6
Eight months later
Peregrine removed his hat and coat and handed them to his butler, Jamison, as he entered his townhouse for the evening. He’d spent all day making the rounds, paying calls on families that he must now be better acquainted with. Then he’d met with his solicitors and bankers to assess all the properties and accounts that had come to him after Great-Uncle Frederick had died.
For the last eight months, he had been busy adjusting to the reality of being an earl, of having a future that lifted him out of his meager surroundings and into levels of money and power he didn’t feel he had in any way earned.
“My lord, you have a letter from Mr. Lennox.” His butler nodded, and a footman stepped forward with a letter on a silver tray. Peregrine was still not used to that either.
