They were yet abed, reveling in the quiet of their house and the absence of Lady Lavinia’s shrill voice. Tristan dragged his fingers through Isolde’s loose hair. He shamelessly took advantage of every chance to see her glorious hair unbound and tumbled. Isolde responded by pressing a kiss to his bare skin under her cheek. He couldn’t stop a soft, contented sigh.
A maid had entered earlier to draw the window curtains and leave a breakfast tray, newspaper, and the morning post on a bedside table. Despite the scent of fresh scones and hot chocolate perfuming the air, Tristan was content to hold his wife for a moment longer.
“Agreed, my love. And Ledger merits every effort.” His words were true, but a heavy pall settled on his shoulders when he contemplated what information an investigator might unearth.
But just as Ledger had traveled the length of Great Britain to retrieve Tristan’s body . . . Now, Tristan would do the same if needs be. It’s what a friend did, after all.
Isolde kissed his chest one more time and then leaned across him to lift the bundle of post off the tray. He continued to trail his fingers through her hair as she sorted through the letters—two for her, five for him.
He pushed to sitting and began to read his correspondence, Isolde leaning her head against his arm.
His third letter made him inhale sharply.
Your Grace,
Forgive this intrusion, but I only now was made aware of the notice posted inThe Timesregarding Mr. Adam Ledger. I am a doctor with a surgery near Blackfriars. Nearly a month ago, a man calling himself Mr. Adam Ledger was rescued from the Thames and brought to my premises for treatment. I will say no more, as I do not wish to violate the sanctity of my Hippocratic Oath, but if you wish to know more, please visit the address listed below.
With deepest regards,
Dr. George Fitzhugh
Tristan’s hand trembled as he read.
At last!
“What is it?” Isolde peered around his upper arm, reading the spare lines. She bolted upright. “Oh, gracious! Do ye suppose this to be genuine information?”
Tristan swallowed. “I can hardly say. Very few know of Lady Lavinia’s perfidy. This could be an attempt to swindle money by those culpable . . .”
“But given the potential for arrest, that seems unlikely to me.”
“Wise, as ever, my love.” Leaning, he pressed a kiss to her temple.
If this report were true, Ledger had initially survived his tumble into the Thames and had been taken to a nearby doctor. The address listed wasn’t in Blackfriars but pointed to what Tristan presumed was a residence in Thorton Heath outside London. A homey, staid sort of village. Hardly a hotbed of vice and corruption.
His hand continued to tremble, causing the bit of paper to quake.
Well.
“We should investigate this immediately,” Isolde said.
“You wish to come?”
“Of course! Any friend of yours is a friend of mine. I want to be there to console yourself, in case the news is dreadful. Or to celebrate, if it be otherwise.”
Intense love and gratitude swelled his lungs, a veritable sun warming him from within.
“Bloody hell but I love you, Isolde Gilbert.” He kissed her soundly.
“I love ye, too, my darling.” Snatching his hand off the counterpane, she wrapped both her hands around it, dropping a kiss on his knuckles. “Let us go find more clues as to your Ledger’s whereabouts.”
After stopping twiceto ask directions, the ducal carriage rolled to a stop before a small cottage on the outskirts of Thorton Heath. Set back from the road and nestled under the shade of an enormous birch, the house appeared tidy and freshly painted with mullioned windows and an age-worn oak door.
Tristan studied the bucolic scene. It did not appear the abode of someone desperate to swindle the Duke of Kendall out of a few tuppence.
“It seems a respectable sort of place,” Isolde echoed his thoughts at his side, her hand wrapped around his.
“Yes.”
