“And have someone less ethical than you take it over? How will that help?” Brynn asked.
“I don’t even know which things to demand first.” Tavernash tossed back his whiskey and nudged the glass toward the bottle at Rhys’s side for another.
“Forbid the use of children under ten,” Rhys said.
“Require Davy lamps,” Brynn said at the same time.
Tavernash waved a hand to slow them, took out a notebook, and scribbled some notes. “What is third?”
Brynn peered at Rhys, who frowned and poured the man another drink. “Probably repairs,” he said, “but you don’t have to do it all at once. Those first two, wrapped in a message about the sort of operation you intend to run, would make a start.”
“What about firing both Shuttleworth and Fergal?”
“Her Grace wishes to depart in a day or two. You don’t have time to hire a decent colliery manager. Issue a few orders, the ones that will do the most good, and fire him when he doesn’t comply.”
“We assume he won’t comply?”
“My guess is he will go through the motions. If he turns around, keep him. If not, you’ll have time to search for someone qualified. In the meantime, I can keep my eyes and ears on what he’s doing.”
“Or Gideon could,” Tavernash murmured, nodding.
“Ask him,” Brynn said. “It will give you something comfortable to build on when you meet in Ashmead. He may know a competent manager.”
Rhys nodded. “I warn you, though, they are few, which is probably why Daniel Kendrick raised your brother up—he recognized his worth. Ask him to teach you—it could build a bridge between you.”
“I want to visit your Morgan One before I leave. Surely Madelyn can wait two or three more days.”
“If you wish. There are a number of improvements I could point out.”
He left them then, determined to get a good night’s sleep. Brynn doubted he would manage. He set his glass away, prepared to retire as well.
“Will you leave with them?” his brother asked.
“Why would I not? My life is in London.”
“Not in Ashmead?”
Only in my dreams. “No. My work is in London, Rhys.” His nagging conscience reminded him he did indeed have work. He owed his employer a report on mining—and miner unrest, if any—in Wales. He ignored it.
“Are there no bridges for us, Brynn? Stay a few more weeks.”
He rose without replying and walked away.
“Stop.” Anger laced Rhys’s voice behind him, but when Brynn turned, he saw only grief and exasperation in his brother’s expression. “At least look in on Mary Carew! It took courage for your duchess to face hard truths today. Are you too cowardly to do the same?”
“She isn’t my duchess.” The urge to throttle his brother choked him. It took every ounce of his self-control to walk slowly away.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Drained and depleted,Maddy hadn’t even the strength to object to Crenshaw’s ministrations. She submitted meekly to the dutiful attentions of the maid Phillip and Clarion had forced on her, relieved not to have to decide so much as how to dress for the cold of a Welsh winter night.
Bundled in her warmest night-rail, long of sleeve and buttoned to her chin, she allowed Crenshaw to enfold her into a thick robe acquired by some alchemy from the Brynhafan staff, to brush her hair with vigorous strokes, and even to tuck her into a chair by the fire, with a candle and book at hand. Crenshaw nodded with the satisfaction of a job done to her own standards. “Will that be all, Your Grace?”
“Yes, thank you.” Maddy sounded far away even to her own ears. The door clicked shut behind Crenshaw, and she lay her head back against the chair and prayed for sleep lest her mind, now blessedly blank, turn to the day’s events and begin to churn again.
She may have dozed. Time certainly had passed when the door opened. Maddy’s heart skipped a beat as Brynn Morgan emerged from the shadow to kneel in front of the fire, warming his hands. She had, she realized, stayed in the chair because she’d expected him, or maybe simply hoped he would come. They had had no opportunity to speak privately through all the day’s upheaval.
“You were courageous today,” he said over his shoulder, firelight glinting off highlights in the blackness of his hair. He turned and took her hand, still kneeling in front of her chair but facing her. “I am proud of you.”
