by Darcy Burke
Margery put down her utensils and picked up her wineglass. “It’s not anything I don’t already know. What has he told you about Rose?”
Daphne also abandoned her fork. “Not much. I don’t wish to pry.”
“Did you know he had a scandalous reputation before he married her?” Margery asked.
“His mother mentioned something to that effect.”
“Oh, you met Lady Stratton?” Margery sipped her wine and set it back on the table. “How was that?”
“Fine, I suppose. She clearly loves her son.” Seeing that love had made Daphne miss her own mother in a way she hadn’t in years.
“I ask because Gideon is usually rather tense around her and especially with Septon.”
Daphne hadn’t sensed that, but then her time at Septon House had been rather short. Still, she suspected she knew the reason. “Because she left Gideon when he was a boy.”
Margery nodded. “He told you about that?”
“Briefly, but I could see that it still pains him.”
“I’m sure it always will,” Margery said. “We always tried to make sure they saw each other at least once a year. Gideon would come here in the summer and we would take him to Westerly Cross—his grandfather’s estate—to visit his mother. That stopped when he was about fourteen, I think. By then he was incredibly angry with her, likely as a result of listening to his father spew poison about her. He was a horrible human being.” She shuddered.
“Unfortunately, Gideon spent several years behaving in his image,” Margery continued. “Thankfully, he veered from that path and decided to marry. He wanted to improve his reputation and bring dignity back to the earldom he would inherit someday.”
Enthralled with Margery’s story, Daphne pivoted to face her. “That’s when he met his wife?”
“Some people who knew his father and wanted to help Gideon rise above him went out of their way to introduce him to marriageable young ladies. He was invited to a series of house parties—he was quite busy that summer and fall.” Margery inclined her head toward the butler, who removed their dishes. “He spent the Christmas holiday with us and met Rose at a gathering in Monmouth. She was precisely the kind of wife he was looking for: sweet-natured, kind, and sharply intelligent. And she fell quite madly in love with Gideon.”
Daphne’s heart twisted. Margery didn’t say that Gideon had done the same, but it was implied. Rose had been everything he wanted. And Daphne was confident Rose’s father hadn’t tried to arrange their marriage.
“Gideon was heartbroken when she died,” Margery said sadly. “To make matters worse were the rumors that he’d caused her death.” Margery’s eyes darkened with anger. “Such nasty, malicious gossip. People are so cruel.”
How could anyone think Gideon would do such a thing?
“That’s awful,” Daphne said. “And that is why I don’t go to London or even Bath. I don’t care for gossip or balls or any of that nonsense.”
Margery smiled. “It’s a shame you and Gideon don’t plan to stay married. You and I would get on quite well. I’ve never cared for those things either. And my daughter, Cate, has no patience for foolish people. When she takes her place as the Countess of Norris next Season, I daresay she’ll conquer London as easily as she does everything else.”
Hearing her mother’s pride was another knife in Daphne’s heart.
Oh, she didn’t want to be melancholy! She was being a ninnyhammer. “I’m sure she will,” Daphne agreed. “Though I barely met her, she left quite an impression on me.”
Margery laughed softly. “That’s my Cate. But know the feeling was mutual. She was very taken with your scholarly pursuits. The two of you must get together. I’m sure you have much to share.”
Daphne thought so too. “I will look forward to that.”
A movement in the doorway drew them both to turn their heads. Gideon and Rhys came into the dining room, both looking rumpled and tired. Gideon’s cravat was askew and his hair was disheveled, as if he’d run his hands through it repeatedly. However, instead of appearing sloppy, he was devilishly handsome.
Margery smiled at them. “Just in time for port and trifle.”
“We can definitely use the port,” Rhys said, pressing a quick kiss to his wife’s cheek and then taking his chair at the other end of the table. “I’m afraid we have nothing to show for our efforts.”
Gideon sat opposite Daphne, his dark mood palpable in the stern set of his jaw and the pleat marring his forehead between his brows.
“Not even a clue about the cloak?” Daphne asked.
“Not that we could find.” Rhys thanked the butler for bringing the port, and they soon all had glasses.
“Well, it’s a good thing we’re returning to Brue Cottage,” Daphne said. “Gwyneth should be able to help us.”
“I can only hope,” Gideon muttered. But he didn’t sound very hopeful.
Daphne knew what it was like to struggle to be optimistic in the face of frustration. She’d run into more walls in her search for Morgan than she had doors. “Just think of all we learned at our first visit, and how much more we have yet to learn.”
“Daphne’s right,” Margery said. “When will you return to Brue Cottage?”
“Tomorrow.” Gideon glanced toward Daphne, who nodded in agreement. “First thing.”
Daphne had to admit she wished they could stay at Hollyhaven a little longer. The family environment, even with just Rhys and Margery, was so inviting.
The butler served the trifle, and Gideon looked over at Margery. “Did you serve this for me?”
“Of course. It’s your favorite.”
Yes, family. Daphne ached for it.
“Do you remember the first time you had it?” Margery asked, her hazel eyes sparkling in the candlelight.
“The first summer I came here,” Gideon said, spooning a bite of trifle toward his mouth. “I demanded it when I returned to Stratton Hall, and my father instructed the cook learn to make it. He did not want me liking anything better at Hollyhaven.” He devoured the spoonful of trifle, and, after he swallowed, added, “Cook did a passable job, but it was never as good as Mrs. Thomas’s.” He sent a look toward Thomas, the butler, who inclined his head with an appreciative twinkle in his eye.
“What else did you do here?” Daphne asked.
“Penn and I played games and rode horses,” Gideon said. “Those are among my fondest memories.”
Rhys chuckled. “And Cate trailed you, begging to be included.”
Gideon winced. “We were not very welcoming.”
“Older siblings rarely are,” Margery said. “You also spent time in Rhys’s library. He made sure you could read and write Latin as well as Welsh.”
“Roedd yn athro da.” Gideon sent Rhys a warm look of gratitude.
Daphne understood Welsh even if she could barely speak it herself. Gideon had said that Rhys was a good teacher. She was reminded of her father and how she understood Welsh only because he’d encouraged it. He’d provided her with the best tutors to educate her in languages, literature, and history. She was far more learned than any other woman she knew. With the exception of Cate, probably.
“You taught your children to be scholars,” Daphne said to Rhys.
“I taught them as I was taught,” Rhys said before sipping his port. “My father was the foremost expert on medieval literature in all of Britain. He had very high expectations of me.”
Margery looked down the table at him as she lifted her glass. “Which Rhys exceeded.”
Rhys’s lips curved into a small smile. “Perhaps. He cast a very long shadow.”
“At least it was something you could be proud to live up to,” Gideon said with a hollow laugh.
Daphne blinked at him, thinking his father’s influence had impacted so much of his life.
Rhys started to frown, then pressed his lips into a flat line. “You have much to be proud of, Gideon. We are proud of you. You will be an excellent earl.”
Margery nodde
d in agreement and lifted her glass once more. “To the Earl of Stratton and Lady Stratton.”
Daphne exchanged a lingering look with Gideon. Drinking a toast to their faux union seemed wrong, but she wasn’t about to upset her gracious hostess. Everyone drank, and they finished their trifle.
Rhys announced that he was exhausted from their work and would retire. Margery joined him, leaving Gideon and Daphne alone with their port after Thomas cleared the plates.
The butler left the bottle between them and Gideon picked it up to refill his glass. First, he looked at her in question. She nodded, and he refilled first hers and then his.
“Margery and Rhys are absolutely delightful,” Daphne said.
“Yes, they are.”
“You seem like a part of their family.” She hoped she didn’t sound envious. Except she was.
He sipped his port and set his glass on the table, keeping his fingers on the base of the glass. He stared at the dark red liquid. “I guess I am. It’s damn puzzling.”
“Why? They clearly love you.”
“Yes, but sometimes I wonder how that’s possible.” He shook his head, then took another drink. Before she could work up the courage to dig deeper, he said, “We should discuss the next steps in this quest.”
She straightened in her chair, stiffening her spine. “We should.”
Gideon ran his fingertip and thumb along the stem of his glass. “Assuming we are able to find the cloak, I will use it to take back the heart and the sword from your father’s vault.”
She frowned at him. “You don’t have to steal them. We’ll tell him the treasures must be returned to Gareth. He will like that, I think.”
The sharp sudden burst of laughter from Gideon startled her, and she nearly spilled her port. A large drop of the red liquid splashed onto the back of her hand. “Why are you laughing?” She couldn’t help but scowl, then brought her hand to her mouth so she could lick the port away.
When she looked across the table, she saw him staring at her mouth. And the laughter had disappeared.
His gaze heated her, but she ignored the sensation. “Why did you laugh?”
He sobered, his eyes darkening as he looked at his glass. “Because your father won’t just let me take the treasures back.”
“He will when you explain your intent. He only wants to keep them safe.”
He ran his hand through his hair, showing her exactly what he’d done to tousle it. “Christ, Daphne, are you really that naïve?”
His words slammed into her with sharp force. “There’s no need to be rude.”
“Forgive me, I’m tired. There’s a side to your father you don’t see. He wants the treasures for his own devices.”
That was preposterous. Reining her anger, she asked, “And what are those?”
“I’m not entirely certain, but your father is the leader of a faction within the Order that seeks to rid the Order of any nondescendants and to acquire the treasures.”
Daphne’s pulse kicked up so that her chest was nearly heaving. “That’s absurd. You’re mistaken. The Order protects the treasures.”
“The Order prefers to leave them be. They will only take them, as they did with the Heart of Llanllwch, when they are concerned they might be stolen. In that instance, they hid it. They didn’t lock it away in someone’s personal vault.”
“Perhaps that’s what they plan to do this time too,” Daphne said. “My father is an important member of the Order. He wouldn’t take the treasures for himself.”
He leaned forward over the table, his eyes a dark gray that reminded her of an angry storm cloud. “That’s precisely what he’s doing. He wants to use them for his own purposes—and I intend to make sure he doesn’t.”
“But you don’t know what those purposes are.” She stood abruptly, her anger getting the better of her. “I’m not going to sit here and listen to you defame my father.”
Gideon leaned back in his chair and looked up at her. “I know you love him. He’s your father. But he’s not who you think he is.”
She started to shake. “How can you claim to know him better than me?”
“I can’t, and I won’t. But I know a part of him that you don’t. I didn’t want to be the one to tell you, but we can’t continue on if we aren’t aligned. I can’t have you telling your father that I intend to take the treasures to Gareth’s tomb.”
“I wouldn’t do that. You’re wrong about my father. He doesn’t want the treasures for himself.”
He speared her with a narrow-eyed stare. “If you’re going to tell him I plan to take them, we will part ways tomorrow.”
She didn’t want that. She wanted to find the cloak. But why? She’d wanted to find it to impress her father, and if she couldn’t tell him, why did she care?
Because she wanted to share the discovery with Gideon. At least she had until he’d prattled nonsense about her father.
“I can see you’re conflicted,” he said. “Sleep on it, and let me know in the morning.” He tossed back the rest of his port, stood, and departed the dining room without a backward glance.
Daphne stared after him, all but certain their precarious alliance had completely collapsed.
Chapter 12
Gideon cast his head back, leaning the base of his skull on the top of the chair as he stared at the library ceiling. Shadows from the flickering lamp at the end of the table danced across the wood. If he squinted, one of them looked like someone wearing a cloak.
He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, his mind wandering back to his conversation with Daphne earlier. He hadn’t meant to bring up Camelot or her father’s intent, but the time had come. He’d meant what he said: she couldn’t come to Brue Cottage if she meant to tell her father. But if she didn’t come, he’d have to find another way to take the heart and the sword from Foliot’s vault.
Because his current—and only—plan required her.
He could try to don the cloak, assuming he found the bloody thing, take the keys from Foliot, and sneak into the vault, but it would be far easier if he had help. Foliot kept the keys on his person as far as Gideon could tell, so stealing them would prove difficult, even if he couldn’t be seen.
So he needed her.
No, you don’t, his mind argued. It would be easier with her, but he’d do what he must without her if it came to that. And it certainly looked as though it would.
Damn. He liked her. He enjoyed spending time with her. In another lifetime, he might have pursued her…
He opened his eyes and saw another, larger shadow on the ceiling. Jumping from the chair, he was prepared to commit violence.
Daphne gasped in surprise. “My apologies. I’ll just leave you to it.”
He felt bad for startling her. “What are you doing down here?”
“I was…restless.” She stepped forward, her hands clasped at her waist, where a ribbon cinched her coral-pink dressing gown. Her hair was a long, dark rope against her shoulder in a thick braid. “I decided to take a walk down the stairs, and I saw the light in here.”
He’d left the door slightly ajar, he realized. He hadn’t intended to come in and go through the chest again, but he’d been drawn to the secret room like a magnet, and now here he was with the chest on the table, its contents spread out as they’d been earlier.
“I’m afraid I couldn’t resist.” He indicated the items on the table.
She came slowly toward him, her face pale in the lamplight.
He turned toward her in concern. “Did you have another nightmare?”
She glanced up at him. “No, but sometimes when I’m in a strange place—like the inn—and I’m unsettled… That’s often when they happen.”
He’d caused her to be unsettled. “I’m sorry if I upset you. I’d intended to talk with you about that—your father—but I could have done a better job.”
“Thank you. It was just—surprising to hear.” She edged toward the table. “Is this everything that was in the chest?”
“Yes.” He’d read the letter from his grandfather countless times, and there was absolutely nothing about the cloak. “I have to think the cloak has been missing for quite some time.” Gideon feared it might be lost forever.
She moved to stand in front of the empty chest. “I wonder if the cloak was already taken to Gareth’s tomb.”
“I hadn’t considered that.” Gideon had considered what he might do if he couldn’t find the cloak. He’d have to get the heart and sword back from Foliot and take them to Gareth—whether he had the cloak or not.
“Can I touch it?” she asked, looking at him tentatively.
“Please.”
She ran her hands along the purple velvet. “This is beautiful. I wonder when it was made. And I wonder how many chests there have been—Gwyneth indicated there had been several. What do you suppose happened to the others?”
He wondered the same thing. It was interesting how they often thought of things in the same way. “Perhaps they fell apart from age and use.”
“Well, this one is still in excellent condition.” She sucked in a breath. “Oh dear, I spoke too soon. This corner has come loose.” She held up the edge of the lining and shot him an apologetic glance. “I’m so sorry.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t your fault.” He moved closer to her side and took the fabric from her. “We can fix it.” He had no idea how.
She withdrew her hand and inhaled sharply once more. “What did you just do?”
He turned his head toward her. “What?”
“Move your hand.”
He lifted the edge of the velvet higher. “Like that?” She was staring at his appendage as if it had sprouted another finger. “What do you see?”
“It’s what I don’t see,” she breathed. “Your hand… I don’t see it. I only see the table beyond. It’s like you’re—”
“Invisible?” Gideon’s blood chilled, and time seemed to cease as he looked at his missing hand. She was right. It wasn’t there.
“We have to take it out.”
“Yes. Bring the light closer.” He didn’t want to accidentally ruin anything. His hands shook as he began to pry the velvet loose from the box. It didn’t take much, and he wondered what had kept it in place to begin with.
