She knows. The boy is the true heir.
He opened his mouth to suggest that she needed a moment—though with whom and where, he wasn’t certain. His impulse was to drag her out the house and up into the hills until she digested the things she’d just seen. He was spared whatever nonsense he might have perpetrated when Kendrick’s efficient servants entered with a heavily laden and elegantly presented tea trolley.
The children made their goodbyes and trooped on back toward the nursery, with Madelyn’s eyes following every step. She continued to glance after them when she poured tea for Glenmoor and again when she poured for Kendrick. And Rhys. Brynn leaned close when she handed him an exquisitely fine Chinese porcelain teacup, their fingers brushing, and whispered, “Do you need time alone?”
She swallowed hard and nodded.
Rhys quieted, having exhausted his understanding of the situation, and conversation faded as they nibbled sandwiches as delicious as they were delicately presented. Kendrick eyed them all warily, and Madelyn ate little.
Brynn opened his mouth to suggest the hour grew late if they were to return home before dark, but Glenmoor broke the silence. “What do we do now?”
Kendrick’s face held a blank mask—purposefully so, Brynn thought—and Madelyn dragged her gaze from the study of her teacup to blink at him. Glenmoor, oblivious, went on, “I think Gideon should come to Woodglen. For a visit.”
Kendrick’s stricken expression almost matched Madelyn’s. He obviously held as little affection for Woodglen as she did. Brynn wondered what horrid memories of the place they must harbor.
When Madelyn bit her lower lip, Brynn had a jolt of attraction that made him feel like a brute. She appeared to be struggling for words.
Rhys, practical as always, jumped in first. “May I suggest something a bit closer to home for now? Why not come for an overnight at Brynhafan, Kendrick? You and your brother can catch up and take some time to decide how you want to go on. Neutral ground, so to speak.”
When did my little brother become wise?A day or two would give Madelyn time to speak with Glenmoor—if she planned to.
Kendrick looked intently from one to the other, considering his choices, before he nodded.
Madelyn asked if he would bring the children as well, longing naked in her voice.
“Perhaps another time,” Kendrick murmured.
The tea tray emptied, emotions exhausted, and conversational gambits depleted, they left him then with his promise to join them at Brynhafan two days hence.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Frost sparkled alongthe hill leading up to deep woods and down the lane toward the village late into the morning. November had slipped into December unnoticed. Maddy stood at the window, allowing the sight of Brynn Morgan to distract her. He trudged up the hill, his black hair wild in the wind, his red muffler flowing out behind.
She had slept much of the day before, absorbing the realization that the confident, professional man who’d met them at the colliery was indeed Gideon, allowing herself to take joy in his children, and ignoring the consequences. Now Brynn disappeared into the forest, and reality intruded. Gideon would come to Brynhafan within hours, and she could no longer avoid the truth. She shook under the weight of her decision.
She found Phillip lingering over coffee and the Cardiff papers with Rhys Morgan. The duke dressed simply but correctly, as he had throughout their visit. The London popinjay had disappeared into the hills of Wales, and he reveled in his new persona. She wondered what his Eloisa would make of this Phillip. Both men rose to greet her. Rhys started to order fresh coffee, but she stopped him.
“Actually, I need a private word with His Grace, if it isn’t inconvenient.”
“Of course,” Phillip agreed.
“You’re welcome to use my study if that would suit,” Rhys offered.
She briefly considered suggesting a brisk walk but rejected it as a delaying tactic. What she had to say to Philip was best said quickly and clearly, a sharp yank of pain being better than a slow, lingering one, although the pain of what she had to say would last them both a lifetime.
When she closed the door to the study, Phillip eyed it dubiously. “Are you sure that is quite the thing, Madelyn? Brynhafan isn’t London, but a closed door still isn’t—” He stopped and stared at her expression, alarm rising. “Are you unwell, Madelyn? Come sit.”
“Your father was married to Gideon’s mother.”
The words, bald and ominous, hung in the air, while Phillip’s expression flittered among concern, disbelief, and confusion before settling into dawning horror. Color drained from his face, and he swayed, causing Maddy to take him by the hand and lead him to one of a pair of leather chairs. She sat in the other.
She held his hand still, concern gripping her at the sight of his confusion and shock. “What are you saying, Madelyn? That Jessop had the right of it and I am not the duke?”
“No. You are most certainly the duke, confirmed by the Committee for Privileges. Clarion believes they will not overturn it no matter what we bring to them, and they wouldn’t be happy if we tried.”
Relief flashed across his face, gone in a second. “But Gideon. You’re saying he is my father’s legitimate son? And I’m—”
Not. Oh, Phillip!
