Chapter 21
Early next morning, Gideon rode to Caerleon. His thoughts lingered behind him, in that broken lodge where Catherine fought all night for her freedom. Every mile away from her attenuated the feeling of intense need. He resolved to deal with whatever required his attention and then return at once.
I will sit outside all day and the next if I must.
He heard the dry chuckle of his chief rival as he rode. The condescending tone that had always infuriated him as a boy. One of Aaron’s weapons to undermine Gideon and secure their father’s favor. Gideon shut out the sound.
Aaron is long dead. I won our life-long battle. I endured the longest.
When he entered Caerleon, he found Jeremy Bexley in the entrance hall, standing with McKay, their discussion low and hurried. Both looked up at once.
“Winchester!” Jeremy boomed with too much cheer. “I sought only a breakfast companion. McKay was kind enough to offer me diversion until you arrived.”
McKay inclined his head sharply in acknowledgement. Gideon’s mind was too full to give the exchange any undue attention.
“I must beg your pardon, Everdon,” he threw over his shoulder, shedding his coat and rolling up his sleeves. “I cannot play host today. My wife is unwell. I am keeping her at the lodge, where she is recovering.”
Jeremy’s expression softened.
“I am sorry, old man. I hope she makes a quick recovery. I have news on another matter that I think you will want to hear, though.”
Gideon felt tired and hungry. His mouth was dry, and he could think of nothing he wanted to do less than listen to gossip from his old friend.
“This isn’t the best time…” he began.
Then he remembered a conversation with Jeremy. Talk of rumors. His attention sharpened.
“Come with me, Everdon. McKay, is the breakfast room set?”
“Yes, Your Grace. It merely awaits you,” the butler intoned.
Gideon led the way to the breakfast room and took a seat. Jeremy helped himself to a cup of tea and a slice of toast as he sat opposite.
Gideon drummed his fingers on the table. “By all means, take your time,” he said impatiently.
“What I have to say is short. Depressingly short. But important nonetheless,” he slurped his tea, “I say, those scones do look rather appetizing. Do you mind if I…?”
Gideon flicked a hand angrily, as though swatting a fly. His eyes narrowed. Jeremy was never inclined much to seriousness, but he seemed to be babbling now. There were signs of nerves radiating from him.
“Whatever you are dancing around, Everdon, out with it, man.”
“Well. I traced the rumor that I’d been hearing. The one about…”
“I know what the rumor was about!” he snapped.
“Naturally.” Jeremy's smile was thin. “I followed it back. One source to another, the way these things go—a game of Chinese whispers with higher stakes. And somewhere along the chain, the story changed shape. It’s not about a missing heir any longer. The talk now is of twins. One a Duke. The other a pauper.”
The word landed like a stone dropped into still water. Gideon kept his face pleasant and empty. He wanted to shout, to shake him. Then he remembered the results he had achieved with his staff.
Kindness. Empathy. I do need him.
“A Duke and a pauper? How fanciful of them. Like something out of an Ann Radcliffe novel.”
Jeremy looked at him blankly, not the most ardent reader. “Nevertheless, that is what I’m hearing.”
A beat.
“The source?” Gideon asked.
“A former army officer. Not one of our lot,” Jeremy answered, referring to the regiment in which he had served, “Somerset Rifles, steady enough bunch. Had them on my left flank at… now where was it?”
Gideon's palm cracked against the table. Jeremy blinked.
“I am grateful for your legwork, old chap,” he muttered, and meant it, though the words came out clipped as a whip. “But let us dispense with the scenic route and get to the destination.”
“Quite right. No scones, straight to the bacon, eh?” Jeremy's grin was brief and sheepish.
“The man talks freely enough—particularly when well lubricated, which is to say… frequently. To silence him permanently, however...” He let the sentence hang, eyebrows lifting in a way that was entirely too practiced to be innocent. “Funds will be required.”
Now, his eyes were sharp. Watchful. Gideon held his gaze for a long beat, then crossed to the bellpull and gave it a single, decisive tug.
He waited by the window, hands clasped behind his back, watching the grey morning press itself against the glass.
McKay appeared with his usual silent efficiency.
“Pen, ink, and a check,” Gideon commanded, not turning.
The butler withdrew and returned swiftly with the paraphernalia. Gideon wrote quickly, leaving the amount blank, and held the paper out without looking at it.
“Take it. And speak no word of this to anyone else. Whatever it takes to shut this man’s mouth.”
“You have my word, old man.” Jeremy took the check, tucked it away with a casualness that did not quite reach his eyes. “You can rely on me.”
When he left, Gideon allowed himself to sit for a moment. He took a cup of tea and drained it in one long swallow, pouring another immediately. McKay returned with the morning’s post. Two letters lay upon the tray. Gideon opened the first without looking at the envelope. It was short.
You cannot hide forever. I will see you soon. There will be a reckoning over name and inheritance.
He picked up the letter, knocking it to the floor in his haste. McKay bent to pick it up. There was no address, only a name.
“It can only be for yourself, of course, there are no other Tarnley’s here. But I noted that the name was incorrect,” McKay announced.
Gideon frowned, about to question the statement, when he realized. It was addressed to Gideon Tarnley.
“And… did no one see it delivered?” he asked.
“I did not. I have not had the time to question the other staff, but I shall.”
“Do so. Please.”
“Right away, Your Grace.”
McKay clicked his heels together and marched from the room.
I am threatened. Someone seeks to intimidate me. Well, I have been threatened by experts. This jackanapes will discover I am no easy meat!
The second envelope bore the hand of Sir Obadiah Threnthorpe.
His written language was very like his spoken word.
The letter read like a direct transcript of a conversation.
Its content did nothing to lift the weight from Gideon’s shoulders.
He wrote that another investor had approached him, eager to join their venture.
Sir Obadiah urged Gideon to consider the man as a partner.
The investor’s title? The Earl of Stafford.
The letter crumpled in Gideon’s fist.
So, the enemy comes closer still.