“You are most fortunate.”
“I’ve prepared for this child-rearing engagement as I’ve done all my assignments, gathering as much intelligence as possible. My lady friends have been helpful. Even the death threat provided a regimen for exercise if jumping out of a window was a survivable thing.”
“As I said, you’re most fortunate.” Gantry turned and leaned against the mantel. “Your cousin, was he also fortunate with his choices?”
“I don’t know. After our fathers’ early deaths, I had my grandfather’s influence. He had his uncle Markham. If Jordan and I had put aside our differences, and he’d followed me into service, I would’ve protected him. I would’ve—”
His throat dried.
The memory of shutting the eyes of his fallen lieutenant shook him. Busick forced a deep strangled swallow. “I would’ve tried to protect my cousin. What’s done is done.”
“That’s another thing upon which we will agree. The past cannot be changed.” His friend’s voice had become a mash of things that sounded sad, not tightly controlled or spun up like a top. That wasn’t practical Gantry.
“When the guards lead Markham and his companion down, we’ll press him for the whereabouts of Mrs. Jordan, my cousin’s widow.”
“Six weeks Markham had you chasing all over England for her and the child when he had the baby all along.”
“I wonder what he did to the woman?”
“What are you saying, Duke?”
“No mother, unless she’s daft, would leave her child—and never to someone like Markham.”
Gantry rubbed his chin. It held two days’ worth of shadow, but the latest intelligence meant no stopping—riding through the night with minimal changes of horse—if they wanted to arrive and catch Markham.
Busick could only imagine how disheveled his own appearance must be. He would meet inspection tomorrow—shaved, crisp cravat, pressed shirt.
“Duke, you believe Markham has harmed her?”
Busick shrugged. “I wouldn’t put it past him to get rid of anyone in his way, but women do leave, too. That’s a possibility.”
Jabbing at the coals like he beat an unseen villain, Gantry kept his back to the duke.
The floating ash of savory hickory cleansed the air like nosegay. It refreshed. Busick needed a refreshing. The past was too raw, unforgettable like the scent of mother’s milk.
“Duke, you went about this invasion of Hamlin like a battle. You wouldn’t have stormed this place with armed guards unless you suspected foul play.”
It felt like war, from the first false clues of the babe and mother’s whereabouts in Scotland, then Bath. It was a battle to outwit Markham.
But Busick wasn’t on the field.
He was in England still recovering, now ready to raise his cousin’s son. “It’s good that Markham kept the boy alive. I’m grateful we’ve taken control.
“Well, you’ve done it. And I must admit this place, Hamlin Hall, is a comfortable house, fashionable on the inside.”
And redecorated.
Busick stretched, sinking deeper into the chair’s new cushion. “Yes. One might even call it a home.”
“Duke, I know you like to win, but we could’ve used the courts and not a garrison of your former infantry.”
“They needed a mission, and the courts take too long. We wait on them to enforce Jordan’s will, and Markham could be careless with this child. To keep me from gaining control, he’d harm the boy, maybe even sell him off. I know Markham. He only cares about himself.”
“And you, Your Grace, you like winning. You need other hobbies.”
“Well, now I have a ward to care for.”
“What is it you win with the baby? Best bachelor father ever?” Gantry stripped off his cravat and tossed it atop his discarded coat. “There’s nothing to win in raising children, everything to lose.”
