The butler bowed. “Wallace, milord.” He gestured to an upright chair. “Please be seated. I will advise Lord Gaylord you are here.”
Forgoing the seat, Brendan strolled the length of the great hall. How odd the charming portrait of his mother had been removed from its usual place. It portrayed her barely out of the schoolroom, with a red ribbon in her hair, as she sat on a garden bench. The renowned artist Sir Joshua Reynolds had painted it. When Brendan had returned to live at Beechley Park four years ago, he had asked Gaylord if he might purchase it, but his uncle had refused, saying he was too fond of the painting to part with it. Brendan wondered if they had hung it in some other room.
With a discreet cough, the butler reappeared.
Brendan turned to address him. “Wallace, where is the Reynolds portrait of my mother dressed in a white gown, a small dog in her arms? It used to hang here. Is it now in the portrait gallery?”
Wallace looked mystified. “No, milord. I didn’t find a portrait of your mother here when I first came several years ago. Nor can I say I’ve seen it anywhere else in the house.”
Had Gaylord sold it? Brendan followed the butler to the library, attempting to quell the anger building inside him.
His uncle stood as he entered. He gestured to a chair. “Well, nephew, what has prompted this visit? It’s been some time since we spoke, as I’m never invited to Beechley Park.”
Brendan loathed his smug smile. Gaylord thought himself in the right, and to a certain degree, he was. “You wrote to Netterfield. Why stir up trouble?” Brendan asked, taking a seat. He had not intended to stay long, but he sank into a chair as his stomach roiled and his head throbbed.
Gaylord scowled. “Someone as gently bred as this young lady should not ride about your estate without a chaperone. Goodness knows what goes on behind closed doors.”
Brendan clamped his jaw. He wasn’t about to defend himself. It wasn’t why he’d come here. “Her brother has arrived.”
“Do you intend to marry Miss Peyton?”
“That’s none of your business.” Flashes of colored lights distorted his sight. His vision seemed to shrink, making it seem as if he gazed through a tunnel. He put a hand to his head. Why had he ignored the signs?
His uncle’s voice seemed to come from far away. “You seem out of sorts, Brendan.”
“Just one of my headaches.”
Through a distorted haze, Brendan saw Gaylord give a knowing nod. “Your father suffered the same strange visions. You are wise not to marry. The madness could come upon you.”
Brendan struggled to his feet. “Damn you, Gaylord. Keep your nose out of my business or you’ll be sorry.”
He heard Gaylord’s scathing laugh as he flung himself out of the library. The throbbing pain and flashes of light strengthened. Somehow, he found his way to the stables, where a groom assisted him to mount.
Brendan remembered little of the ride home, but Bruno knew the way. Reaching the house, he slid from the saddle and was vaguely aware of Redfern’s barked order and the two footmen running to catch him before he fell.
Chapter Eleven
Debnam had notvisited the sickroom for two days. As her brother rallied, Laura knew that the time she and the earl could spend together ebbed away. Laura wanted to talk to him. Now that Robert needed less of her attention, she hoped to have a quiet moment with Debnam before she and her brother left.
She read to Robert as he sat propped up in bed with pillows, his luncheon on a tray before him. His appetite hadn’t improved, and he was still unwell and querulous. He shoved the tray away. “I am sick of soup. Inform the cook I want meat for dinner.”
Laura rushed to take it before the soup spilled. “The doctor said light foods are advisable. Perhaps tomorrow—”
“Tomorrow, we go home. I want to recuperate in my own bed. I don’t want to be beholden to the earl a moment longer than I have to be.”
Laura suspected his behavior stemmed more from guilt about sending her here. She wasn’t about to mention it, though, aware of how sensitive Robert was to criticism. Any bad feeling would upset him and delay his recovery. She set the tray on the table. “You are making an excellent recovery. We might leave at the end of the week.”
“Not soon enough. I said tomorrow. Where is Debnam? I thought he might have called in to see how I was.”
Laura widened her eyes. “You want to see him?”
“I don’t. But it’s the decent thing for him to do, is it not?”
She was glad Debnam hadn’t come. Robert was still ready to argue with him. Best he and Debnam saw little of each other before they left. She pushed back her hair with her forearm and sighed. What did they go home to? She wanted to ask Robert if he had paid his debts but was afraid to. Had he gambled away the money Debnam had given him?
A servant took the tray and Robert settled down for a nap. Laura left him and went downstairs, hoping to see Debnam. Redfern was in the great hall overseeing a maid who flicked a duster over the portraits. He turned to greet Laura with a smile. What a nice man he was, with nothing snooty or condemning in his manner. And there well might have been.
“How is your brother, Miss Peyton?”
