“It will be needing a chapel. Not right to have no chapel here anymore.”
“I promise not to forget that chapel, Roberts.”
He left the steward to muse about the future and to plan his attack. He wandered through the grounds to the garden, to see if Davina was there. He wanted to tell her of the day’s results and see her expression when he shared his plans.
He checked the morning room, then the library. Davina was not in either, but Miss Ingram had taken a spot in the latter.
“Your Grace,” she greeted. “Mr. Roberts told me he has arranged for a carriage to take me home tomorrow morning. I am very grateful.”
“You are welcome to stay if you wish.”
“I miss my own bed, and my cats. Mischief doesn’t do well when I am gone.”
He smiled down on her. “Be honest, Miss Ingram. You named your cats as you did in order to poke at society, didn’t you?”
“I am far too old and confused to know how to do that, Your Grace. My days of poking society are long over.”
“I think you should get one more cat and name him Gabriel. Everyone will think you reference the angel and feel better about the other two. However, you will really be naming him after a friend of mine, who has been known as a devil for most of his life.”
“He sounds like someone I would like to meet.”
“If your brother comes to London, join him and I will make the introduction. You are always welcome as our guest, Miss Ingram. Had you been even a middling chaperone, I don’t think this marriage would have taken place.”
She pretended to find that a confusing statement, but a bit of the devil entered her eyes.
“I am looking for Davina,” he said. “Do you know where she is?”
“She went out some time ago. She was dressed for a walk. I heard her asking the footman at the door for the directions to a farm.” She paused. “She was bringing them something. She carried a bag.”
“A sack?”
“A small valise of sorts. It was similar to what some physicians have when they visit.”
Her father’s bag. He barely got his gratitude out before he was out of the library, bearing down on the footman sitting in the reception hall. The lad saw him coming and shot to his feet.
“Do you know where the duchess went?”
The boy swallowed so hard it was visible in his neck. “She asked where the Drummond farm was. I think she went there.”
Drummond. The name pricked his memory. Roberts had said something about Drummond. Suddenly, he remembered. The tenant’s harvest had not been brought in because his wife was deathly ill.
A sick foreboding spread. “Where is this farm?”
“West, Your Grace. About three miles. One of the last farms with tenants.”
“When did the duchess leave?”
“I did not note the time, Your Grace. I would say at least two hours ago.”
Two hours. She would have arrived at the farm in that time, even walking, even carrying that bag.
He had told her she should not put herself in harm’s way with her medicine. For several days after she tended to her friend, he had watched for signs that she was showing the same malady. To do that every time she walked out with that bag would be maddening. To perhaps lose her because—
She should leave it to the physicians. The real ones.
He strode out of the house and around toward the stable.
* * *
