltonby is keen on all these new machines. Maybe he, too, sees the possibilities of steam and iron. Ask him. Maybe he will want to invest.’
‘Ask? You never ask Farnham anything. He always declined politely to remove his boots from the stairwell, to not hold drunken parties, to stop fraternising with coachmen. He simply curls his lip and laughs at you.’
‘You could try. People do change. You have.’ Diana regarded her brother with his expensive frock coat and well-tied neckcloth, the very image of a prosperous landowner. ‘You are no longer a student at Cambridge with little consequence. You do have a name and standing in Northumberland. You have a reputation for innovation and resourcefulness. The earl will listen to reason in time. You are under no obligation to sell that parcel of land.’
‘I hope you are right, sister.’ Simon’s face closed down. ‘Is there a method you would like to suggest?’
‘Yes, wait and see.’ Diana popped the final bit of toast into the terrier’s mouth. ‘Time has a way of solving problems.’
Brett paced the library of Ladywell Park, sidestepping the boxes of books that needed to be re-shelved and the portraits of Cuthbert Biddlestone’s ancestors that needed to be sent on their way. The Beauty of the road invaded his thoughts, preventing him from learning more about the estate and how mismanaged it was, from planning his new house overlooking the Tyne, one which would be free of damp and mismatched rooms. He had had plans drawn for one years ago, something he had promised himself when he finally succeeded in restoring the family’s fortune. And the outlook here was perfect. Biddlestone had been correct about that.
Who was she? Her eyes haunted him. Blue speckled with green, fringed with dark lashes. He had seen them before. He idly took down a book. ‘Finch, Finch. Should I know the name?’
‘You won’t find songbirds there, begging your pardon, sir,’ Hunt, the butler, put down the tray of port. ‘Birds and natural history have always been kept at the other end of library. Shall I fetch you a book on the subject?’
‘Songbirds?’ Brett snapped the book and turned to face his new butler. ‘Admirable insight, Hunt. You must tell me how you do it some time. Songbirds, indeed.’
‘I do try, my lord.’
Brett waved a hand, dismissing the butler. Then in the stillness of the room, he poured a glass of port from the decanter and swirled the ruby-red liquid.
Songbird. Finch. Algernon Finch. Son of Hubert Finch, Viscount Whittonstall. He’d died in the duel. That dreadfully pointless duel over a disputed Cyprian. How could he have forgotten the name of Bagshott’s opponent? The man who had unwittingly changed Brett’s best friend’s life and his own. A stupid boorish man who’d got everything he’d deserved.
It bothered Brett that the detail of Songbird’s name had slipped away. He had been so sure that he would remember everything. The mud, the mist and the absolute horror of a life ended in such a way. Bagshott had already been up to his neck in debt, but it had not stopped him from quarrelling with Songbird. Standing on the dock after he’d bundled Bagshott into a ship, Brett had vowed that he would make a new start, that he would succeed and would restore his family’s fortune. That he would not waste his talent, waste his life; but would use it wisely. But he had forgotten Finch’s first name. And that of the man’s fiancée.
How much else had he forgotten? Brett pressed his knuckles into his forehead.
Now all he had to do was remember her name, and why she was off limits to him.
* * *
‘A man approaches,’ Rose said the next morning as Diana sat re-trimming her straw bonnet in the dining room. ‘He is driving one of the smartest carriages I have ever seen.’
‘Since when were you interested in carriages, Rose?’
‘I
