A Heart Devoted (The Penn-Leiths of Thistle Muir #5)

EIGHTEEN

18

T he next morning, in keeping with his newfound resolve to assist those he cared for, Tristan determined to hire an investigator to uncover what had happened to Adam Ledger. Knowing now that the man had been toppled into the Thames, surely someone had come to his rescue or, heaven forbid, discovered his body.

Tristan voiced his plans to Isolde.

“I think ye are wise to seek more professional help at this point,” she murmured from where she lay on his chest. “Someone somewhere has to know something about Ledger. Perhaps an investigator could uncover more clues.”

They were yet abed, reveling in the quiet of their house and the absence of Lady Lavinia’s shrill voice. Tristan dragged his fingers through Isolde’s loose hair. He shamelessly took advantage of every chance to see her glorious hair unbound and tumbled. Isolde responded by pressing a kiss to his bare skin under her cheek. He couldn’t stop a soft, contented sigh.

A maid had entered earlier to draw the window curtains and leave a breakfast tray, newspaper, and the morning post on a bedside table. Despite the scent of fresh scones and hot chocolate perfuming the air, Tristan was content to hold his wife for a moment longer.

“Agreed, my love. And Ledger merits every effort.” His words were true, but a heavy pall settled on his shoulders when he contemplated what information an investigator might unearth.

But just as Ledger had traveled the length of Great Britain to retrieve Tristan’s body . . . Now, Tristan would do the same if needs be. It’s what a friend did, after all.

Isolde kissed his chest one more time and then leaned across him to lift the bundle of post off the tray. He continued to trail his fingers through her hair as she sorted through the letters—two for her, five for him.

He pushed to sitting and began to read his correspondence, Isolde leaning her head against his arm.

His third letter made him inhale sharply.

Your Grace,

Forgive this intrusion, but I only now was made aware of the notice posted in The Times regarding Mr. Adam Ledger. I am a doctor with a surgery near Blackfriars. Nearly a month ago, a man calling himself Mr. Adam Ledger was rescued from the Thames and brought to my premises for treatment. I will say no more, as I do not wish to violate the sanctity of my Hippocratic Oath, but if you wish to know more, please visit the address listed below.

With deepest regards,

Dr. George Fitzhugh

Tristan’s hand trembled as he read.

At last!

“What is it?” Isolde peered around his upper arm, reading the spare lines. She bolted upright. “Oh, gracious! Do ye suppose this to be genuine information?”

Tristan swallowed. “I can hardly say. Very few know of Lady Lavinia’s perfidy. This could be an attempt to swindle money by those culpable . . .”

“But given the potential for arrest, that seems unlikely to me.”

“Wise, as ever, my love.” Leaning, he pressed a kiss to her temple.

If this report were true, Ledger had initially survived his tumble into the Thames and had been taken to a nearby doctor. The address listed wasn’t in Blackfriars but pointed to what Tristan presumed was a residence in Thorton Heath outside London. A homey, staid sort of village. Hardly a hotbed of vice and corruption.

His hand continued to tremble, causing the bit of paper to quake.

Well.

“We should investigate this immediately,” Isolde said.

“You wish to come?”

“Of course! Any friend of yours is a friend of mine. I want to be there to console yourself, in case the news is dreadful. Or to celebrate, if it be otherwise.”

Intense love and gratitude swelled his lungs, a veritable sun warming him from within.

“Bloody hell but I love you, Isolde Gilbert.” He kissed her soundly.

“I love ye, too, my darling.” Snatching his hand off the counterpane, she wrapped both her hands around it, dropping a kiss on his knuckles. “Let us go find more clues as to your Ledger’s whereabouts.”

After stopping twice to ask directions, the ducal carriage rolled to a stop before a small cottage on the outskirts of Thorton Heath. Set back from the road and nestled under the shade of an enormous birch, the house appeared tidy and freshly painted with mullioned windows and an age-worn oak door.

Tristan studied the bucolic scene. It did not appear the abode of someone desperate to swindle the Duke of Kendall out of a few tuppence.

“It seems a respectable sort of place,” Isolde echoed his thoughts at his side, her hand wrapped around his.

“Yes.”

The footman lowered the steps and opened the carriage door.

Neither Tristan nor Isolde made move to exit.

“Courage,” she whispered, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek.

Swallowing, Tristan nodded.

Hand in hand, they walked up the short path. Tristan rapped on the door.

Please let the news of Ledger be of a happy sort , he pleaded.

A young maid answered.

“May I help ye, sir?” she asked, eyes wide as she took in the liveried footman and gleaming carriage.

Tristan cleared his throat. “I received a letter from Dr. George Fitzhugh, stating that I would find information about Mr. Adam Ledger at this address.”

“Of course. Dr. Fitzhugh sent word that someone might be by. Please come in.”

The maid took their hats and gloves and led them into a small but well-appointed parlor. Tristan handed her his calling card.

The girl’s eyes widened at reading the neatly printed Duke of Kendall .

“I will fetch my mistress, Your Grace,” she said with a curtsy and quietly left the room, closing the door behind her.

Isolde wrapped an arm around Tristan’s waist, resting her head on his upper arm. “Ye be the best of men, Tristan Gilbert.”

He snorted in surprise. “Why do you say that?”

“Ye don’t have to be here. Ye could have sent a servant to make this inquiry, but your big heart simply couldn’t pass this task to another. Ye had to make the effort yourself.”

“In other words . . . I am impatient and a bit controlling?”

His lovely wife grinned, lifting onto tiptoe to rest her chin on his shoulder. “Remind me to show ye later precisely how deeply I admire yourself.”

“If your goal is to distract me, Wife, you are doing a most excellent job.” He kissed her nose.

“Thank ye.”

How he loved this woman. No matter the difficulty, no matter what he would learn when the lady of the house arrived, a glimmering surety hummed in his veins. That together, he and Isolde could conquer anything.

A moment later, the door opened and a pretty woman stepped into the room. Though of average height and build, her blue eyes sparked with humor and warmth.

“Your Graces.” The woman curtsied, the cultured tones of her speech instantly defining her as a lady. “I am honored to have you in my home. I am Mrs. Elizabeth Bertram.”

“A pleasure, madam.” Tristan inclined his head.

The woman smiled. “My brother, Dr. Fitzhugh, sent word earlier today that I might expect a visit from a representative of the Duke of Kendall in the near future, but I cannot say I expected to see Your Grace in person. Not to mention your lovely duchess, as well.”

Tristan nodded. “Mr. Adam Ledger was a valued servant, and I was deeply distressed when I learned of his dismissal. Please tell me, as I am most anxious to know, do you have any information as to Mr. Ledger’s welfare? He has been a constant weight on my mind these weeks, and I am desperate to know the state of his health and wellbeing.”

“Mr. Ledger is well enough, Your Grace.”

Tristan’s knees sagged, relief pouring over his head and down his body, brilliant sunlight breaking through the clouds of a dreary day.

“God be praised,” he breathed. “He lives!”

“That is the best news,” Isolde agreed, her fingers lacing through his.

“Please, could you tell me his direction?” Tristan asked. “I am most eager to ascertain the nature of his health for myself. If he wishes, I intend to offer him a position with me, or barring that, at least ensure past wages are paid and Mr. Ledger receives a glowing letter of commendation.”

The woman gave a soft smile. “Your concern for our mutual friend is to be commended, Your Grace. But you needn’t wait. Come.” She beckoned. “Adam would speak with you, if you would like.”

“He is here?”

“Yes.”

Tristan exchanged a wide-eyed look with Isolde. She squeezed his hand reassuringly.

Mrs. Bertram led them across the small entrance hallway and into a study of sorts.

There, resting in an armchair before the window, sat Adam Ledger, thinner and pale, but very much alive. Simply dressed in shirtsleeves and a waistcoat with a banyan over the whole, he appeared well enough, though the pallor of his complexion pointed to a recent illness. His hair was longer than Tristan could ever remember seeing it, but his brown eyes still sparked with intelligence behind a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles.

“Ledger,” Tristan said, torn between whooping for joy and pulling the man into a tight hug out of sheer relief.

He settled for nodding in greeting and shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Your Grace,” Ledger nodded in return. “Forgive me for not standing, but my health . . .” His words drifted off to a cough.

“Of course,” Tristan said, emotions tight in his throat—happiness, relief, joy, and a strong affection he suspected might border on a sort of brotherly love.

“Come, Your Grace,” Mrs. Bertram motioned to Isolde. “Perhaps we should give the men a minute alone.”

Isolde shot Tristan an encouraging smile, before turning to Ledger.

“I am glad ye are alive, Mr. Ledger,” she said. “We had feared the worst. Ye have been sorely missed.”

And then the women were gone.

Tristan sat in a chair opposite Ledger, leaning forward and bracing his elbows on his knees.

Ledger stared at where the women had just been, brows furrowed and confused.

He brought his gaze back to Tristan.

“Feared the worst? You thought I was dead, Your Grace?”

“Yes. Thank heaven I have found you at last.” Tristan sat back in his chair. “You have been a difficult man to locate.”

“B-but . . . how?”

Tristan understood what Ledger was asking: How did you find me? Why are you here?

“Hah. You didn’t leave many clues. I managed to uncover a hint which led me to your sister’s house on Gresham Street.” Tristan knew he would have to confess to reading Ledger’s correspondence, but maybe not at the moment. “All my attempts to locate you from there reached a dead end. In desperation, I placed a notice in The Times asking for help in locating you.”

“Yes, Elizab—ehr, that is Mrs. Bertram—mentioned the advertisement just this morning.”

Tristan pretended not to hear Ledger’s slip, though it rather illuminated the lay of the land, as it were. Ledger’s cheeks pinked as he spoke of Mrs. Bertram. Tristan couldn’t stop a smile. It seemed he was not the only one to have found love recently.

“My notice proved fruitful,” Tristan said. “I received a missive from a woman who claimed her husband had been hired to push you into the Thames.”

Ledger froze for the space of two heartbeats and then sat upright as if stung by a jolt of electricity. “I knew it! The man who pushed me . . . it had to be deliberate. But why?”

“Mr. Gilbert and Lady Lavinia wished to keep their attempts to undermine the duchy quiet. They clearly saw you as a threat to that quiet.”

“That doesn’t entirely surprise me. They snooped around Gilbert House like a pair of ravenous hounds and were apoplectic when I confronted them about their behavior. Mr. Gilbert made it clear he would have me arrested if I returned to Gilbert House or attempted to contact you.”

The bloody tyrant. Abruptly, Tristan regretted not beating Aubrey before tossing him into the street.

“What happened?” Tristan gestured to Ledger’s convalescing form. “You survived the tumble into the Thames but not unscathed, I gather.”

Ledger nodded. “Thankfully, I can swim, but I still swallowed an unhealthy amount of water.”

Tristan winced. Most of the effluence of the city drained into the Thames. It was a cesspool on the best of days.

“I understand only too well the fear of nearly drowning. We both have had close calls these past weeks.”

“Indeed, Your Grace. In my case, I surfaced downstream, coughing and gagging and barely able to breathe. Thankfully, a pair of bargemen fished me from the water and dragged me to Dr. Fitzhugh. I rapidly developed pneumonia and lay in a fevered haze for well over a week, they tell me. I was slow to heal after the worst of my fever had passed, so Dr. Fitzhugh sent me here to his widowed sister to further recuperate. Once I was lucid enough to explain the situation, everyone agreed it would be best if I remained silent. After all, it did appear that someone had attempted to end my life, and we thought it prudent to not bring my continued existence to Mr. Gilbert’s attention by attempting to contact Your Grace. No need to tempt fate.”

“You acted wisely, Ledger. My cousin and his wife have been brazen in their attempts to undermine the duchy. Her Majesty is aware of their perfidy, I assure you. They have been dealt with and will bother you no more. I have declined to bring charges, but that can change if you would like.”

Ledger blinked. “The queen knows what occurred?”

“Yes.”

Ledger sat in silence as if his brain struggled to accommodate the fact that even the sovereign had involved herself in his plight.

“To respond to your earlier question, Dr. Fitzhugh responded to my advertisement and here I am.” Tristan spread his arms.

“I see.” Ledger swallowed. “But why did you . . .”

“Why did I come, and not some other lackey?”

Ledger nodded.

A soft smile touched Tristan’s lips. Dammit, he could feel emotion rise in his throat.

“I came because not so many weeks past, you traveled the length of Great Britain to ensure that my body was returned to Hawthorn in state.”

“I was merely doing my—”

“Job?” Tristan supplied. “I know, but no one else had even thought to act. No other person had given a fig. Returning the favor seemed the least I could do.”

Silence for a long moment.

“Incidentally, Ledger, your sister said she misses you,” Tristan continued.

The man winced.

“And Mr. John Rutland hopes you are well.”

Ledger pinched his brow.

“You visited them all, Your Grace?” he asked in a strangled voice.

“I did.”

Ledger plucked at the belt of his banyan, unable to meet Tristan’s gaze. “That was very kind of you, Your Grace. You must consider me the worst of gentlemen to keep my friends and family in the dark as to my location.”

“Quite the contrary, I assure you. I have learned you are a devoted son, brother, uncle, and friend. You are the sort to engender loyalty, as shown by Mrs. Bertram’s reluctance just now to tell me of your location until she knew my intentions.”

“Intentions, Your Grace?”

“Yes. You were dismissed most unfairly, Ledger.” Again, Tristan swallowed back the lump swelling in his throat. “And I was decidedly upset, once I learned what Mr. Gilbert had said and done.”

Ledger drew in a slow breath. “You . . . are not angry with me?”

“Angry? Whyever should I be angry?”

“I failed you, Your Grace. I couldn’t stop whatever thing Mr. Gilbert had planned.”

“Nonsense. Their wrongdoing does not rest on your head. I am eternally grateful you are well, Ledger.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

“Do not thank me quite yet. I would like to extend an offer to you.”

Ledger lifted his head, a question mark in his eyes.

“Would you be willing to return to my employ as my personal secretary?”

“Personal secretary? Not your diary secretary?”

Before, Ledger had been the secretary in charge of Tristan’s daily diary, but no one had filled the role of primary secretary—the man who would know all of the goings on within the dukedom.

“Yes, my personal secretary, Ledger. It comes with an increase in pay, as well as back wages and a substantial bonus.” Here Tristan paused, darting a telling look toward the door, and the murmur of women’s voices drifting in from the parlor. “It would likely be enough for a man to marry, I should think.”

Ledger blinked. And then blinked again. His head swiveled from left to right, as if ascertaining the soundness of the reality around him.

“What say you?” Tristan extended a hand. “Will you join me?”

Tentatively, Ledger lifted his hand and shook Tristan’s.

The man’s eyes filled with tears. “You truly mean to rehire me, Your Grace?”

“Nothing would please me more. Though I do have one request?”

“Oh.”

“Please call me Kendall.”

Ledger froze at that.

“Kendall,” he whispered as if trying the name on for size.

“Precisely. It’s how I prefer my friends to refer to me.”

It took Ledger a moment, but the meaning eventually sank in.

“Friends,” he repeated, an incandescent smile brightening his face.

“Friends.” Tristan gave Ledger’s hand another firm pump. Those damn emotions swelled once more. Yes, it was a brotherly sort of love. “I have so very few friends, you see. I can’t afford to lose one of them.”

Ledger’s eyes went glassy.

Tristan cleared his throat.

Ledger did as well.

They both looked away for a moment.

“When you feel ready, send word to Gilbert House,” Tristan said, gruffly. “I will dispatch a coach to fetch you.”

“Let me speak with Elizab—ehr, Mrs. Bertram, and I shall send you word. Thank you.” A pause. “Kendall.”

“Think nothing of it. I am merely grateful to have your keen observations and intelligent mind working on my behalf once more.” Tristan said the words simply enough, but given Ledger’s radiant smile, the man heard the affection in them.

“Anything I can do to earn my keep will be appreciated . . . Kendall.”

“Hah! I am glad you said that. I do have one assignment for you, if you feel you possess the energy. Something that could easily be done from here. I think you will enjoy it.”