“Nine years is a long time to mourn. It is good she’s seen fit to rejoin society,” the Marquess of Danbury observed. Brynn doubtedmournwas the correct word, but Danbury wouldn’t know that.
“A woman that lovely shouldn’t be alone for long.” The speaker’s name escaped Brynn. Some viscount involved in one of Clarion’s parliamentary committees. Clarion appeared to take that as a compliment rather than the veiled question Brynn suspected it was.
“Her Grace is gracious and warm in addition to beautiful. If she is alone, it is by choice,” Benson answered. Brynn hoped the defensive edge to his friend’s voice wasn’t obvious to the others. “The Duchess of Glenmoor and my wife are friends of long standing. I’m glad Lady Benson could lure her to London.”
“Glenmoor—the current duke—how are they related?” Henry Wallace, a banker and the only other commoner present, asked the question.
“Glenmoor is her stepson. He paid a call to welcome her to town two days ago,” Clarion said. “He was otherwise engaged tonight or you might have met him.”
Brynn glanced at Benson. The lie had been clumsy and easily disproved.
“Maturing at last, I think,” Danbury said. “I believe he is courting the Duke of Hopewell’s granddaughter Miss Eloisa Garland. An offer is expected, or so the ladies in my family tell me, but the gentleman seems in no hurry. He’s nearing thirty and noticeably lacking in close male relatives. Time for a man of his standing to settle.”
“The girl’s father is a third son and newly raised baronet. He will gobble that offer up. Glenmoor brings breeding, title, and if rumors are correct, immense wealth. He’s the catch of the season, by all accounts,” the Earl of Dunham, another of Clarion’s colleagues, said.
“Her grandfather, Hopewell, is a bit of a high stickler. Rumors Glenmoor’s coffers are tainted with trade might cool his enthusiasm. He never let his son forget his disapproval for marrying a banker’s daughter,” Viscount Thornburg put in.
“I’ve heard rumors as well. Polite society pretends money is a distasteful subject, but when someone has none—or like Glenmoor, has enough to draw envy—talk runs away with good manners.” Danbury leaned toward Wallace, his own manners slipping, apparently believing a banker had no qualms about the subject. “Is there any truth to the rumors that the duke is in trade?”
“I have no direct knowledge of the Glenmoor finances, more’s the pity,” Wallace said, drawing general laughter. “His father certainly dabbled, though he would deny it. It might not be trade, of course. Could there be sugar holdings on Nevis?”
“I believe the father may have had mining interests in Wales.” Viscount Rockford’s words were purposefully equivocal, but all of London knew—and feared—Brynn’s employer’s reputation for ferreting out and recalling information, even details they wished he’d forget. The men all stared at him. He dipped his head to the side and gave a wry smile. “Of course, my information may be out of date. The father has been gone several years.”
Nine to be precise, Brynn thought. Rockford gazed at him pointedly, the gray eyes conveying no uncertainty at all, while the rest of the table turned the subject to frustrations over some bill in Parliament that held no interest for Brynn.
Mining. Wales.Where might a man who owned a mine send an unwanted bastard son to get him out of the way? Dark images from his past swamped Brynn. If Glenmoor had sent him to the mines, Gideon Jessop was indeed dead. A crippled man wouldn’t last long.
“Morgan? Are you joining the ladies?” Benson’s voice startled him. He looked up to see the men filing out of the room.
“Sorry. I was woolgathering.” And coming to a decision. Gideon Jessop mattered to the duchess, and that made him Brynn’s concern. If the man had been sent to Wales, it would have been to his father’s mine. A letter to his brother would easily confirm Glenmoor’s holdings. Rhys Morgan might not know the name of some worker sent to the mines, but he knew every owner and the names of their holdings. Unfortunately, Brynn hadn’t communicated with his brother in almost fifteen years.
Chapter Eleven
Lucy descended onClarion’s proper breakfast room early the next morning, Rob in tow, overflowing with good will and gratitude.
“…and then the marchioness urged me to call on her to discuss land management. I think perhaps that is not a good idea.” Lucy looked to Maddy for confirmation, her cup of chocolate balanced delicately in front of her.
“Not if she has a drawing room full of other ladies. Don’t bow or back down, but don’t feed the gossip mill either. Deflect and disarm. Impress them with wardrobe and charm.” Lucy’s dubious frown matched Rob’s. Maddy went on before her brother could comment, “Save crop rotation and care for tenants a month or so until you know your audience and you’ve sorted the genuinely interested from the petty and the spiteful.”
Lucy gave a firm nod of her chin. “Sound advice.” She turned on her husband. “How many weeks until we can return to Willowbrook?”
“Coward,” he retorted. “And after your raging success last night.” The glance that passed between them tugged at Maddy’s heart. David and Marjory had looked at one another like that another lifetime ago. She had thought them young and naive, but their love had been strong enough for David to defy their father, and to last until Marjory died. Lucy and Rob had that same bond, almost sufficient to restore Maddy’s belief that love might be possible. Perhaps for some but not for her. Love required trust, and Maddy knew she could never entrust herself to a man again. The image of Brynn Morgan flashed through her mind. She dismissed it.
Rob kissed Lucy’s hand, rose, and bowed to his sister. “Having delivered this charming lady to enliven your morning, I’m off for a meeting at Horse Guards.”
David rose as well. “I’ll come with you. Danbury and I plan to meet at Whitehall to go over a bill regarding the corn laws we plan to present.”
“It’s only October. Parliament isn’t scheduled to meet until the end of January, David,” Maddy pointed out.
Her brother smiled on his way out. “The real work is in the preparation. To have any hope of success, we have to be ready.”
Lucy buttered another piece of toast. “Thank you for your advice, Maddy.”
“Wait to make calls until after the marchioness’s musicale on Friday. We can sally forth as an exploring party and study the field for hidden bombs and traps.”
“You’re staying, then? I’m so glad. I need your eyes and ears. And your taste in fashion. We have a fitting today in case you’ve forgotten.”
“I have not. We’ll need something special for Friday.” Maddy’s irritation at David’s insistence on leaving what she considered an overlarge credit for her at Madame Victoire’s emporium had almost evaporated. He had done it over her objections, but she knew his financial situation had improved since Eli and Rob Benson had uncovered their mother’s fraud with Morgan’s help, and she decided to enjoy a few new gowns now that it was done.
