Page 46 of Return to Satterthwaite Court

He turned in his chair. His parents hadn’t yet quizzed him about Kate’s interest in him, but he had no illusion that they were in ignorance of it. They’d likely already discussed the matter between them. There was little the two of them didn’t share.

Theirs was a relationship built on love and trust—feelings they had transmuted to their children. As a boy, Charles had often shared his secrets with his mother and father, not because they demanded his confidence, but because they inspired it.

The impulse still lived within him.

On returning from Tiverton this afternoon, he’d been tempted to go straight to his parents to tell them what he’d learned about Satterthwaite Court.

But they neither of them needed the burden of the knowledge. Not with so much mystery—and perhaps even danger—still attached to the business.

“Not particularly,” he said as he stroked Ignatius and Flurry on their heads in greeting. “I have other matters to attend to now I’m home.”

“Yes, I’m aware.” Philly took a seat in the wingchair beside his desk. Candlelight played across her face. “You’re searching for a suitable house.”

Charles stilled.

But his mother didn’t appear to possess any knowledge of his visit to Satterthwaite Court today. If she did, she wouldn’t speak about it in riddles.

“Have you confined your search to Somersetshire?” she asked.

Twig pawed at Charles pant leg, and Charles bent to pick him up. “I’m looking in Devonshire as well.”

“Devonshire!”

“You were happy there, weren’t you?”

A smile touched her lips. “To be sure, until I met your father, the happiest moments of my life were spent in Devonshire. Do you think you might find a suitable property thereabouts?”

“Possibly.”

Flurry and Ignatius sat down at Philly’s feet. She reached to pet them.

Charles held Twig in his lap, ruffling the little terrier’s wiry hair. “It must have been hard to leave Satterthwaite Court.”

“Oh yes.” His mother straightened, her blue and brown eyes soft with memory. “It was a great shock. I was even shyer than Hannah, then, and London was vastly different than anything I’d ever known. The people I was obliged to stay with didn’t help in that regard. They were far outside my experience.”

“The Townsends.”

Her smile dimmed. “My Uncle Edgar and his daughters, Elizabeth and Abigail.”

Charles had no recollection of Edgar Townsend or of his eldest daughter, Elizabeth, but he vaguely remembered meeting Abigail and her husband when he was a boy.

“Abigail Townsend came here once, did she not?” he asked, scratching Twig’s ears. “I seem to recall her giving me a set of carved wooden soldiers.”

“She visited in company with her husband, Lord Darly. The two of them were newly married and making their way back to London after their wedding trip. I’m amazed you can recall it. You weren’t much above three at the time.”

“They never came again?”

“No. I’m afraid the past was rather hard to forgive, on both our parts. Once Uncle Edgar’s fortunes fell and Elizabeth was obliged to marry in order to save him, it was easier to cast me as the villain of the piece.”

“You have nothing to reproach yourself with,” Charles said. “It’s they who were in the wrong.”

“They were.” His mother smiled once more. “But I can’t regret any of it. If I hadn’t gone to London so long ago, I’d never have met your father.” She held out her hand to him across the surface of his desk. “I’d never have been blessed with you and your sister.”

Charles clasped her hand warmly. “I’ve not made life easy for you.”

“Nothing worth having is easy,” she said. “Indeed, the strongest bonds in life are forged by fire.”

“I’d prefer a little less fire at the moment,” he replied wryly.