Gideon had puzzled all the way down how to present himself. The words he used were as good as any. Marshall’s lip curled in disdain. He went past skepticism to disbelief without pausing.
“The duke is missing,” Marshall said, striding into the room to loom over Gideon.
“Most certainly. He has requested that I have full power to manage his affairs in his absence,” Gideon said without rising.
Marshall took a step closer. “Why should I believe you?” he demanded. “Who do you think you are?”
“I suspect Fillmore will have told you who I am,” Gideon said, rising with a sigh. He used to wonder how tall he might have been if his spine hadn’t been bent but had learned to accept what couldn’t be fixed. As it was, he stood taller than Marshall, a cause for some satisfaction. “My brother wrote to request my assistance, and Sadler confirmed that I have been given full proxy power to act on the duke’s behalf until such time as my brother chooses to return.”
“Fillmore told me the duke’s only brother is dead,” Marshall growled.
“So he was told. Now he knows otherwise,” Gideon said, reaching into his coat and removing a sheaf of paper. He extended it toward the steward but kept a tight grip, saying. “I have additional copies of this. The original and the duke’s letters of authority are in a safe with Sadler and January along with his will.” He released the solicitor’s letter into Marshall’s hand.
Marshall’s expression didn’t improve as he glanced at it.
“What is your name?” he demanded.
Good question.“Gideon Kendrick—as it says on the paper in your hand.”
“The brother’s name was Tavernash.”
“I jettisoned it and took a new one many years ago. I had no use for it in the mines.” Gideon noted with satisfaction that Fillmore blinked. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve had a long journey today. We can talk tomorrow.”
Gideon spoke directly to Fillmore. “Send a hot bath up to my room—any guest room will do. Dinner on a tray, a mug of willow bark tea, and brandy.”
Fillmore glanced at Marshall, who barked, “Get on it, man.”
“What will Tavernash think?” Fillmore asked.
“What I tell him,” Marshall answered.
“Another Tavernash?” Gideon demanded.
“Felton Tavernash is the Duke of Glenmore’s nearest relative. The heir presumptive,” Marshall said, his lips twitching, his eyes glittering.
Mr. Tavernash—some damned cousin, no doubt—is doomed to disappointment.Gideon almost said it out loud, if only to wipe the smug expression off Marshall’s visage. The documents Phillip left in Sadler and January’s safe would confirm that Gideon should always have been duke and that his son Daniel, God help the little one, would without question be next.
The reasons were complicated. Unless something happened to Phillip, he had no need to tell them. There would be time. Plenty of time. He returned Marshall’s avid glare. “Tell him what you wish. It changes nothing. We’ll meet in the morning.”
“About this?” Marshall hefted the sheaf of papers. “I will check your claims when I have a moment. You may stay tonight.” He turned to leave.
“Shall I send for a magistrate, then?” Gideon asked.
It fell on empty ears.
Chapter Three
Gideon lay awakein the early morning, studying the drab bedcovers in one of Woodglen’s drearier guest rooms, one at the far end of a corridor of empty rooms. Old Fillmore would have pushed him down the servants’ stairs at the end of the hall if he could have. Marshall controlled Woodglen, however, even Fillmore. If nothing else had become clear the night before, that had. Faced with an unpromising gray dawn, Gideon considered that he had three options.
His preferred choice—retreating to Wales and family—called out to him. The advantage was peace. The disadvantage, guilt. Sadler had dribbled out enough information to indicate funds were being siphoned off and that unapproved land transactions might be in the works. From London, they could not be certain. Responsibility for the mess lay with Phillip, but Phillip trusted Gideon to pick up his pieces.
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and leaned on his knees. Gideon had no loyalty to the Glenmoor title or the estate. Sadler’s hints, however, touched Gideon’s biases. Three things he hated—mismanagement, waste, and dishonesty—were at play or might be. That the estate would one day be Daniel’s fed anger over such behavior. The need to find out had driven him here. He would stay, at least for a while. His second option was to take control even if he had to fetch a magistrate, sheriff, and armed constables.
On the other hand, he could allow Marshall to assume he held the power, lull him into complacency while playing the pathetic cripple they took him for, and gather crumbs of information from the background until he uncovered the truth. His stomach curdled at the thought. He should—
A brisk knock interrupted his thoughts.
“Enter.”
