Free Kindred Hearts by Rowan Speedwell

man settled in the chair before Tristan’s desk and drew out his spectacles before examining the piece of paper. His lips pursed, but he only shook his head.
     
    Tristan took the letter back and folded it again, tucking it into the drawer of the desk where he kept his father’s missives. “I trust that you will not be distressed if I fail to present the list of my debts for Ware’s solicitors?”
     
    “Gambling debts,” Franklin said, and he shook his head again.
     
    Franklin’s tone of voice so precisely echoed the tenor of his own thoughts that Tristan chuckled. “Well, then. Shall we begin with our real work?”
     

     

     
    Tristan reviewed the document under his hand before signing it. “I’m only transferring funds from one account to another,” he said in annoyance. “Why must it require so much paperwork?”
     
    “To keep otherwise unoccupied men of business occupied,” his man of business quipped. “That’s the last of it, until the sale of your hunters.”
     
    “When will that be?”
     
    “The notice will be in the papers next week. Should there be no interest at that point, we’ll have to bring them up from Leicestershire to sell at Tattersall’s, but I don’t expect that it will be necessary.”
     
    “I should hope not,” Tris said. “They’re exceedingly fine animals. I’ve had plenty of offers in the past. But I haven’t hunted in two years, and all they’re doing is eating their fool heads off. Plus there’s the waste of maintaining a staff to tend them. Eventually I’ll put the house on the market, too, unless Mrs. Northwood prefers I keep it, but in the meantime I see no reason to maintain the stables as well.” He thought a moment, then added, “Put in the articles of sale for the string that the buyers are to hire the three younger grooms as well. Riley and Martin are old enough to retire—write something up including a decent pension for them. They can stay on at the hunting box until they find a cottage or something to retire to, or until I decide to sell the place.”
     
    “Pension to come from the trust?”
     
    Tristan thought. “Yes—they won’t be much of a drain on it. Fifty or sixty pounds a year each, I think.”
     
    “Most generous.”
     
    Franklin’s employer snorted. “Mrs. Northwood spends more on hats.”
     
    “One last item of business.” Franklin noticed Northwood’s glance at the mantel clock but went on. “The owners of this house are inquiring if you would be interested in purchasing it when the lease expires.”
     
    “No,” Tristan said flatly. “When does the lease expire?”
     
    “The first of June. Do you wish me to tell them that you prefer to continue leasing, then?”
     
    “No,” Tristan repeated. “Mrs. Northwood’s confinement is expected in April. At that point the baron will be signing over a property in Lincolnshire that is presently empty. I intend to move my family there as soon as my wife is able to travel. We will not require a London residence. If I need to come to Town, it’s cheaper to stay at my club.”
     
    Franklin regarded his employer thoughtfully. He’d known Tristan Northwood since the rebellious boy had first been sent to Westminster, when Franklin himself had been Baron Ware’s estate manager. Tristan’s marriage four years ago had been intended to settle him down, but Franklin had seen little evidence of it until the birth of his heir some eighteen months ago. Then over the following year and a half, Tristan’s personality had undergone a complete change, no longer the devil-may-care rogue known for hard drinking and wild living.
     
    From what Franklin could see, he was still drinking as heavily as any other man of the ton, but on a schedule as clockwork as any businessman could wish. He was stone-cold sober when he met with Franklin three times a week at nine a.m.; from ten to eleven thirty he was closeted in the nursery with young Jamie; then from eleven thirty to twelve thirty he