“Please, could you tell me his direction?” Tristan asked. “I am most eager to ascertain the nature of his health for myself. If he wishes, I intend to offer him a position with me, or barring that, at least ensure past wages are paid and Mr. Ledger receives a glowing letter of commendation.”
The woman gave a soft smile. “Your concern for our mutual friend is to be commended, Your Grace. But you needn’t wait. Come.” She beckoned. “Adam would speak with you, if you would like.”
“He is here?”
“Yes.”
Tristan exchanged a wide-eyed look with Isolde. She squeezed his hand reassuringly.
Mrs. Bertram led them across the small entrance hallway and into a study of sorts.
There, resting in an armchair before the window, sat Adam Ledger, thinner and pale, but very much alive. Simply dressed in shirtsleeves and a waistcoat with a banyan over the whole,he appeared well enough, though the pallor of his complexion pointed to a recent illness. His hair was longer than Tristan could ever remember seeing it, but his brown eyes still sparked with intelligence behind a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles.
“Ledger,” Tristan said, torn between whooping for joy and pulling the man into a tight hug out of sheer relief.
He settled for nodding in greeting and shoving his hands in his pockets.
“Your Grace,” Ledger nodded in return. “Forgive me for not standing, but my health . . .” His words drifted off to a cough.
“Of course,” Tristan said, emotions tight in his throat—happiness, relief, joy, and a strong affection he suspected might border on a sort of brotherly love.
“Come, Your Grace,” Mrs. Bertram motioned to Isolde. “Perhaps we should give the men a minute alone.”
Isolde shot Tristan an encouraging smile, before turning to Ledger.
“I am glad ye are alive, Mr. Ledger,” she said. “We had feared the worst. Ye have been sorely missed.”
And then the women were gone.
Tristan sat in a chair opposite Ledger, leaning forward and bracing his elbows on his knees.
Ledger stared at where the women had just been, brows furrowed and confused.
He brought his gaze back to Tristan.
“Feared the worst? You thought I was dead, Your Grace?”
“Yes. Thank heaven I have found you at last.” Tristan sat back in his chair. “You have been a difficult man to locate.”
“B-but . . . how?”
Tristan understood what Ledger was asking:How did you find me? Why are you here?
“Hah. You didn’t leave many clues. I managed to uncover a hint which led me to your sister’s house on Gresham Street.”Tristan knew he would have to confess to reading Ledger’s correspondence, but maybe not at the moment. “All my attempts to locate you from there reached a dead end. In desperation, I placed a notice inThe Timesasking for help in locating you.”
“Yes, Elizab—ehr, that is Mrs. Bertram—mentioned the advertisement just this morning.”
Tristan pretended not to hear Ledger’s slip, though it rather illuminated the lay of the land, as it were. Ledger’s cheeks pinked as he spoke of Mrs. Bertram. Tristan couldn’t stop a smile. It seemed he was not the only one to have found love recently.
“My notice proved fruitful,” Tristan said. “I received a missive from a woman who claimed her husband had been hired to push you into the Thames.”
Ledger froze for the space of two heartbeats and then sat upright as if stung by a jolt of electricity. “I knew it! The man who pushed me . . . it had to be deliberate. But why?”
“Mr. Gilbert and Lady Lavinia wished to keep their attempts to undermine the duchy quiet. They clearly saw you as a threat to that quiet.”
“That doesn’t entirely surprise me. They snooped around Gilbert House like a pair of ravenous hounds and were apoplectic when I confronted them about their behavior. Mr. Gilbert made it clear he would have me arrested if I returned to Gilbert House or attempted to contact you.”
The bloody tyrant. Abruptly, Tristan regretted not beating Aubrey before tossing him into the street.
