His words seemed to satisfy her. She sagged back into her chair and folded the letter, putting it in her reticule. “I have to determine whether Gideon lives,” she said.
He sat down across from her. “How do you plan to proceed?”
“I have no idea. He may have sent him back to the Carolinas, but then Jessop would have known if that were so. Glenmoor has a few minor estates. Randolph may have sent him to one, but then Phillip should know. I have no idea where else to start.”
“It is more likely he sent him to one of his other businesses. Glenmoor didn’t own sugar holdings in the Caribbean that I’ve been able to find, but there were mines in Wales.”
Her eyes went wide, and the woman bristled with indignation. “You’ve investigated!”
“Rob Benson and I have, aye,” he said, using her brother to divert some of her anger. He told her everything they had discovered.
She had calmed down by the time he’d finished. “It gives me somewhere to start. Someone may remember him in that place. I’ll have to go to Wales.”
“You will not.”
Ire flared tangibly. Her chin tipped up, and she glared down her aristocratic nose. “I beg your pardon? I will not send a stranger to investigate. I’m not involving anyone else in this matter, delicate as it is.”
“The journey to Wales is long and endlessly tedious. You don’t know where to start or even where to find accommodations. A man on horseback who knows the place is much better suited to the task.”
“You? I can hardly ask you to risk your precious honor.”
He ignored the taunt. “You may recall my home is there. I’ve written to my brother, and—”
“You had no right!” She bristled with outrage.
“Rhys knows every mine and every mine owner in Wales. He and I—”
“You will not involve another person in my private affairs. I will go to Wales, and—”
“And what, Your Grace? Knock on the door of every mine office, asking after a man that disappeared twelve or more years ago? We need Rhys’s help.”God help me, but I’m going to beg help from a man I haven’t spoken to in even longer than that. There had been no time for a reply from that distance. Brynn had no idea if his brother had received his message or if he would help if he had.
The duchess, absorbed in thought, didn’t notice his misery. Finally, she nodded. “Very well. Your brother doesn’t need to know who Gideon Jessop is or why we want to find him. We’ll go together.”
That wasn’t what he wanted. Not at all. He opened his mouth to argue and saw the determination in her expression. The very strength he had come to admire frustrated him utterly. She would go without him if he didn’t agree and follow him if he tried to go alone. “As you wish, Your Grace,” he murmured, longing instead that he could shake sense into her.
Days on the road with the duchess? Nights at coaching inns? Dinners?Panic threatened. To have the duchess near and yet untouchable might kill him. Even now the urge to pull her into his arms tormented him.
Better he should remember she had asked him to protect a lie, something he could not do.More time to argue about Phillip Tavernash’s invalid title.As emotions went, he could manage anger more easily than desire. Conflict over what they might do about the uncle and the letter if they confirmed Gideon Jessop’s death would keep for another day.Once she knows for certain one way or another, however, she will not like what I will be compelled to do.Whatever slim hopes he might harbor in regard to the Duchess of Glenmoor would wither and die.
Chapter Sixteen
Brynn Morgan’s determinationto help her wrapped Maddy’s sense of purpose in a blanket of security. He would come; he would support her; he would seek until they found Gideon one way or another.
Realization that she needn’t carry her quest alone filled an emptiness deep inside, one she had hardly been aware existed. It forced her to admit something else: she had allowed herself the pleasure of his company, and now they faced weeks on the road. Anything could happen between a man and a woman traveling together, especially a woman who refused to employ a lady’s maid. A widow of mature years ought not require a chaperone.
The question, Maddy, is, What do you want to happen?Where she might have expected anxiety, she found only excitement. After Randolph, she had shrunk from every man who came near. Until Brynn Morgan. She had felt his nearness the entire length of her back during that painful interview at Clarion Hall the night before and hadn’t shrunk away. Could she manage his touch—savor it, even?Enjoy his company at least, Maddy. You’ll be back to your solitude soon enough.
She wanted to depart immediately, to get to their goal and be done with it, but journeys required planning. She made a fair copy of the ominous letter, tucked it in her reticule, returned the original to her locked box in the Clarion strong room, and got on with preparation.
Luggage for a brief stay in London was one thing. A lengthy journey required her larger traveling trunk fetched from the attics of Clarion Hall, acquisition of a valise with cunning pockets in which she could store conveniences for overnight stops as well as small jars and packets of personal items, and last of all, foodstuffs, including tinned and dried food that would keep for several days.
Goodfellow accompanied her to Ashmead while Colonel Morgan finished his business at Willowbrook. The sundry and general store was able to supply most of her needs, though the proprietor, Walter Simmons, seemed bemused that a duchess would choose his simple establishment over finer goods in London.
She considered avoiding folks at The Willow and the Rose, but for a keg of ale for the journey, where else would she go? They would also be able to supply a hamper of fresher foodstuffs. She braced herself to endure the kindly but intrusive company of Emma Corbin, Eli Benson’s sister, and their father, the elder Robert Benson, innkeeper and patriarch of Ashmead.
Their warm welcome and delight at her presence gave her a twinge of guilt. She didn’t want to involve these good people in her business, but their plea for news about Rob and Lucy drew her in and set her at her ease. She sat with Emma and Mr. Benson in the private parlor, sipping tea and enjoying the Willow’s famous Chelsea buns, while Goodfellow took his leisure in the bar.
Her order for a keg of Mr. Benson’s best ale caused raised eyebrows, however. “A long journey, Lady Mad?” Emma asked with the familiarity of lifelong acquaintance.
