“Captain, ma’am. Captain James Hargrove. And yes, a bit of a rest would be welcome.”
Gideon broke out of the absorption that had come over him at the sight of the stained pouch. “Perhaps you can explain how you came to be here. Where are my manners? I am Gideon Kendrick, and this is my wife. This other gentleman is Curtis Marshall, the steward here.” He gazed at the man expectantly.
“It does all seem a bit mysterious. I met Mr. Phillip Tavernash in Philadelphia,” the soldier said.
“Mister? Are you sure?” Mia asked.
“Yes, ma’am. That’s how he introduced himself. There were rumors among the British community that he had a title, but he never claimed one.”
“Rascal,” Gideon sighed. “But Philadelphia. I should have known. He went to Charleston.”
“Yes. He spoke of the port there. He said he preferred Philadelphia. In any case, I was being posted home, and he asked me to deliver this to you. He was quite emphatic about putting it in your hands.” The young man colored. “I have to admit he paid me for my travel.”
“I fear we need to peruse this in private, Captain. John, please escort this gentleman to the breakfast room and ask Mrs. Demming to feed him well. Notify Fillmore to prepare a room for the night.” Gideon spun toward the courier. “You will stay over, won’t you? Perhaps we’ll see you at dinner and you can tell me more about how my brother gets on.”
“I’ll leave you to it,” Marshall said when the footman led the captain away.
“No. Stay. If this is what I think it is, you may as well know. You’ve already had a glance at our family secrets. If we’re to keep working together, you should know it all.”
They sat in the little waiting room, the one where Gideon had waited for Marshall that first day, and unwrapped it. A thick packet came first. Gideon unfolded it to reveal church records, carefully copied, and a formal statement with a seal. He met his wife’s wide eyes and nodded. “He found it. They were married. He sent a copy of the parish record and a vicar’s testimony signed and sealed.” Gideon also lifted a scrap of paper on which was written in Phillip’s hand,This will make it easier for Daniel—or you, if I die first. He handed it to Mia.
“Who were married?” Marshall asked.
“Gideon’s mother and father,” Mia replied, absorbed in reading the papers.
Marshall considered it for a minute. “But that means you’re—”
“Not a bastard,” Gideon said.
“You never were,” Mia added with a grin. It was their private joke about the long list of myths about Gideon that were never true.
Marshall whistled low and slow. “And the duke—or whatever he is—knows.”
“My brother, Phillip, had his title confirmed by the Crown. They won’t rescind it, and neither we nor they would want the scandal.”
“But the boy was right.”
“About the house being his? I fear so,” Gideon replied. “My brother is determined to right what he sees as a wrong, drat him. I don’t want any of this and never did.”
“I’m glad one of you is taking an interest; I can tell you that,” Marshall said.
Gideon fingered the other thing in the pouch. “What is it?” Mia asked.
“A letter from my brother.”
“That I know is private. I’ll leave you to it.” Marshall paused at the door. “I can now attest to the gossips that the duke is indeed alive with an honest face. I know you love him, but I’m happy for you—Your Grace.” He left before Gideon could retort.
Mia snuggled over and put her head on Gideon’s shoulder. For a long moment, he just held her, one-armed. Then he opened it and read.
Dear brother,
As you can see, I found records to confirm what we believe. When it comes time for the title to pass, this should make it easier. Guard it with care in the family archives. You should have found them by now. Or send it to Sadler for his vault. In the meantime, care for Woodglen, the Glenmoor estate, and its people. I have every confidence that you can manage the thing as well, or likely better, than I could. Have more sons! We need a spare or two.
I dispensed with the title somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic, and I find I quite like being plain Mr. Tavernash. I would like access to funds, however. There are wondrous opportunities to be had here, any one of which might with luck make me rich. Do retain all the entailed assets and divide the rest. My solicitors, Sadler and January, will see to providing credit on a Philadelphia bank. Does half seem fair to you? You decide.
There is no rush. I’m about to embark on a marvelous adventure, overland to Pittsburgh. It has become, I hear, a manufacturing hub. I want to see, but I won’t linger. I will take a ship downriver, visiting Cincinnati, Madison, and other towns in the newly formed states. The fever of growth is exhilarating here. At Saint Louis, which I understand is still rather French, I’ll have a decision to make, whether to continue on to New Orleans or hire a wilderness guide and set out into the unknown. You may not hear from me for a few years, but I expect to return to Philadelphia eventually. Know that you’ll be in my thoughts and have my trust. Good luck to us both.
Your brother,
