Selina’s eyes flew open wide, shock—and a bit of satisfaction—in her expression. “Some henwit refused the Duke of Glenmoor? Who would refuse an offer from a duke? Why on earth would she do that?”
“Dunno. The chit was betrothed to an earl’s second son by season’s end. Her grandfather stayed mum on the subject. No one got a word out of him.” Eustace shrugged. “Maybe Glenmoor was mad before she refused him, and Hopewell found out.”
Curious…Mia paused with a spoonful of trifle in her hand and tried to puzzle it through. “So you mean he’s just spending his life at this inn up in the midlands?”
“No. Disappeared like I said. He came back to town for a week or two. Sold off his phaeton and team at Tattersall’s. Betts witnessed Danbury’s oldest snap it up. Sold a few other things, and rumors spread that he’s bankrupt. But then I saw him at Brook’s myself acting normal as you please.”
Uncle Ludlow snorted. “Bankrupt? I think not. His father left him buckets. Marshall over at Woodglen says rents are up.”
“But what do you mean, ‘disappeared’?” Selina demanded.
“I mean one day he was in London, the next day gone. No word to anyone. Ignored Parliament, too, and Glenmoor always votes. Didn’t take the knocker off the door. Nothing. Just went missing. Like I said, betting in the clubs is that he…” Eustace lowered his voice. “…did himself in.” He straightened. “I bet against him killing himself. Didn’t seem the type. Still, if he’s mad, who knows.”
“Nonsense. Dukes don’t kill themselves,” the viscount said.
“They don’t disappear, either. Some folks think he was done in. Whatever happened in Wales last year may be the problem. Betting is running two to one that he’s dead, though.” Eustace held his glass for another refill.
Mia dropped her hands to her lap. “How awful! Betting on the poor man’s misery.”
Eustace sneered at her. “What do you know? It’s what men do. There’s a whole book on where the body will be found. Betts has that village—Ashmead, I think he said. Rowley says Wales. They’ll never find him if the body is in the wilds of Wales. They’re both wrong. I put my money on the Thames. He’ll wash up, mark my words.”
Selina paled.
“Enough!” Uncle Ludlow glared at him. “This is not proper dinner conversation.”
Eustace continued as if his father hadn’t spoken. “More interesting is the question of an heir. If they declare him dead, who inherits? I thought there was a brother when I was a nipper.”
“Crippled half-wit from old Glenmoor’s time in America. Bastard in any case,” the viscount muttered.
“I remember. Hunched one shoulder down. Walked with a limp. Didn’t talk much,” Eustace mused. “He died, didn’t he? Couldn’t inherit if he was a bastard anyway.”
The viscount nodded solemnly. “The unfortunate wretch attacked the duchess and had to be sent away. Glenmoor reported him dead.”
“So some cousin gets the lot or it all reverts to Prinny?” Eustace asked.
“And the duke is not coming back?” Selina moaned, fixated on the end of her hopes.
“No more distasteful speculation,” the viscount pronounced.
Mia studied her uncle’s thoughtful expression. She suspected he’d be off the next morning to question Marshall, the Woodglen steward.
When Selina rose as Eustace demanded port, Mia followed, grateful to get away.
Poor Glenmoor! There will be cousins, she thought, walking away.There always are, and they will leap at the title. No one leaves a duchy to its own devices.
*
Kendrick Colliery, Wales, that same month
Gideon Kendrick spreadthe letter on his desk, sank his head into his hands, and read it again. His damned brother had done it. He had run from the responsibilities attached to his title.
At least, he’d tried.
The rich wood paneling of the mine owner’s office glowed in flickering lamplight. Though it was barely noon, gray clouds hung heavily over the valley and little light filtered through the window.
Gideon reread the letter in his hands, swore vehemently, and crumpled it up, slamming the desk with his fist, toppling his Sèvres cup, and spilling the dregs of his coffee onto his walnut desk. He grabbed the offending missive, wiped the spill with his handkerchief, and groaned.
…however long I’m gone, I left papers with my solicitors giving you full authority over the Glenmoor estate and all my holdings…
