Anger rose out of the maelstrom of emotion, and he pulled his hand away. “How do you know?” he demanded. “Why didn’t you speak up when father died? Why didn’t you say something in London?”
“I believed Gideon was dead, and therefore, it didn’t matter.” She tried to catch his eye, tried to beg for understanding, but he stared blindly across Morgan’s desk at bookshelves beyond.
“He isn’t dead, though. And I must be glad for it—and I am! Don’t doubt that. God help me.” He stared several minutes longer. She allowed him his thoughts. She had no idea what to say in any case, until he jerked his attention back to her and demanded, “Tell me what you know. All of it.”
She breathed in deeply. “There’s a letter.” She described finding it, its contents, and his father’s reaction. She blushed to tell him how she had used it as blackmail to keep the old duke from her bed. “I didn’t think anyone would be hurt, and I—”
“Spare me my father’s brutish behavior. You kept the letter.”
“I hid it—that was my part of the agreement—but I kept it. I didn’t open it again after I left Woodglen until you came to see me in London. After Jessop came, I needed to be certain I remembered it correctly.”
“Did you?”
“Yes. ‘Your wife has died. This is your son.’ Clear enough.”
“But not proof?” Phillip didn’t keep the hope from his voice.
“No. By themselves the words in the letter don’t constitute proof that your father’s relationship with Gideon’s mother constituted a legitimate marriage or that she was still alive when he married your mother. The fear on Glenmoor’s face when I told him, however, was proof enough to me.”
“But we have no documentation. You could burn the letter.”
“I could. But we don’t know what proof Jessop has.”
Phillip’s head sank backward. “And it would be unjust to Gideon in any case, one more injustice piled on top of many. I hated how my father treated him. I pitied him, and all the while I had no idea how bad it was.” He sat upright and glared at her. “The Committee for Privileges—you told Clarion about this?”
“About the letter, no. He only knew about Jessop’s accusations.”
“You told no one?”
“Brynn Morgan knows.”
“Lovely. He’s known all along. I won’t be able to meet his eyes. And Gideon. How can I face him?”
“We have to tell him.” Maddy waited, wound tighter than ever.
“Youhave to tell him. This bit of mischief is in your lap. I’ve done nothing wrong. I’ve hidden nothing.” He glared at her again.
They sat in hostile silence until Maddy wasn’t certain if an hour or merely moments had passed. He seemed to sink deeper into himself until he fell forward, his face in his hands, and moaned. “Eloisa! What am I going to tell her? And her grandfather. The Duke of Hopewell won’t allow me near her if he knows I’m a bastard.” He sat upright. “There. I said it. But I’m still the Duke of Glenmoor. You said—”
“The committee is unlikely to overturn the title, and they will hate the scandal if Gideon chooses to challenge it. But his son, Daniel…” She gulped air. “Phillip, any son you have will risk it coming to light, and he would probably lose the case for the title.”
He rose abruptly. “Gideon will be here soon. Do what you must, Madelyn. I need to think.”
*
Brynn’s spirits sankback into a pit as he came down the hill, the sanctuary of the woods lost to him. Under the ash and alder, he kept Madelyn in his heart, her worries crowding out his own pains. Out in the open, Mary and Jem Carew flooded in. Brynhafan had ceased to be a refuge long ago, and the sight of the village down the valley never failed to cut into the marrow of his soul.
He sped up, needing to see Madelyn, longing to ask when and how she would address the Glenmoor succession—when but not whether. Her honor would force her to reveal the truth, and if it didn’t, his would. That done, for better or for worse, they could leave this place.
As Brynn came through the gate, Gideon Kendrick dismounted by Rhys’s stables, and Colwyn Hayes took his horse with a touch to his forelock and an appreciative smile for the fine mount.
“Welcome, Kendrick. It is good of you to come,” Brynn said.
“Morgan.” Preoccupied and taciturn, Kendrick offered no further greeting. He had the wary appearance of a man both anticipating joy and fearful it might be snatched away. As well he should be. The coming gathering could go badly any one of a dozen ways. Brynn could do nothing to prevent it. He only hoped to help Madelyn pick up the pieces.
Before they reached the house, he realized the truth had already come out. Glenmoor burst out the door and into the yard, nodded to his brother, glowered at Brynn, and sped past them, mumbling what sounded like, “I need to…” Brynn couldn’t make out the rest. He could only watch the duke as he strode up the hill like a man with the devil on his tail.
“Perhaps I oughtn’t have come,” Kendrick murmured, staring at Glenmoor’s back.
