Page 67 of The Bridal Quest

A footman came forward to offer her dishes from the sideboard, and for the next few minutes Irene was able to occupy herself with filling her plate and eating. Gideon was already through with his meal, and the servant took away his plate, but Gideon himself remained, sipping a cup of tea.

Irene felt his eyes upon her, but she kept her attention on her food. She felt distinctly uncomfortable. The strain that had grown between them the last few, days was exacerbated by the too-private knowledge his uncle had shared with them the night before. At last the silence grew too awkward, and she set down her fork and looked across the table at him.

"What do you plan to do?" she asked him.

"About what?"

She made a face. "About what your uncle told you last night. Do you not ... wonder what happened?"

"My uncle and I talked at length last night," he admitted. "I had already ascertained from the housekeeper that my father's valet still lives here in the village. I had thought I would talk to him, but then ..." He shrugged. "I told myself that there was little use in it. And I delayed it. Now, however—well, I have to find out what I can. My uncle told me that the woman who was my mother's personal maid also lives there. I am going to see both of them, and I thought ... I would appreciate it if you would go with me."

"Of course," Irene replied without hesitation. "But would you not rather take your friend? Mr. Aldenham?"

"No. I have told Piers nothing of this. He is my friend, but this ..." He shrugged. "It is not the sort of thing we talk about."

"When would you like to leave?" she asked.

He smiled faintly. "If you are through with your breakfast, we can go immediately. I will have the carriage brought around."

She did not pause to think the matter over, nor wait to see whether Francesca might have some task that needed doing. She only nodded and went up to her room for her gloves and bonnet, and to throw on a light pelisse to cover her arms and shoulders. When she returned downstairs, she found the carriage waiting in the drive in front of the house and Gideon standing beside it, ready to hand her inside.

Once she was enclosed with him in the carriage, she again felt awkward. She could think of nothing to say that sounded natural, and her brain seemed to hum primarily with thoughts of how close he was to her, how little effort it would take to reach out and touch his arm ... and yet he seemed more remote than ever before.

Finally, stiffly, she said, "You have been quite diligent in getting to know the various young ladies."

"Yes." He glanced at her, his face unreadable, then turned to gaze out the window. "I have talked with each of them. And danced with them."

"I saw." She swallowed the sudden lump that developed in her throat.

"I hope you found my steps acceptable."

"Yes, of course." She was pleased to find that her voice came out light and unconcerned. "You did quite well."

She looked out the other window, and after that silence settled between them. It was a relief when, some minutes later, they reached the outskirts of the village. They turned from the main road and took a twisting lane that led them finally to a comfortable little half-timbered cottage.

A maid in a neat gray dress and white cap answered the door and bobbed a curtsey, then ushered them into the small front parlor.

She left the room, and a moment later they heard her calling out the back window, "Mr. Owenby, sir, you've visitors."

Before long an old man entered the parlor, his gaze going first to Gideon, then to Irene. He was a compact man, not tall, but sturdily built, with close-cropped iron-gray hair. He wore a gray jacket over dark breeches and a plain collarless shirt, and it was clear that he had been out in the yard working. A sheen of perspiration still dotted his forehead.

He bowed his head toward Gideon. "My lord."

"You are Mr. Owenby?" Gideon asked.

"Just Owenby, sir. That is what his lordship always called me."

"My father?"

"Yes."

Gideon introduced Irene, and the other man gestured toward the chairs grouped before the small fireplace. "Please, sit down, my lord. My lady. May I bring you a cup of tea? Water?"

"No, thank you. We came here to ask you a few questions about the night my mother and I ... left Radbourne Park."

"Of course, sir. When you were kidnapped."

"Is that what happened?"