"Easy," Ty warned.
Clive's mouth twisted into an arrogant grin as he pulled an envelope from his pocket, then handed it to Ty.
Ty took the envelope. “How is it you found Bernard?" he asked as he broke the seal. "I didn't inform my mother I’d hired him.”
“I immediately pegged him as someone who didn’t belong at the Green Lady Inn. When I told him I had a message for an English friend I was sure he knew, his description of you told me I was right.”
“Many people come and go at the Green Lady Inn. You could have been wrong.” Ty withdrew the two sheets of paper from the envelope, unfolded them, and read.
Humphrey,
You must read the enclosed letter immediately. It will explain all. I managed to intercept the letter, so Charles is yet ignorant of this news.
Ty paused to unfold the other letter. He sucked in a breath at sight of the letterhead. Marcus McGregor Duke of Ashlund.
To Charles Wallington, Viscount Albery
Sir,
I write in regards to the marriage of my son, Kiernan MacGregor, Marquess of Ashlund, to your niece, Phoebe Wallington. This announcement will come as a surprise, but be advised there are circumstances surrounding this engagement we must discuss privately. The formal announcement has been dispatched to the post and will appear in print, at the earliest, the day you receive this letter, at the latest, the next.
I will be in London within the week and shall call upon you immediately.
Signed,
Marcus McGregor, Duke of Ashlund
“Bloody hell.” Ty cursed, and finished reading his mother's note.
You must tell me immediately how to proceed. The announcement did not appear in today’s paper, but it will surely be all over London by tomorrow. Do make haste.
Lady A
Phoebe had made no noises about marrying the marquess. To Ty's knowledge, she didn't even know him. Ashlund must have compromised her somehow and his father was forcing the marriage, though why he would do that, Ty couldn't understand. The Duke of Ashlund was rich as the devil and very powerful. He didn't have to do a damn thing he didn't want to do.
Ty refolded the letters and put them in the envelope. "Tell my mother I'll speak with her when I return."
"You have plans for the girl?"
Ty looked up. "Stay out of this, Clive."
He shrugged. "I'm just saying that sons die, even the sons of rich men."
“The duke is not one to dally with,” Ty said.
Clive gave a deferential nod. “I only thought perhaps you might not realize how easy it is for a man to die while walking down the street after a night at his club.”
Ty knew. He also knew that Clive might decide to prove how right he was before Ty had a chance to take care of Ashlund himself.
*****
Phoebe brought her horse to a stop at the inn where a group of bedraggled travelers faced a man in the doorway. She threw the cloak from her shoulders and dismounted.
“Please, Sir,” one of the travelers said with a light Scottish brogue, “all we ask is a wee bit of food for the women and children, and that you let them sleep in the stables.” The traveler towered over the innkeeper, but kept his gaze lowered as he pointed to the three women and four children. “We men will sleep in the forest.”
Phoebe glanced at the sky. The sun would set within the hour and already a raw chill hung in the air. The men faced a bitter night if exposed to the elements. As did she.
“Sir—"
The innkeeper cut off the traveler with a derisive snort. “Off with you, you Scottish bastards,” he snarled.
“Why doesn’t he like us?” the smallest girl said in a half-whisper. She clung to another child, a boy not much older than herself.
The innkeeper jerked a startled look in the children’s direction. They stared back, eyes wide in gaunt faces. Embarrassment shadowed the innkeeper's face and Phoebe thought he would relent.
“You ought not to speak that way in front of the bairns,” the traveler said in a soft voice that didn’t quite hide his effort to maintain control.
The innkeeper’s face mottled with anger. “Watch your tongue,” he snapped. “We don’t want the likes of you here. Now get out before I have you jailed for trespassing.”
The traveler’s jaw tightened and he flushed a deeper red.
By heavens, the fool of an innkeeper will start a row that will end in half the village being burned.
“I'll pay for their lodgings,” she interjected.
The group turned toward her.
Phoebe met the traveler’s gaze. “How many rooms do you require, sir?”
“We—I—" He dropped his gaze. “My lady, we can't—”
“Money isn't the issue,” the innkeeper interjected.
Phoebe pinned him with a cold stare. “What is the issue, sir?”
His jaw clenched. “I have the right to turn away anyone I please.”
She started forward and the travelers parted as she passed through their midst. She halted before the innkeeper. “A fine thing to be able to turn away paying customers.”