by Darcy Burke
“At all? That would remove any obstacle,” Penn said with a wry stare. “If you mean what if we don’t find him in time, I’ll try to convince Parliament that I’m not who he says I am.”
Gideon snorted. “That doesn’t sound particularly effective.”
“We’ll find him. We must.” Penn sounded determined, which Gideon appreciated. “Have you been to Stratton Hall?”
“No.”
“You should go there now. If the writ of summons has been dispatched, you could simply go to London and claim the title. If you’re the earl, it won’t matter what the vicar says.”
“You don’t know that.”
“You can’t argue that it would strengthen your position.” He was probably right, but Gideon didn’t have time to go to Stratton Hall, which was two days in the opposite direction of Glastonbury, nor did he have time to go to London.
“Does Parliament even send writs when it’s prorogued?” Gideon mused. “In any case, I need to return to Glastonbury.”
“Bloody hell, Gideon, what’s more important: claiming the title you deserve or endangering yourself with Foliot?”
Gideon smiled. “You put it that way and it seems silly for me to go to Glastonbury.” He sipped his whisky.
“But you’ll do it anyway,” Penn grumbled. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re stubborn?”
“On occasion.” Gideon’s father had made stubborn into an art form. In fact, the more you told him not to do something, the more he did it. Which was probably how he’d ended up so far from respectability. And Gideon didn’t want to repeat his father’s mistakes. “Do you know anyone we can send to Stratton Hall to see if the writ has been received there?”
“I’ll find someone,” Penn said. “And where should I send word?”
“Ashridge Court.”
Penn pushed out a frustrated breath. “Will you go to London to answer the writ?”
Despite Penn’s growing irritation, Gideon kept his voice even. “Eventually.”
“Dammit, Gideon, I do not want to be the earl.”
“You’d probably be a better one than me.” People would certainly like him more. Between Gideon’s licentious past and the rumors surrounding his wife’s death, his reputation was exceedingly poor. And most didn’t know he’d added theft to his accomplishments.
Penn narrowed his eyes. “I know what you’re thinking, and stop it. You aren’t a bad person—you aren’t your father.”
“No, I’m not him, but that doesn’t excuse my behavior.” He took another drink. “Let’s not discuss that. I’d rather talk about your wedding tomorrow.”
“In a moment.” Penn uncrossed his ankles and drew his legs up to sit forward in the chair, pinning Gideon with an earnest gaze. “You’ve more than proven yourself to me—and to my father. We want to support you in your quest, however we can. Promise me you’ll ask for help if you need it. Particularly if you’re in danger.”
Gideon looked down at the glass in his hand, finding it easier to contemplate the amber color of the liquid than look at Penn. “I appreciate you saying that. I will ask for help—if I need it.” He lifted his gaze to Penn’s. “I promise.” He was just going to make damned sure he didn’t need it. He wouldn’t imperil them. This was his quest, his responsibility. “Now tell me what you have planned after you and Amelia are wed.”
“Hopefully not be an earl.” Penn exhaled. “We planned on going to London. Amelia hasn’t spent much time there. Then we’ll return to Oxford. She has already announced her intention to completely reorganize and potentially refurbish my house.” He shuddered. “Perhaps marriage wasn’t the best idea.”
Gideon knew he spoke in jest. “After all you’ve been through together, nothing will keep you from marrying her, so don’t even joke about it.” He laughed before taking another drink.
Penn grinned. “True.” He lifted his glass in a toast and sipped the whisky before sobering. “Would you do it again?” he asked softly. “Marry, I mean.”
“I have no interest in doing so.” That much was true. Though he was apparently on his way to finding himself leg shackled, unless he could manage to complete his quest before that came to pass. He had no idea how quickly Foliot would push them to wed. Perhaps his daughter would refuse, particularly when she learned of Gideon’s background.
He could only hope.
“You loved Rose,” Penn said.
“I did.” He hadn’t at first. He’d admired her. Sweet and gentle, with a warm sense of humor, she’d inspired him to strive to be a better man. But when she’d fallen from her horse and died just a few months into their union, he’d realized the affection he’d begun to feel toward her was love. More than two years later, the loss pierced him still. As did the rumors that he’d killed her. He could suffer gossip and innuendo. He had for years and simply ignored it for the palaver it was. But hearing people say he’d killed the most beautiful thing that had ever happened to him cut deep, and it scarred her memory.
“What are you two still doing up?” Rhys came into the library wearing a banyan over his pantaloons. His gaze fell on the whisky in their hands. “Toasting Penn’s wedding?”
Gideon pulled his feet from the settee and sat up. “Indeed we were.” He raised his glass. “To Penn and Amelia—”
“Wait, I need one.” Rhys rushed to the sideboard and poured himself a glass, then rejoined them, taking the end of the settee Gideon’s feet had just vacated. “Continue.”
“To Penn and Amelia. May their union be long and filled with love and laughter.”
Rhys lifted his glass. “Hear, hear!”
They all drank, and Gideon finished his, reasoning it was time to evade further conversation. He rose and crossed the room to deposit his glass on the sideboard.
“You getting a refill?” Penn asked.
Gideon turned and came back to them. “No. I’m heading to bed.”
Rhys frowned. “But I just got here.”
“Gideon doesn’t want us to lecture him about not returning to Foliot’s estate.”
“Ah.” Rhys looked toward his foster son. “I trust you already took care of that?”
Penn nodded. “For all the good it did me. I also encouraged him to see if a writ of summons had been issued, and if so, to drag his arse to London.”
Rhys transferred his gaze to Gideon. “Wise, if a bit crass, advice.”
“I’ll let Penn fill you in on our plan—I’ve every intention of claiming the earldom, but I would feel much better about things if we knew that vicar would keep quiet.”
“We’ll find him, Gideon. I’d be a terrible earl, and I don’t want it.” Penn’s intent to locate the vicar was as strong as Gideon’s to hunt down the remaining eleven treasures.
Gideon went back to the table and the open Elidyr text. “I was in here reading when Penn found me.”
Rhys joined him, having left his glass of whisky somewhere else. “You’re looking for clues?”
“I need to find the cloak.” Gideon pivoted toward him. “I haven’t the slightest idea where to look. When I think of Penn finding the heart and Cate finding the sword, I just don’t know if I have their ability.”
Rhys smiled. “Of course you do. It’s a family attribute.” He winked, and Gideon couldn’t help but smile. They were all related—Rhys was a distant cousin of Gideon and Penn as well as being Penn’s foster father. That relationship was the reason Penn’s mother had given him to Rhys to raise. She’d been ill and wanted to ensure Penn would be well cared for and, most importantly, kept away from his true father, the Earl of Stratton. The man had poisoned everything he touched, driving both his wives away but maintaining his grasp on Gideon. And that was how Gideon had been poisoned too.
Gideon shoved the unpleasant emotions away. “I don’t know if I agree that I possess such an attribute, but I will at least try. For now, my best opportunity is to work with Foliot. He’s been searching for these treasures for some time. He may have information we don’t.”
&nbs
p; “I would expect that,” Penn said, joining them at the table. “Father, can you think of anything we’ve forgotten about the cloak? Anything that may be a place to start?”
Rhys brought the book in front of him and turned the pages. “The cloak is only mentioned in a few stories, most notably Culhwch and Olwen. And of course it’s mentioned in the Anarawd text, which most people don’t know about.” He looked over at Gideon. “Does Foliot know of that?”
Gideon shrugged. “I have no idea. Remind me what it says.”
“It’s really just a list of the Thirteen Treasures, which includes the cloak,” Rhys said. He flipped to the back of the book and exhaled. “I’ve long wondered if there could be more texts by Anarawd out there somewhere. It was your grandfather’s family who knew of it and kept it safe.”
“Do you think my grandfather might have had something else buried in his library?” He’d died two years ago so they couldn’t ask him.
“If there is, it’s doubtful he knew of it.” Rhys returned his gaze to Gideon. “It’s time I share something with you. When your grandfather became ill—it was just after you wed—he sent me some things he meant for you to have. He was very specific that I not give them to you until after your father died. He worried that you might share them with him, and he didn’t trust your father.” Rhys winced. “I hope you understand my need to honor your grandfather’s wishes.”
“I do.” Though it pained Gideon to acknowledge that was necessary. Whatever his father’s sins, he’d always loved Gideon, and for that reason, Gideon had been vulnerable. Even after he’d realized the depths of his father’s depravity.
Rhys went to the bookshelf behind his desk. Gideon’s heart had picked up speed, and now he held his breath in anticipation. Rhys had his back to them so they couldn’t see what he did, but the bookshelf sprang open.
Gideon sucked in a breath and looked toward Penn. “Did you know about that?”
“The room? Yes.” Penn’s brow furrowed. “But not that he was keeping things left to you from your grandfather.”
Rhys came back to the library with a chest that was nearly three feet wide and perhaps two feet tall. He set it on the table and handed Gideon a key.
Gideon turned the implement over in his hand and thought of his grandfather—Lord Nash, his mother’s father. He hadn’t been allowed to see him after his mother had left, but they’d corresponded. He’d been warm and intelligent and would have been a far better father to Gideon than his own.
Without further hesitation, he unlocked the coffer and opened the lid. Lined with a thick purple fabric akin to velvet, the interior smelled of parchment and age. Inside were several items—some jewelry, a few books, and a sheaf of papers tied with twine. On top sat a folded piece of paper with his name scrawled across it in his grandfather’s hand.
Gideon picked up the paper and opened it carefully.
My dear Gideon,
It is my greatest hope that you will appreciate these items as much as I do. They are family heirlooms, many of which have been passed through the centuries. I trust that you will pass them on in turn.
That would require Gideon to have a child, and right now, he had absolutely no intention to do so.
As you know, the de Valery manuscript is highly valuable, particularly when paired with its mate, which is in the possession of Rhys and Margery Bowen. It is up to you if you want to keep the manuscripts together. The other highly valuable item in this box is the original Anarawd text, which I painstakingly bound myself. This you must keep safe.
Gideon set the letter on the table and picked up the book that sat on top of the others in the chest. Bound in dark blue leather, it looked rather new, not at all like an antiquity. He set it on the table and opened the cover.
“That’s the Anarawd text. I haven’t seen that in twenty-five years,” Rhys said softly. He reached for a pair of gloves on the end of the table handed them to Gideon. “Be very careful with it. It’s survived over a thousand years because it’s been locked away from light and touch. I didn’t realize Nash had bound the papers.”
Gideon drew on the gloves as his gaze moved over the Latin. “You’re certain the poems don’t contain any information about where the treasures were hidden?”
Rhys shook his head. “No, but it’s possible I missed something. When was the last time you read it, Penn?”
“It’s been a few years. Hasn’t Cate started reading it?”
“Started reading what?” As if summoned by her name, Cate stepped into the library. She set her candle down on a small table near the door as she moved inside.
“The Anarawd text,” Penn said.
Cate joined them at the table, her dressing gown whispering across the floor as she moved. “In fact, I was just coming down here to read another poem. It was hidden from me for so long—forever, in fact—that I am eager to catch up.” She said this with a hint of annoyance directed at her father and Penn.
Rhys winced. “I’ve apologized profusely. And don’t blame Penn—I swore him to secrecy. I shouldn’t have kept it from you.”
“No, you shouldn’t have.” She looked over the chest and the open book beside it. “What’s all this?” She inhaled sharply as she read the book. “Is that…the original?”
“It is,” Gideon said. “These are things my grandfather left to me. It seems you weren’t the only person who was deprived.”
Rhys grunted. “When you’re all parents and you have to make tough decisions, come back and we’ll discuss it then.”
Gideon could scarcely wait to go through the items piece by piece. But he couldn’t take it with him. He didn’t dare. He looked to Rhys. “Will you keep this safe for me when I leave?”
“Of course.”
Penn yawned. “I’d best turn in. Can’t show up to my wedding exhausted.”
“We should all go up,” Rhys said. “Although I daresay Gideon won’t be able to sleep until he’s gone through that box. Cate, leave him in peace with it tonight.” Rhys looked at Gideon with regret. “I’m sorry. I would have given it to you before if I hadn’t promised your grandfather.”
“It’s all right. I’m just glad to have it now. Thank you.”
Rhys clasped his shoulder. “You’re welcome. You’re always welcome—in our home and in our hearts.”
Gideon appreciated that more than he could say.
Rhys went to collect his and Penn’s glasses and return them to the sideboard. Penn took a step toward Gideon. “Remember what I said. I’ll come at a moment’s notice.”
“Thank you.”
“I don’t know what he told you,” Cate said, “but I’m here for you too—and so is Elijah. I think he’s warming up to you.”
Gideon let out a dark laugh. “I doubt that, and I hope not. If he’d done to my wife what I did to you, I’d want to eviscerate him, and I don’t think that sensation would wane.”
“All right, perhaps I exaggerated, but you did save his life, so he’s not really holding a grudge.” She stood on her toes and kissed his cheek. “Sleep well.”
They left Gideon alone with his newfound treasures, and he sat back down at the table to investigate every piece. The de Valery manuscript was there, as well as two more books. He’d never felt more certain about his objectives or the fact that he would achieve them.
At any cost.
Chapter 4
Daphne had ended up staying in Keynsham for an extra night. Great-aunt Ellie had dropped a book on her foot and was hobbling about, so Daphne had insisted on looking after her for a day. It had also delayed her return to Ashridge Court, which she wasn’t entirely looking forward to.
It wasn’t that she didn’t want to see her father. She’d just hoped to have something to show him—if not the cloak itself, a clue at least. Or proof that Morgan was who Daphne said she was.
Instead, she returned empty-handed for her father’s annual medieval festival. She’d arrived that afternoon, but her father had been too busy to see her. Instead, he’d requested
she join him in his private study before the welcome banquet.
She made her way downstairs to the back corner of the house, smoothing the bright green silk of her gown. One of her father’s guards stood outside the study. There was always at least one in his orbit.
“Good evening, Papa,” she announced as she stepped inside.
Her father stood up from his favorite chair angled before the hearth. “Daphne! Let me see you.” He grinned widely as she turned in a circle for him. “The gown fits beautifully.”
“As usual. Thank you.” Father always had new costumes made for her for the festival, and this year was no different. Her room was full of evening gowns, daywear, and riding costumes. “Your doublet is especially fine,” she said. Gold and silver threads sparkled against the dark blue velvet.
He puffed up his chest, which was already larger due to the padding in the doublet. “Thank you. I do believe it’s my favorite. Come and sit with me so we may talk for a bit before I must attend to my guests.”
She sat on the small settee situated in front of the fireplace, and he retook his seat.
Papa’s dark brown eyes gleamed in the sunlight streaming from the diamond-paned windows beyond the fireplace. “Tomorrow is the falconry exhibition. I do hope you plan to partake.”
She’d had her own kestrel until two years ago when Millie had died. Her father had wanted to replace the bird, but since Daphne spent most of her time at Hawthorn Cottage now, she’d prevaricated. She braced herself for another assault. Father liked it when she shared his interests.
Surprisingly he didn’t press the issue. “The day after will be jousting.”
She smiled. “Your favorite.”
“Always.” He laughed. “Now, tell me what you’ve learned this summer. I haven’t seen you since June.”
She’d sent letters, but she never disclosed findings in writing—per her father’s directive. “I wish I could say it has been fruitful, but alas…”
He frowned. “You have nothing to report?”
“I’m afraid not. I’m rather disappointed. But while I have no further evidence to support my Morgan theories, I also haven’t found counterevidence. I am satisfied with that at least.”
