Ducking into her room, Gemma pulled out her bag and the stack of letters. The promise from her uncle was the one on the top, or so she had thought. Now she wasn’t so certain. She couldn’t find it. What if she’d lost it? Her heart pounded in her ears.
They were going to take The Garland from her.
No, they were not...but where was the letter she needed—?
Mrs. Warbler’s hand came down on hers. Gemma looked up, surprised, to the woman in the bedroom with her. “Don’t be afraid,” Mrs. Warbler said.
“What if I lose?”
“Well, that could happen. I don’t have the faith in Lord Marsden that the duchess enjoys. Granted,he appears rougher than he usually does and he is one ofthem, the Logical Men’s Society. However, he should hear us out. He has always been fair. He also has to live in this village. He knows the dangers of crossing the matrons. We are with you.”
Gemma nodded, afraid to voice her fears lest they take on life. She looked down at her letters and realized the one she searched for was right there in her hand. “I have it.”
“Then let us go present it to the magistrate.”
Just as they entered the main room, the front door flew open, the bell jangling wildly, and Mr. Thurlowe stormed inside. He was not alone. Several of the men who had stood sentry across the street over the past several days filed in through the doorway behind him.
“Thurlowe,” the earl called in good-natured greeting. “You are right on time for a cup of morning tea.”
Ignoring Lord Marsden, the doctor demanded, “What is going on here? Why was a guest in my home kidnapped?”
The dowager looked down her nose in a way only a duchess could manage. “Your hat, Mr. Thurlowe?”
He frowned as if not understanding what she’d meant, and then realized he was wearing his hat. He practically grabbed it off his head as if he couldn’t be bothered. The other men removed their hats.
“As for the charge of kidnapping,” the dowagersaid, “what nonsense. He was not kidnapped. We asked him politely to come with us.”
“Allof you?” Mr. Thurlowe demanded.
“Of course. We didn’t want him to refuse,” the duchess answered. Hands came up to hide smiles—and Mr. Thurlowe knew it. His jaw hardened.
He hadn’t looked at Gemma. In fact, he seemed to be studiously ignoring her. Good.
She needed to ignore him, as well... instead of noticing that although he’d had a late night, he was impeccably dressed and appeared rested. Which was far from what she was feeling.
His men clumped around him, pushing their way into the room and crowding the matrons. One, a gentleman so short that he had to crane his neck to see what was going on, announced, “I’m here. What is going on?”
“We need your services, Shielding,” the doctor said. “There is about to be a legal hearing over who owns The Garland.”
Mr. Shielding took in everyone and then his officious gaze landed on the earl. “I didn’t hear you were back, my lord. I’m to represent the Society.”
“Ah, yes, good,” the earl replied. He looked over to Mr. Thurlowe and said in a false whisper, “You couldn’t find someone else?”
There was no answer but again, smiles were hidden.
The door was finally shut, only to be opened again by none other than the Duke of Winderton.He didn’t mill about but sauntered in as if the proceeding waited for him. He looked around as if surprised at the crowd. “The village has gathered, eh? Is there anyone left on the streets?”
Gemma had come to know him by sight but they had kept their distance from each other. There was something very angry about him, and she did not trust angry men.
The people in the room acted diffident with curtseying and bowing. “Good morning, Your Grace,” the Reverend Summerall said.
His mother was unaffected. “How nice of you to rouse yourself, Your Grace.”
“Always trying to please you, Mother,” he answered and looked around the room, his gaze landing on Mr. Fitzsimmons. The young man had been out toiling on Gemma’s behalf and he appeared the part. He stood on the opposite side of the room from his fellows. “Hello, Fitz,” the duke said. “We were expecting you to return last night.”
His words brought a flush to Mr. Fitzsimmons’s face.
“It appears he has changed sides,” said one of the Dawson lads—Gemma could not tell which one was which yet.
