"Third Young Master..."
At the door, the old butler who had followed him from London to manage his household affairs stood there with a troubled look on his face.
"What is it?"
Trenton Smith shifted his gaze from the small stones on the ground to the old butler's face.
"Miss Moore is downstairs," the old butler said bravely to Trenton Smith, "she has been waiting for you for a long time. It's quite windy today, shall we invite her in?"
The handsome man was sitting on a black solid wood sofa, his facial features obscured by a faint shadow, betraying no emotion of happiness or anger.
Hearing Norris Moore's voice from downstairs, the old butler cleared his throat, and felt compelled to continue: "The little lady has just been lulled to sleep by you; Miss Moore might wake her up. I don't think this is very good."
Trenton Smith let out a soft snort of disdain.
