“I am privileged to be pressed into service as escort for Lady Benson, London being a frightfully perilous place for a lady on her own.” He tossed a teasing glance at Lucy and caught her avid study of his exchange with the duchess.
He had let the sight of her get in the way of his common sense.Careful, Morgan. You don’t want to give your friends ideas. You have no business even having ideas. She’s a duchess. You have neither title nor two shiny shillings to call your own, and London isn’t Ashmead.
To make his point to himself—if no one else—he took a seat on the far side of Lucy as Clarion bustled into the room and sat next to the duchess.
“Do you want to tell me what that was about, Madelyn?” The earl frowned at his sister, and the duchess, to Brynn’s amusement, glowered back.
“Do you plan to interrogate me every time I have a visitor, David? If so, I’ll leave for home now. Did you send for fresh tea?” She peered at her brother with a pleasant smile that did little to hide the steel underneath it.
“Harris is taking care of it,” Clarion muttered. “Dash it all, Madelyn, a brother is allowed to be concerned. You haven’t spoken to Glenmoor in years.”
“I’m rarely in town, David. Is it so strange that my stepson would take the opportunity to visit?”
“But why did he come to me specifically to request an interview? I gather the two of you haven’t maintained close correspondence.”
Good question, Clarion. Why indeed?Intruder or not, Brynn listened avidly.
“That sounds strange, Maddy. Have you not kept in touch?” Attention turned to Lucy, her expression as puzzled as her words.
Brynn didn’t remember the last time a tea tray’s arrival had irritated him as much as this one’s. He wanted to shout,What did the man want?
Her Grace made a great ceremony of the tea. “You will enjoy cook’s biscuits, Colonel Morgan.” He suspected her words were aimed at reminding her brother they had a guest.An intruder.
“You won’t get away without answering me, you know.” Lucy pinned Lady Madelyn with her eyes, gazing over her teacup. “I want to know about your stepson. Is he as big a dandy as he appears? What on earth caused his frown?”
The duchess set her cup down with care, treated them to a long-suffering sigh, and folded her hands. “Phillip Tavernash was fourteen when I married his father, a sweet, lovely boy. As it turned out, he was one of the few bright lights of my marriage. I was fond of him, and after today, I realize I still am. He had a difficult time growing up—with Glenmoor for a father, who wouldn’t? When my husband died, Phillip had not quite reached the age of twenty, and I was given no role in his guardianship. It had been…difficult. My marriage had been as unpleasant as you all appear to imagine. I went home to Ashmead, wanting to heal, to put that whole part of my life away. I’m ashamed to say I neglected Phillip. I ought to have at least maintained correspondence.” She kept her eyes on Lucy as she spoke, but she turned to David when her little speech—a rather overly rehearsed and overly simplified speech, in Brynn’s opinion—concluded. “Can we leave it now?”
David looked as if he wanted to ask another question. Brynn certainly did. Even Lucy appeared to be on the verge of asking more.
The duchess cut her off with a change of subject. “I hear we have a dinner to plan and, if I understood David correctly, shopping to do. When do we start?”
Lucy picked up that conversational gambit and ran away with it, eager for Her Grace’s support with her wardrobe.
Brynn didn’t doubt anything the duchess had told them, but any fool could see there was more. Something had upset the woman. His instinct to investigate Glenmoor rose to the surface. Information couldn’t hurt anyone. Investigating wouldn’t be intruding, would it?
*
Maddy joined Lucythe next morning for a shopping expedition as promised. The sun dipped low by the time the Benson town coach returned her to Caulfield House and Harris greeted her at the door. The maid Ellen, who had been pressed to come along, trailed in after her.
“I trust you had a successful afternoon, Your Grace,” Harris said.
“I did indeed!” Maddy realized she meant it. Lucy’s joy had buoyed her up. She had even allowed her friend to tease her into three new gowns suitable for socializing. After her outing, the idea of serving as David’s hostess felt more comfortable. Lucy had been her only friend for years, and Maddy was eager to get to know Rob better now that he’d returned to her life. Perhaps time to enjoy Lucy’s and her brothers’ company would do her good.
“The earl asked me to remind you we expect company for dinner.”
“No need. Lady Benson reminded me twice. Strategy and tactics for the dinner party to introduce her to society are the evening’s topic.” She handed the dapper, little butler her cloak, who passed it to Ellen. Maddy rolled her eyes at his back. If anything wearied her, it was the never-ending ritual and expectations that came with rank.
“The dinner will be an excellent start,” Harris said, turning back to her. “The earl and Sir Robert will want your assistance in planning a ball for her as well, of course. The sooner started, the better.” It was a hint from a long-suffering servant who found his employers rather untrustworthy, at least as to the effort required on the part of staff.
“A ball?”Of course. Hadn’t David mentioned it?He might try to manipulate her into planning it. “Thank you for the warning, Harris,” she said cheerfully. She had firmly refused to order the ball gown Lucy and the modiste had tried to urge on her because she planned to leave as soon as the dinner party was over.
Maddy had avoided London after she was widowed, claiming mourning. Every time she had given in to her mother’s insistence she come to town for a week or two, she had run home to Ashmead. A ball, she’d learned, meant stares. It meant gossip. It meant kindly intended and less well-meaning questions about her marriage, her mourning, and her time at Woodglen. But time had passed. Now she wondered if she should reconsider. Her day with Lucy truly had been fun.
“Before I forget, Your Grace, you had a visitor, a rude fellow who had no calling card. A colonial of some sort, from his speech. I told him you weren’t in. I fear he may attempt to return.”
A colonial?A prickle of alarm ran up the back of Maddy’s neck. “How odd. What was this man’s name?”
“Jessop, Your Grace. Isaiah Jessop.”
