Jeremy snorted. “He’ll settle in. I have a feeling he’s the kind who can bivouac in a field or a mansion and never turn a hair.”
“He is. So tread carefully, if you please?”
“Of course.” He passed Giles his hairbrush. “What about Gabriel?”
“Tell him all he needs to know, but no more. I would that you not disclose the whys and wherefores of Wolfbridge until I have made a decision about him.”
“That makes sense.”
“But…” Giles paused and shot a sharp glance at Jeremy. “If he starts talking about Wolfbridge, note every word. I want to know why he has our insignia on a very old locket and why he said what he did when we told him where he was.”
“We’d all like to know that, so rest assured if he says anything, you’ll hear about it upon your return.”
“Also, prepare the Lady’s room. I have no idea what shape she’s in, but a fire, clean nightclothes…I don’t know.” He shook his head. “And I’m worried, to be honest. If I’d known…” He frowned. “Come to think of it, can you get me one of the Lady’s robes? I have no idea of her size, but I’ll wager she could use a change of garments. Dammit.” He cursed again. “She shouldn’t be where she is. I should have known…”
“You didn’t, Giles. You couldn’t. You are going now. Set the past aside and focus on what must be done.”
“You’re right.” He sighed. “The coachmen from here to Kilham will doubtless hate me.”
“You may be right about that, too,” grinned Jeremy. “But they’ll love the coins.”
Before he knew it, Giles was back in the familiar surroundings of a carriage, barely a day after leaving one. This time he had the entire interior to himself, at least for a while, which was helpful, since he’d brought a couple of warm blankets, a fur and two pillows, with the expectation of returning with a woman who was not at her best.
He turned over the problem of the new Lady, wondering how to explain to her who he was and where he was taking her. It was those first moments that defined so much of what lay ahead, and they were different every time. A year ago, Adalyn had been so desperate for help that she’d taken his arm with relief, not apprehension.
Would the Dowager Countess feel the same?
Less than two days later, having made excellent time and with fresh horses, Giles found himself staring in horror at what remained of a building. Part of the roof was gone and the bits still standing couldn’t possibly offer much in the way of warmth to whoever was left inside. He had to wonder if this was the right place, since it was so far off the beaten path as to be almost non-existent. And over an hour’s drive from Kilham Abbey.
He had stopped there first, expecting it to be close to his final destination, and considered it a courtesy to let the family know his plans for the Dowager.
He’d met with an abrupt and somewhat rude greeting, where he had been told to stay on the road for another ten miles. The Earl, he was informed, was not at home. Then the door had been shut in his face.
With a sinking heart, he’d followed the directions, realising now how grave the situation might be.
Telling the driver to be ready for another passenger, Giles made his way across a weed and leaf covered path to the door. It was warped, badly, with the hinges rusting. It took a leap of faith for him to rap his knuckles on it.
The sound was hollow, echoing inside, but causing no footsteps nor any sign of life coming to open up and let him in.
He waited, then gave up and pushed at the door.
It opened easily; the lock dropping off as it did so, clattering onto a dirty stone floor.
His heart in his mouth, Giles walked carefully inside. The hall, for such as it once must have been, was quite a large room, with windows on the opposite wall, now boarded up.
There was enough cold daylight for him to see doors leading away from where he stood, but only one showed a tiny flicker of light coming from beneath it, and he’d have missed even that if he hadn’t been looking for it.
With a great deal of caution, he moved slowly toward that side of the hall, doing his best to avoid the debris on the floor—bits of wood and plaster, a puddle of water that probably leaked through the ceiling over the winter, and a useless branch of candles, empty now and half shattered.
A sense of dread rose up in Giles’s throat. This was appalling—to think of the Dowager Countess Kilham living amidst such squalor. And where was the alleged housekeeper?
“Hullo?” His voice echoed dully. “Is anyone here?”
He paused. There was nothing. No sound at all except for the odd creak of the house itself and an unpleasant skittering noise he recognised with a shiver of disgust. He couldn’t tolerate rats.
Reaching the closed door, he stopped again. This time there was a faint crackle of firewood. Or at least he thought that was what he heard.
He pushed…and it refused to budge.
