“No. I’ve been preoccupied with trying to find my daughter. What are people saying?”
“More or less what you would expect. They’re speculating as to why she might have been taken and who might have done it.”
“Any prevailing opinions?” Maybe there was a clue in all this somewhere.
Gareth made a face. “The truth is, your parenting has been called into question. There are those who feel that it only happened because you weren’t taking proper care of Emma.”
Reeves felt sick. He couldn’t say it out loud, but he thought there was probably some truth in that. She had run away from him the night she’d been taken. They had been walking together, she had gotten angry with him, and she’d run off. If he hadn’t made her angry, it wouldn’t have happened.
Gareth was watching his face. “Itwasn’tyour fault,” he said. “You know that, don’t you? It was the fault of whoever took her.”
“I know,” Reeves grumbled.
“Moreover, Reeves, you deserve to have a little fun after all this. You’ve been through an ordeal, and you should take this moment to celebrate.”
“And you think a ball is the way to do that?” Reeves asked. “I’d rather celebrate with a night in my study and a glass of brandy. When have you ever known me to seek out things like balls?”
“Never,” Gareth admitted. “But this isn’t an ordinary occasion. You know that as well as I do. A moment like this calls for extraordinary festivities, and I see it as my duty—my honor—to convince you of that fact.”
“All right, all right,” Reeves said. “Itwouldbe good to try to get ahead of the gossip. I’ll consider your suggestion. A ball might not be the worst idea.”
He wasn’t looking forward to it, nor did he think he would enjoy a minute of it. But to show everyone that things were getting back to normal… yes, Gareth was right. That would be ideal.
And once the ton had stopped looking in their direction, he might feel freer to investigate who had kidnapped his daughter.
Or maybe she’ll be ready to speak by then.
He sighed. A man could hope.
CHAPTER 11
“Miss Wetherby, His Grace would like to see you in his study.”
Bridget looked up. She had been sitting on the floor with Emma and watching as the girl played with one of her dolls in silence. The butler stood in the doorway, his expression stoic, waiting for her. “Did His Grace say what he wanted?”
“Only that I was to bring you to him at once.” The butler raised his eyebrows. “Best not to keep His Grace waiting.”
Bridget nodded and rose to her feet. Emma looked up at her in mild alarm.
“Don’t worry,” Bridget reassured her. “I’ll be back very soon. I just need to go speak to your father for a moment, all right?”
Emma hesitated, then nodded slowly.
Bridget followed the butler down the hall toward the study, hoping this wasn’t going to take too long. She didn’t like leaving Emma on her own. The girl was still so fragile. She needed someone with her at all times.
The butler knocked on the door. “Miss Wetherby, Your Grace.”
“Send her in,” the duke’s voice came through the door.
The butler nodded at Bridget and held out an arm, indicating that she ought to go forward.
Bridget bit her lip. She didn’t want to feel intimidated by the duke, but she did. It was something she was just going to have to get over, though, because she was determined to stay here and to do all she could to help Emma.
She opened the door and went into the study.
The duke was seated at his desk. He looked up when she came in, and instantly her feelings of intimidation multiplied. He wasn’t exactly glaring at her, but his eyes were narrowed.
“Miss Wetherby,” he said. “Come in and sit down.”
