Page 30 of Finding the One (River Rain #7)

Treverton

Dair

D air turned their rental car through the open wrought iron gates affixed to dual stone plinths topped with urns and onto the sand-colored gravel drive that led to Treverton Manor, Blake’s ancestral home.

He’d had a busy morning, booking their flights to Bristol, packing, making uncomfortable calls.

His mother was on a plane.

His sister was not, and she was shocked at the news, but mostly she was worried for Blake.

Since Davi was coming down to Somerset as soon as they had arrangements for the funeral, she was going to take care of Sorcha until then, but Dair needed a backup plan for his dog too. Therefore, he’d set that up as well.

Then he’d called his father, only to discover Balfour already knew, something that wasn’t surprising since it was all over the news.

Much of it including old photos of Helena and Ned, along with pictures of Alex with Rix, and a different photo of Dair and Blake taken at the airport.

This one of them walking and dragging her luggage, connected together and smiling at each other.

To the man’s credit, his father didn’t push anything else during that call.

He’d asked, “Blake is with ye?”

“Aye. We’re headed down shortly.”

“How’s she faring?”

“Not great.”

“Ye need anything, she needs anything, ye ring me,” his dad ordered.

Dair didn’t reply.

“Obviously, I’ll be attending the funeral,” his father went on.

Dair continued to say nothing.

“This isn’t the time, son. Just see to Blake,” Balfour concluded.

“Not something you have to tell me,” Dair returned. “I’ll see you at the funeral.”

And with that, he rang off.

When he was able to turn his phone back on after the flight, he had texts from Davi to say she’d picked up Mum, told her, and they were making plans to come down. They’d be in England by Friday, latest, but they were hoping to be down the next day.

This on top of a variety of group texts from Ned and Alex sharing their plans (Ned was flying commercial and was already on his way—Hale Wheeler was sending one of his planes to Alex and Rix to bring them over).

Blake spoke briefly to her sister on the ride from the airport to Treverton.

His woman had woken up to a call from the police communicating their need to speak to her as well as, since she was in the country, requesting she identify the body.

They were dropping their bags first and then heading to take care of that unhappy chore.

In the interim, they got further news of the crash, and this included a two-year-old had also lost her life.

Blake was wandering around lifeless, but when she heard that news, it visibly crushed her.

In turn, that crushed him, but there was nothing he could do but be at her side and see to anything that needed to get done.

As he drove up the drive, he took in the vivid green lawns and yellow Bath stone of the manor proper.

Wallace money was new money. Balfour—kickstarted by his father’s minor but not insignificant success with a small printing company—had built it and diversified it.

And when the time came, he constructed a fine home in the country from good red Scottish stone in an old-style that was both roomy and mildly ostentatious.

His mother’s hand had kept that at “mildly.”

Treverton was old money, which somehow managed never to be ostentatious, even if it was a massive house with an attached, forward angled wing, twenty-five-foot ceilings inside, a dozen bedrooms, and a detached private chapel.

And, not incidentally in this time, a family cemetery behind that chapel.

Dair had always liked Treverton, mostly because the rooms were huge, there was a good deal of land attached to it to explore, and the stables were always full.

Now, he saw it differently.

Because it was Blake’s.

She was not fully American legally, since she had dual citizenship.

But she was fully American otherwise.

Nevertheless, Treverton suited her.

A man wearing dark brown trousers, a tan blazer with dark brown edging on the lapel, a white shirt and patterned brown tie came out the front door before Dair came to a stop outside it.

Dair bent forward to eye him suspiciously through Blake’s window and realized his estimate of the bloke being “a man” was generous.

“That’s Jeff. Mum’s butler,” Blair told him tonelessly.

Butler, his arse.

The bloke couldn’t be over thirty. He was blond, tall, tanned, fit, and obviously a boy toy.

Jesus Christ.

The tentacles of Helena’s bullshite were so strong, they reached even beyond her death.

They got out and he moved around the car to take Blake’s hand as they walked to the front door.

On their journey, Jeff was eyeing him too. He did it with surprise, and he was far from happy to see Dair approaching at all, much less holding Blake’s hand.

“Hey, Jeff,” Blake greeted when they arrived.

“Blake,” the man replied.

“Lady Sharp,” Dair corrected, and got both their attention.

“We don’t—” Blake started.

He looked down at her.

“You’re Lady Sharp now, darling,” he said gently.

For the first time since they woke up, light hit her eyes as she considered him.

But for once, she decided not to quarrel.

Instead, she turned to Jeff and introduced him.

“Jeff, this is Alasdair Wallace.”

“Yes, I know. Big fan,” Jeff lied stonily.

“Always great to meet fans,” Dair replied on his own lie, or it was in this instance, then went right into, “Ye can get the bags and take them to Blake’s room.

We’ll be sharing it.” With that, he handed the man the car fob but warned, “We’ll be needing to leave soon, so I’d like that back promptly. ”

There was angry red in the man’s face as he stiffly nodded, and Dair considered this evidence he was rarely asked to do any menial tasks around the house, if he ever was.

No. His tasks were not menial in the slightest.

Dair guided Blake into the house.

She took him to one of the less formal rooms, though it was all formal, so this one was incrementally less formal.

There, she turned on him and he was relieved as fuck she had a spark of fire in her.

“Was it necessary for you to piss all over your patch with Jeff?”

He didn’t respond to that.

He asked, “What’s the staffing situation here?”

“Sorry?”

“Jeff’s the butler. I assume that’s full time.”

“I…think so,” she said hesitantly.

“And does he live here?”

She nodded. “As far as I know.”

She hadn’t put two and two together.

Then again, she wouldn’t. No one wanted to think of their mother boning a man half her age.

“Who else works here?”

“There are some maids,” she told him. “At least one I know works full time, but Mum, or Christine probably, hires extras when Mum’s around. At least one more to get the house entirely in order and keep it in order when Mum’s here. If there’s a house party, they hire extras.”

“Christine?”

“She’s the cook and housekeeper. She’s definitely full time. Been here for years.”

“Wouldn’t it be the butler’s job to hire on any needed staff?”

That flummoxed her.

She had a huge learning curve ahead of her, his poor wee lass.

“Any others?” he pressed.

“Gardeners. I think there’s a whole team of those.”

He nodded and made a decision.

Chat with Christine, who was probably as thrilled with Jeff being there as Dair was. Then a conversation with Jeff. One that would either end with him packing his bags or properly doing his job.

She cut into his thoughts. “Why are you asking me this?”

He sidestepped that by saying, “We’re going to have a full house soon, love.”

Her gaze grew far away, and she mumbled, “Oh, right.”

“Not your worry. I’ll have a word with Christine. Do ye want to freshen up before we go?”

She focused on him again and nodded.

“Where would I find Christine?” he queried.

“A guess, in her office off the kitchen. Do you remember where that is?”

He nodded and guided her out of the room to the staircase.

He touched his mouth to hers at the base and said, “Take your time, but just to say, let’s get this next chore done so ye can settle in and relax a little.”

A shadow moved across her features as what they had to do next came to mind before she gave him another nod and started up the stairs.

She was halfway up, and he was watching her go, when she stopped and turned.

“Thanks for taking care of…well, everything so far, honey.”

“Dinnae think a second about it,” he replied then jerked his chin to the stairs. “Up. We’ll be on our way when you’re ready.”

She walked up the wide flight of thick pile, red-carpeted stairs like she was going to the gallows.

Once he lost sight of her, he made his way to the kitchen.

Christine was bustling out of her office. She didn’t look elderly, even though she obviously wasn’t young.

She looked competent.

And harried.

When he saw her, he remembered her, though he couldn’t remember the last time he was at Treverton. Maybe when he was fifteen? Perhaps sixteen.

So, indeed, she’d been around awhile.

She was there but unobtrusive and he’d had no direct dealings with her.

He was going to now.

“Christine?” he called, startling her.

She put her hand to her chest and breathed, “Oh my,” then went on to say, “Well, young Master Wallace. I haven’t seen you in ages.”

“Yes, it’s been quite a while,” he agreed.

“Is Lady Blake here?”

“She is. Upstairs, freshening up.”

This made Christine scowl, probably because Jeff hadn’t informed her of their arrival. He’d been busy greeting them and seeing to their bags, but the bloke had to have a phone so he could text her.

“We have some…official business to see to which we shouldn’t delay,” Dair finished.

She understood him, and Dair couldn’t quite read her new expression. It wasn’t grief, per se. It wasn’t elation either.

Apparently, anyone Helena knew had conflicting emotions about her passing.

Nevertheless, he said quietly, “I’m sorry for the loss of Lady Norton.”

“Yes,” she replied vaguely.

“Just so ye understand, Blake and I are?—”

That brightened her up. “Yes. I saw the picture. Delighted for you both.”