Rake in the Regency Ballroom. Bronwyn Scott

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СКАЧАТЬ in her coach bound for Cambourne, he had ridden with Valerian to Roseland, stayed a few days to see his friend settled and then turned for the Pendennys lands outside St. Mawes.

      Today, as he rode home from his weekly visits with the tenants and his meeting with the vicar, the subject dominated his mind, perhaps because he had little else to think of. He was a social creature and this was a lonely time of year for him. There was small need for him to be in London and Philippa was busy with her own interests before she had to be back in town.

      It wasn’t that he didn’t have options. He could go up to London anyway and Philippa would always welcome him at Cambourne. Roseland was close by and now that Valerian was home, he’d probably ride over to Roseland on occasion to ease the isolation he felt rambling around alone in the big Pendennys country house.

      Certainly, he had options, but, in truth, his own estate needed his attention too. He’d worked too hard to save it from genteel poverty in the years since his father’s passing. Of course, he couldn’t take all the credit. Without the generous loan from the Duke of Cam-bourne, all the effort in the world could very well have been useless. When he’d first starting going over the ledgers, that fact had become glaringly apparent. Cam-bourne’s wealth had kept the Pendennys family afloat. He’d silently thanked the fates Philippa had married well, if precipitously, and at such a fortuitous time.

      Beldon drew sharply on the reins, bringing his horse to a rather sudden and jarring halt. The answer to his riddle hit with full force. Cambourne’s money had been the ‘something’ that had come between Philippa and Valerian.

      He kicked his horse into a hard gallop, covering the remaining distance home as fast as he dared. Once home, he raced into the estate office, pulling down old ledgers from the shelves. Beldon didn’t even wait to take off his coat, only taking time to strip off his gloves so as to turn the ledger pages better.

      Hours later, when he’d finally removed his outer wear and his jacket, rolled up his shirt sleeves and eaten sporadically from the tray the housekeeper had sent up after she realised the young baron would not be swayed from his task long enough to eat in the dining room, Beldon had his answer.

      The office was a mess, with books open to various pages strewn across any available surface. Ledgers from nine years ago had simply been a starting place. He’d had to go back further to determine why the Pendennys barony had needed the funds so badly in the first place.

      What he found had been devastating. The office had paid the price of his sleuthing and so had his memories. It was almost like learning the life he thought he’d had was only an illusion. His father had not confided in him, not really.

      He’d known about the loan from Cambourne, naturally. But he’d thought very little of it beyond the exorbitant expenses of a few years. Philippa’s Season and début were costly affairs coming on the heels of supporting his time away at Cambridge with Valerian. At the time, his father had only said that the wars with Napoleon had placed the economy under undue stress.

      Beldon had believed him. When he’d taken over the reins of the barony, he’d not looked back far enough in the ledgers to see that while there was truth in what his father had offered as an explanation for Cambourne’s loan, there was also much else. The Pendennys finances had been in a slow decline for years. He could trace a string of investment losses and a decline in the production rates of the mines. Too much money had gone out and too little had come in to cover the losses.

      The loan had been used to shore up the failing coffers and Beldon had used part of the funds later to diversify the family holdings. In anticipation of a future where the copper and tin mines wouldn’t produce as much ore, never dreaming that future was already coming to pass, Beldon had bought a tin smelter. Later, he’d invested wisely with the Perran Industries gunpowder works. Both had paid off handsomely. A tin smelter was to the mines what a miller was to farmers. Grain needed to be ground into flour and tin—well, tin needed to be smelted. The smelter would continue to pay out long after his own mines had exhausted their resources.

      Beldon pushed a hand through his hair, leaning back in his chair. It was all embarrassingly clear now. They had been in dun territory and Philippa had been married to Cambourne in order to save the family—in order to save him, really. He was the heir. Without her marriage, there would have been little to inherit but trouble. All his life, he’d thought he was protecting his younger sister, watching over her at balls to see that she didn’t dance with the wrong sort of gentleman, making sure she went nowhere unescorted, and all the while she had been protecting him. There was a certain amount of guilt that went with that realisation.

      Had she known? He remembered vividly the night he’d found her in the Rutherfords’ garden. She’d been crying although she wouldn’t admit it. At the time, he thought it had been the shock of the sudden engagement to Cambourne. Had she known why their father had favoured the match?

      Beldon remembered too his brief encounter with Valerian that night. Valerian had been brusque and out of sorts. His friend had paused only long enough to tell him that Philippa was in the garden. The next weeks had been chaos. Valerian had gone and Philippa’s wedding had to be planned. He’d had little time or reason to ponder the turn of events or even to see his friend’s disappearance in connection with the wedding.

      In retrospect, Beldon began to think it was highly plausible that Valerian and Philippa had met secretly in the garden and that she was crying for a different reason. He couldn’t quite puzzle out that bit yet. Still, on one hand he had more answers. Cambourne’s money had likely come between them. Cambourne’s money had not been a serendipitous godsend as he’d always believed, but rather a calculated move on his father’s part to save the barony.

      Beldon took stock of what he had: some answers, more questions, and one damning hypothesis beginning to form—if the move to woo Cambourne had been planned, then Valerian had to have known, otherwise he would not have willingly stood down from his claims on Philippa’s hand.

      The mantel clock struck midnight, late hours for the country. It was time for bed. He had a long day ahead of him, beginning with a ride over to Roseland.

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