“Good afternoon, Lady Tavernash,” she said, going to the sideboard. She smiled at the footman and served herself.
“You spoil them,” Lady Tavernash snapped as soon as Mia sat down. “When my son comes into full possession, we’ll make short work of that.”
Mia found it better not to respond.
“As to you, young lady, what do you mean coming in to luncheon in your dirt!”
I was out looking for a sign of the missing girl…
“I always say blood will out,” the Tavernash witch said with a sniff.
“I had a lovely walk this morning. The estate has some exceptional views. How was your morning?” Mia asked sweetly.
“I have no time for walking out. I’ve been inventorying linens. The ones in the family wing need to be relegated to the lesser guest rooms, and an upgrade purchased. I demanded that Mrs. Morrit see to it, but she confided that Marshall said no—as if my word isn’t enough.”
“Perhaps you might mention it to Mr. Marshall yourself,” Mia said. She hoped the steward would tell the old woman no.
“If I see him, I will. I suspect he avoids me. I shall have to confront him over dinner.”
“And Mr. Tavernash? Has he had a productive morning?” Mia asked.
“My son has a fragile constitution. He requires rest. He has been saving his strength to ride out, surveying the land as he should.”
Mia finished quickly and departed as soon as she could, drawing another disapproving harrumph from Lady Tavernash. She reached Gideon’s—their—quarters with relief. Fresh water and clean towels on the washstand in Mia’s bedroom indicated Mercy had come and gone. Mia smiled at the bed. That it hadn’t been used since she moved in would have been duly noted in the servants’ hall. She couldn’t resist a peek into Gideon’s bedroom. The bed had been made up, but whether by one of the maids or Jem, she couldn’t tell.
She changed without ringing for Mercy and washed up before taking her place at the table where her work on the family papers had been laid out. When she reached into the box and picked up the first item, a receipt for a tailor’s bill, she sat upright sharply, startled to find that the papers in the box had been disturbed. At least, she thought they might have been. She believed a packet of letters had been next, but maybe she didn’t remember the exact order of things. Making a predictable order was the point of this exercise, wasn’t it? She resolved to keep working.
A few layers down, she came to a packet of three letters she believed to be the ones she’d seen before. Had they always been further down? Upon examination, it became clear they had been opened. This time, she was positive they had been closed more neatly when she’d seen them before. Someone had read them. Gideon? Mercy in her never-ending search for tittle-tattle, more likely.
She read the letters with interest. The first was addressed to Randolph Tavernash, Lieutenant, 7th Regiment of Foot, Charleston, South Carolina, and had been franked by a Duke of Glenmoor. Dated 1782, the duke would have been Gideon’s sire’s grandfather, if she remembered correctly. Randolph was his father. The sender appeared to be the man’s mother, Gideon’s grandmother. She begged to make him aware of the death of his cousin Albert, son of his uncle, the duke’s heir in a hunting accident. Mia did some quick calculations. Gideon would have been a year or so old, and his father remained in Charleston; he mentioned neither Gideon nor his mother.
The second letter was addressed to Lady Phillip Tavernash, Woodglen, Dorset. He thanked his mother but pointed out that he remained three steps from the title. He wrote that he hopedthe miserly old man will do something for me before he kicks up his heels. Then he told her,We’ve been ordered to begin evacuating loyalist families to Canada lest the gloating rebels do them harm. He was, he said, dispatched to be part of that evacuation. Again, there was no mention of a wife and son.
The third, from mother to son, stated the situation brutally. Measles had stricken the Elms, his uncle’s estate, and both uncle and his remaining son were unlikely to survive. Addressed to his regiment in Nova Scotia, the letter ordered him to resign his commission and return immediately, forthe old man won’t live much longer. As it turned out, Randolph Tavernash waited three more years to succeed his grandfather as Duke of Glenmoor.
She put the letters aside for Gideon to read and set to work on the box, sorting everything she picked up into a pile by year. Letters from distant cousins congratulating him or wheedling for allowances or loans, mixed with bills of sale for property sold and property bought, receipts for livestock, the résumé of a long-gone steward, two speeches given in Lords, and other bric-a-brac. In the end, she stared at the bottom of an empty box. There was no record of a marriage or birth. No letter mentioning an American family. Nothing. For a man who appeared to have a penchant for saving paper, it felt odd. She suspected it was a deliberate omission.
She set the pile for 1790 back in the box, wrote that year in large letters on a blank paper, and laid it on top. Then she added 1789 and did the same, continuing year by year until the top of the pile was a plain paper on which 1780 had been written. She left the letters out, closed the box, and rang for tea.
The sun was dipping low, and the room had darkened. So had her spirits. She had no evidence of Lizzy’s disappearance to report and no information about Gideon’s birth.
She grew restless waiting, but at last a scratch at the door heralded the arrival of tea. “Come in,” she said. A footman entered carrying a heavily laden tray of tea and cakes. Her eyes widened at the sight of Gideon following behind him, and her heart filled with joy and her soul with peace.
He dismissed the servant, laid a set of ledgers on the table, and took her into his arms. A thought flickered to life just before he kissed her. Somehow in the last week, this man had become the source of all her happiness.
*
Gideon trudged wearilyup to his quarters, lugging heavy books but pushing fraud and poor bookkeeping out of his mind, his heart fixated on the woman who awaited him. One of the footmen stood at the door to their suite and scratched on the door.
“I knew you’d be coming,” the young man said with a smile. “I had the kitchen lay on plenty for you.”
She called, and the footman deftly opened the door while juggling a heavy tray.
“Put it on the table,” Mia said. Then she glanced up and rose, and her smile, balm to his soul, made everything right.
“You may go,” he said to the footman, his eyes on Mia. He heard the door click shut behind him, laid down the ledgers, and took her into his arms.
She rested her head on his chest and snuggled close. “Difficult day?”
