“She already had one of those. Does she long for another?” Rhys couldn’t keep the skepticism from his voice.
“Not one like her late husband, I’ll give you that.”
“Neither of Their Graces appeared particularly high in the instep. They were easier guests than I would have imagined,” Rhys said.
“You had Glenmoor fixated on his mines, and I applaud your effort, but Mad—Her Grace is so far above my touch that I’d need a ladder to…”
Rhys’s guffaws put an end to whatever he might have said.
“She isn’t someone to dally with, Rhys, if that’s what you think. She’s a lady to her marrow.”
“And Brynn Morgan, like a knight of old, carries the lady’s token into battle (this trip to Wales in the face of your demons being one) while pining chastely from afar and admiring the ivory shrine of her goodness?”
With it put like that, Brynn felt like a ninny. He shook his head and glowered at his brother.
Rhys simply didn’t understand. Madelyn was a treasure. With his newfound prosperity, Brynn could afford a house, perhaps something in Chelsea like Rob Benson, but nothing like Clarion Hall, where she was raised; Glenmoor’s country house; or Clarion’s town house. He would never be welcome in the social circles she was entitled to enjoy. He could never shower her with emeralds to bring out the glow in her eyes. Hell, he probably couldn’t give her the servants she deserved. The niggling memory of her dower house and the faithful Esther invaded his morose thoughts. He suppressed the memory. Now that he knew, Glenmoor would take care of her properly. Brynn was certain of it.
“It seems to me the lady may have ideas of her own, Brynn,” Rhys said, giving Brynn’s back a playful tap.
Another issue lay between him and Madelyn. At times, she seemed to welcome his touch only to stiffen or retreat. He knew her memories of her marriage were generally not good and wondered about Glenmoor’s treatment of her in the marriage bed. Had he given her a distaste? The last thing Brynn wanted to do was impose on her.
Brynn shook his head. “Once she’s back home, she’ll realize the folly. She prefers her solitude in Ashmead.”At least she did, didn’t she?
One minute he fretted over her being excluded from the hautetonin London, the next he saw her in the peaceful calm of Ashmead. He ran a hand over the back of his neck. “I’m not sure I know her at all. She’s not the sort of woman men like us are meant to meet, much less court.”
“Have you tried?”
“Tried what?”
“To court her, you lackwit. You ought to try it, or if not, then ask her what she wants. Ask her.”
Could I?Maybe he should try.
Brynn poured another brandy for each of them. “Ask her? She’s no Aelwen Pritchard,” he said with a grin, raising the specter of Rhys’s foolish tendre for a girl two years his senior when he’d been fourteen. Rhys had asked the wench bluntly to wait for him to marry her, and she had laughed in his face. “What ever happened to her?”
His brother rolled his eyes. “Married a blacksmith over near Bangor. First bairn came within a few months followed by a dozen, according to her cousin Bertha.”
Brynn’s eyebrows shot up. Aelwen had fed the foolish fantasies of many boys around Brynhafan. The brothers shared a chuckle, and the ploy worked. Soon they were deep in gossip about old acquaintances. Madelyn, however, haunted the back of Brynn’s mind still. She always did.
Chapter Thirty-One
Esther welcomed Maddyhome with her habitual serene respect. The house had been well cared for. The duchess found the same muted colors, soothing quiet, and dignified furniture. The woods around it sheltered her solitude as they always had. Nothing had changed in the world to which she returned. Maddy had.
Tedious days in a carriage with Phillip, the duke exhausting Maddy’s interest in mining, Maddy tiring Phillip with reminders about Twelfth Night, and both avoiding mention of Gideon or Brynn had reduced them to silence. When they’d approached Ashmead and Phillip had spouted an inventory of what the Glenmoor estate would contribute to Maddy’s heretofore ignored existence, her nerves had snapped. She’d refused outright. There was nothing wrong with the dower house, she’d insisted. She had been relieved when he’d traveled on.
Two days home, restless and unable to stay still, she wandered through the house, rearranging and questioning, until Esther fled to the kitchen when Maddy came in sight. When she requested porridge and described the particularly delicious way Rhys Morgan’s cook had prepared it with nuts and honey, Esther exclaimed, “But you always have eggs and toast!”
“Can’t a woman change her mind?” Maddy demanded. Esther shook her head and wandered off. Well I can, can’t I?Maddy thought.
She knew the source of her restlessness: Brynn Morgan never left her thoughts. She had practically thrown herself at him that last day in Wales, but he hadn’t followed. She alternately longed to see him and feared what might happen when she did.
Eli Benson came down ostensibly to tell her David had sent word he would be in Ashmead for Christmas, something she already knew. The Bensons had written they were coming also. They hadn’t mentioned Brynn. Eli’s real purpose became apparent when he described the children’s anxious anticipation that she might visit Clarion Hall.
Maddy smiled at the vision he created of Marj, her niece, bouncing up and down and making him repeat the girl’s words demanding that “Aunt Madelyn” come visit. She doubted Edward, the little viscount, her nephew, would stoop to anything so undignified, although Eli was at pains to tell her the boy also hoped she would visit.
In any case on her third day home, Maddy trudged up to Clarion Hall, happy to put her restless energy to better use. She did enjoy the children, if not the house. It had never been a happy place, filled as it had been with her parents’ miserable marriage, but it had always seemed grand. Now it simply felt cold. Brynhafan, rugged though it was, was a home. Gideon’s manor had been homey as well. The hall had pretention and little comfort.
She took the pony cart down to the Willow a few days later and several times after, warming herself in the taproom hearth and Mr. Benson’s kindness.
