Two hours later the ladies bundled themselves into cloaks against the cool snap in the weather and descended the steps of Caulfield House, laughing. Lucy climbed into the Benson carriage, and Maddy had one foot on the step when a rough-looking gentleman approached, coming swiftly toward her. The Bensons’ burly footmen had him by the arm before he came close.
“They told me you weren’t there. I dint believe ’em!” the ruffian shouted.
Maddy froze.
“Move on, you!” the footman yelled. Rob’s footmen, she had noticed, all looked like former soldiers. This one was brooking no defiance. He dragged Jessop—for it must be him—away, and two of David’s men ran out to help.
“You can’t run away forever. I mean to speak with you, duchess!” the man shouted.
Not today. Not here. Not now.Maddy climbed into the carriage.
“The boy’s my nephew. I demand…” What Jessop demanded was lost when the carriage pulled away.Gideon is no boy. He must be nearing forty now. Or he would be. Gideon is dead, isn’t he?
Lucy’s profound concern jolted Maddy out of her morose thoughts. “We have to talk to Rob about this.”
“No, I—”
“He’ll be home for dinner tonight. If you don’t talk to him, I will.”
*
“Repeat what youtold me for Morgan.” Benson didn’t even wait to finish pouring Brynn a drink. The atmosphere in the Bensons’ drawing room that night was fraught. Lucy wrung her hands with obvious distress, and Brynn tensed, the drink forgotten.
Lucy heaved a shuddering sigh and described the encounter with Jessop.
“Did Clarion’s men hold him?” Brynn asked through clenched teeth.
Lucy shook her head. “They threatened to call the watch if they saw him hanging around again. Harris says he has a man guarding the street as well.”
“Any luck finding his bolt-hole?” He directed the question at Benson.
Benson handed him the brandy. “Drink. I suspect you need it—and no. No luck so far, but it won’t be long. I don’t think he’s hiding, and he doesn’t seem violent. He is determined to speak with Maddy, however. Tell Morgan the rest, Lucy.”
When she hesitated, Brynn suspected she didn’t want to betray confidences. “We all care about her, Lucy. Is she frightened?” The duchess he car—admired—didn’t let fear, discomfort, or the opinions of men rule her life.
“Of Jessop? No. I asked why she didn’t just find out what he wanted, and she said she wasn’t ready to speak to him. That was her word, ‘ready.’ Odd, that. Then she apologized to me and said she had to return to Ashmead. I begged her to stay for the Danburys’ musicale, and she agreed, but she plans to leave the morning after.”
“Danbury’s gathering is the day after tomorrow. That means we have three days—two if she plans to leave early the next morning.” Benson sounded like a man thinking out loud.
“Three days to do what?” Lucy demanded.
“I wish I knew. She isn’t afraid of the man, but she is in a hurry to leave. What do you suppose waits for her in Ashmead that is so urgent?” Benson sipped his brandy, lost in thought.
Brynn had no answer. Something ate at the duchess, and he doubted it was something as simple as fear of Jessop.
“What have you discovered about Glenmoor—the father?” Benson asked him at last.
Brynn glanced at him over the rim of his glass and pursed his lips. “Where do I start?”
“You found something?”
“Not I. There were several reports on Welsh mining on my desk this morning.”Bringing hellish memories with them.He had almost returned them to the file room unread.
“Rockford?”
Brynn nodded. “How does he do that—read our minds, I mean?”
“The man’s a mystery. But what about Glenmoor?” Benson asked.
