“Of course you will,” the old man said, his gentle voice a balm on her jangled nerves. “You are a strong woman, Your Grace. You always were.”
It struck her that this wise man might be just what Phillip and Gideon needed to help them find their way through the wilderness of their relationship and its consequences, but she did not have the strength to tell the story again this night.
Benson’s comforting presence soothed her nerves. He neither fussed nor berated, nor asked intrusive questions. She read a few lines before drifting off to sleep, her last thoughts of Brynn marshaling the shire for her protection.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Twelfth Night revelswent on unabated, threats from fugitives notwithstanding. Brynn endured dinner with stoic resolve while children and adults alike wore silly paper crowns. The little ones beamed, gleeful at permission to dine with their parents, while the adults doggedly participated with forced humor and determination. It could hardly be a formal dinner party with Lucy and Madelyn outnumbered by the crowd of gentlemen arrayed around the table, all attempting to pretend life went on as normal.
Four hours of searching with Ashmead men—including the Benson brothers, who knew the grounds around Clarion Hall well—had yielded nothing, as if Jessop had sunk into the ground. All they could do now was wait on his next move. Brynn couldn’t shake the feeling that Madelyn was the bait, luring a predator for the kill.
When the stubborn woman announced she planned to go back to her own house, his gorge rose. Luckily, he’d had no trouble convincing Madelyn’s brothers and stepsons that she must not return to the isolated dower house. The earl had staff, augmented by Willowgrove tenants, to stand guard, and they knew better than to spread their resources across two houses.
“But surely he will leave the country now, knowing you are after him,” she had insisted.
Kendrick had answered her forcefully before Brynn could, convinced his uncle would not give up so easily. “He will be back for one or all of us.”
When Brynn had suggested the Kendrick children might also be at risk if ransom became the fugitive’s goal, Madelyn’s already pale complexion had lost even more color and the fight had gone out of her. Kendrick had accepted Clarion’s hospitality gratefully, and Madelyn had sunk into spiritless compliance with their dictates.
He watched her now at the end of the table in the hall’s cavernous dining room, between her niece and Kendrick’s younger girl. Little Lady Marj’s pink crown had slipped down over her right ear. Miss Jessica Kendrick’s blue one stood boldly upright on the top of her dark hair. The girls made the duchess laugh and distracted her from the cloud hanging over them, but Brynn disliked her pallor. He disliked her haunted eyes. He disliked the thick bandage covering the side of her face, bound around her chin with a band, the yellow crown perched ludicrously above it.Someone needs to see her back to bed soon.
When the pudding arrived, young Daniel Kendrick asked if there would be a bean and pea in it.
Madelyn smiled at the boy. “Not tonight. Today was supposed to be tea at the dower. Tomorrow is the official dinner with the Twelfth Night cake. We’ll see who wins the right to be the king of revels then.”
The boy gazed around the table at the men, an imbalanced guest list for certain, in awe before resting his attention on Viscount Ashmead—who was, Brynn thought, only a few years older—and winked. It might have been amusing if Brynn’s mind weren’t on the violent felon threatening them all.
She rose at last and peered down the table. “We will leave you gentlemen to your port. These ladies and I plan to retire to the nursery for a fierce bout of spillikins.” She wobbled a bit, and Brynn leapt to his feet. She stared at him quizzically.
He cleared his throat and just managed to avoid sweeping her up to carry her, vigilant brothers be damned. “May I escort you, Your Grace?” he croaked, offering his arm. She frowned at it. Clarion and Benson bore identical frowns, but whether at Brynn’s audacity or Madelyn’s stubbornness, he couldn’t tell. Perhaps both.
Lucy intervened. “You’re shaky on your feet yet, Maddy. Let the colonel help you if you insist on climbing to the nursery floor. I’ll come with you. I would enjoy a game of spillikins. Mr. Daniel Kendrick, would you accompany me?”
The boy glanced at his father, torn between the promised game and the chance to stay and be one of the gentlemen. Kendrick whispered in the boy’s ear, and he rose to offer Lucy his arm. “May I escort you, Lady Benson?” he said, mimicking Brynn’s words.
“I would be honored, Mr. Kendrick,” she said with a grin.
Clarion’s son dragged his feet, but the little viscount soon followed, sent on by his father, no doubt.
Madelyn’s pace slowed as soon as they reached the main stairway, curving up from the entrance hall. The children ran ahead, dragging Lucy with them. When they reached the first floor, they darted to the left toward the guest wing.
The woman of his dreams paused at that stage, catching her breath.
Brynn glanced down the hallway toward the family wing. Her room lay that way. He’d seen it when he’d carried her up. “You should—”
“I should keep my promises to the children,” she said. “I plan to enjoy Gideon’s darlings while I can. I’m well, Brynn, truly.”
“As you wish, Your Grace,” he replied, his jaw tight. His entire being focused on the woman who clung to his arm. Lucy had the right of it. She was wobbly on her feet, and he longed to carry her to her room.
They turned down the guest wing, the doors universally closed. “It is a bit of a bachelor wing tonight,” she mused. “Did the staff make you comfortable?”
He didn’t respond.
“No? Did you demand to sleep with the horses? David probably endorses that.”
He stopped short and peered down at her. “This isn’t a pleasure visit, Your Grace. The earl’s ever-efficient butler gave me a room. Just here as it happens,” he said, tapping on the second door from the end. “Whether I use it remains to be seen. I’ll be managing the guard tonight and every night until Jessop surfaces.”
She stiffened at his use of her title. “And if Jessop doesn’t surface, are we to spend our lives in an armed camp?” She ground out the words.
