Free Pamela Sherwood by A Song at Twilight Page A

he should have died so young, and so suddenly. And on the very night we were celebrating at Roswarne, just a few miles away.” Sophie suppressed a shudder. The late Earl of Trevenan had been discovered dead at the foot of a cliff on New Year’s Day.
    “Tragedies usually happen that way, while everyone else is going about his business,” Mr. Pendarvis observed. “Still, it’s an ill wind that blows no good, and your cousin will probably do more credit to the position than his predecessor.”
    “ I think he will,” Sophie said with confidence. “But, like you, James has all sorts of new responsibilities now, to say nothing of expenses. He’s up in London now, talking to his solicitor and trying to find ways to keep Pentreath—that’s his estate—going.”
    He sighed. “A grand inheritance can be a curse as much as a blessing, at times.”
    “Which would you call yours?” Sophie risked a sympathetic touch of his sleeve. To her relief, Mr. Pendarvis did not withdraw his arm, though she supposed it was also possible that he simply hadn’t noticed, in his current brown study.
    “I’m still trying to decide. No,” he amended, “that’s not entirely fair. Great-Uncle did his best to maintain the Hall. He was never a great spendthrift, even in his youth, and he married a woman with a large dowry, though they’d no children to inherit.”
    “Or to spend what money they had,” she pointed out. “The late Lord Trevenan was very extravagant and ran up all sorts of debts—that’s one of the difficulties James is facing.”
    “A small mercy,” he conceded. “Nonetheless, it will likely take every penny I possess to keep Pendarvis Hall fit to be lived in.”
    “Is it in such poor condition as that?” Sophie asked. “I noticed nothing amiss when I was there for the funeral, and it’s always looked splendid from the outside.”
    “Things could be worse,” he admitted. “But it’s still going to need substantial work in some areas. The roof, for example, and the damp has got into some of the upstairs rooms.”
    “Have you ever thought of letting the Hall, or selling it outright?” she ventured, trying to ignore the swift, sharp pang that went through her at the thought of him leaving Cornwall.
    Fortunately, his next words reassured her on that score. “Strangely enough, I find I don’t care to do either. For one thing, breaking the entail would be a difficult and costly business. For another… call it folly or family pride, but Pendarvises have lived at the Hall since Queen Elizabeth’s time. It seems… wrong to abandon it to strangers.”
    Because the Hall was home, Sophie thought. Home to his great-uncle, his grandfather, and now himself, the man who’d known no true home as a boy. “I should feel the same way as you,” she said warmly. “Harry is only a baronet, and Roswarne’s tiny in comparison to your Hall, but he regards our estate—our home—as something to be safeguarded for the next generation of Tresilians. Perhaps that makes us hopelessly old-fashioned, but there it is.”
    “I suppose that makes me old-fashioned as well,” he said with a wry smile. “But there’s more than just the property to consider. I wouldn’t feel right about turning off the staff. They’ve earned their places through years of loyal service. Who am I to come sweeping in and deprive them of their livelihood? Even if I just let the Hall, a tenant could still dismiss them and hire new servants, and my great-uncle’s people would be no better off than before.” He shook his head. “The life of a landed gentleman may not be what it used to be, but that doesn’t cancel out our responsibilities to those who depend on us.”
    Our. Us . Sophie hid a smile. He was talking like a landowner already—better yet, a conscientious, responsible landowner, who valued loyalty and had a care for his servants. Mr. Pendarvis might not realize it, but he was more than suited to his new position and, she suspected, equal