“Not bad, milord. I won a few shillings at cards. I don’t think they’ll welcome me back for another game.”
Brendan chuckled. “Well done.”
As they drove home, Brendan tried to make sense of his stubborn determination to become a monk. Annabel was a sympathetic, generous woman. Perhaps in time, he might feel differently, although he did not relish becoming the subject of gossip here. Leave that to London and theton. He would return to the city in two days’ time to attend the House of Lords. Perhaps there, he might settle into his old habits. But knowing Laura had turned his life upside down, and nothing was certain anymore.
The next morning, Brendan took his usual morning ride before breakfast. Dark clouds banked up in the sky overhead, and he smelled rain in the air as he rode through the woods in search of the gamekeeper. He found him removing a poacher’s trap. John looked up as Brendan rode out of the trees.
Brendan dismounted, secured Bruno’s reins, and came over to him.
“Seems the rascals are chancing their luck, milord.”
“Keep an eye out,” Brendan said as drizzle dripped down through the trees. “Would you inform the bailiff?”
“I will, milord.” John looked awkward as he stood with the trap in his hands. He cleared his throat. “Miss Beverley Walcott and I wish to marry and we seek your blessing, milord.”
“You have it, of course.” Glad he didn’t have to suggest it himself, Brendan led his horse by the reins, and they walked between the trees. “Beverley is an upstairs maid at Beechley Park, is she not?”
“Yes, milord.”
“I expect she tells you much of what goes on up at the house.”
John looked at him, eyes wide. “Only news of the staff. We didn’t know it was wrong, milord.”
“I am not angry with you, or Beverley, John. I merely wished to know.”
Relieved, John nodded, taking scant notice of the weather as the pitter-patter of raindrops struck their hats.
“Have you seen anything of Lord Gaylord?” Brendan asked. “As you know, he had my permission to shoot a partridge or two in the past.”
“Why, yes, he is often about and calls in to the cottage sometimes.” John settled his shoulders, looking wary.
“Might you have passed on anything to him Beverley told you?”
John gazed down at the trap in his hand. “Lord Gaylord is an inquisitive man. I might have mentioned the odd thing. But nothing important, milord. I don’t know any secrets.” He frowned. “Except one, perhaps.”
“And what is that? You can tell me, John.”
“Beverley and Lord Gaylord are related, although she never speaks of it in his presence.”
Brendan turned to him. “The devil they are. Who told you this?”
“Her grandmother told Beverley Lord Gaylord was her father.”
Could this be true?Brendan stared at him. “How old is Beverley?”
“Nine and ten years, milord. Born a few months before the…eh, shooting.” He hesitated. “Your mother, the countess, allowed Miss Violet Walcott to return to work at the house after she gave birth to Beverley at her mother’s cottage. Beverley’s grandmother raised her. When she turned sixteen, she came to work here. That was four years ago, during the staff recruitment, which was when they’d opened the house up again for your return, milord.”
Brendan rubbed the prickles on the back of his neck. “Beverley’s mother isn’t at Beechley Park now. Where is she?”
“She died years ago, milord. Beverley was a six-month-old babe when it happened. When the elder Miss Walcott worked at the house, she got hold of a bottle of laudanum and drank the lot.”
“When was this?”
“A few days after the tragedy, milord. Miss Walcott was very cast down about it, Beverley’s grandmother told her. Her mother said they wouldn’t have died but for her.”
“How could she possibly be responsible?”
“Never knew the reason, milord. And we can’t ask Beverley’s grandmother. She has passed away.”
