Page 69 of The Bridal Quest

"No. Nothing. I would like very much to find out what happened."

"I wish I could help you, my lord," Owenby said. "But I've told you all I know."

"My father never heard anything from her? No letters? No rumors? No one ever claimed to have seen her?"

"Not that I know of."

That was all they were able to get out of him, though Gideon asked him a few more questions. His reply was always the same: He had told them everything he knew. Gideon's mother had run away with her lover, taking her son with them. It was clear that he was through.

Finally Gideon nodded and bade the man a polite goodbye. Then he and Irene left the cottage.

"Well," Irene commented as they settled into the carriage and drove away from the valet's cottage, "he is certainly consistent in his answers."

"And not inclined to elaborate on them, either," Gideon added. "I cannot help but wonder if he knows more than he is saying."

Chapter Sixteen

Irene glanced at Gideon, surprised. "That sounds ominous."

He shrugged. "I don't know. I am not sure there is anything have-cavey there, but ... some things were odd. He was quite frank in his poor opinion of my mother, for one thing."

"Yes, I noticed. He certainly saw her in a different light than Lord Jasper."

"Which, I wonder, is the true picture?" Gideon mused. "The devoted mother and sweet and charming woman of my uncle's view? Or the callous, deceptive strumpet who Owenby saw?"

Impulsively, Irene reached out to lay her hand upon his arm, sympathy swelling in her chest. "I imagine that the truth lies somewhere between those two. But I think Lord Jasper's opinion of her must be more accurate. Owenby's perception is no doubt colored by his love for and loyalty to your father."

Gideon smiled down at her, his hand coming up to cover hers. "Thank you for your kindness, but I am not hurt by what he said. Whatever my mother was, the truth is that I have no memory of her. And while, God knows, I would prefer to believe that she was not a cold, wicked woman, it would not make any difference in my life if that is true. But I cannot help but be struck by the peculiarity of the man's response. It is true that Owenby was a most devoted servant—he was with Lord Cecil from the time he went off to Eton, so I understand. And in my father's will, he left Owenby a nice retainer for his years of service. Still, in general, I find that servants are reluctant to speak ill of anyone to those of higher station. And people of all sorts are reluctant to speak ill of one's mother."

"Yes. He was ... well ... ruder than I would have expected."

"And another thing—he did not seem to have any particular fondness for me." He looked over at her. "Did you notice?"

"He was not effusive," Irene agreed. "Still, he did not seem a demonstrative sort. And he probably would not have been around you that much as a child. Children generally are relegated to the nursery."

Gideon nodded. "True."

Irene said carefully, "I am sure that had you grown up there, he would have known you better and had fonder remembrances of you."

Gideon glanced at her, and a smile quirked up one corner of his mouth. "Irene, are you trying to soothe my wounded feelings?"

She cocked an eyebrow and replied somewhat testily, "Well, you seemed perturbed about the fact that he did not greet you with enthusiasm."

"Thank you for your concern." He bowed his head toward her, grinning in a way that warmed her. The awkwardness between them was gone for the moment, and she felt a closeness to Gideon that had been missing since their conversation after his grandmother's revelation.

"However," he went on, "I was not hurt by his manner any more than by his words. I merely found it rather odd.

Wouldn't you think, as devoted to my father as he was, that there would have been some expression of relief or pleasure that his father's son had been found safe all these years later? I thought an old family retainer would have been more ..." He trailed off, shrugging.

"'Oh, Master Gideon, thank heaven you've been brought back to us after all these years'?" Irene suggested lightly.

He smiled back at her. "Exactly. Something along those lines. Perhaps you did not notice it, but every time he looked at me, his eyes were cold. Even disdainful." He paused. "Do you think me fanciful?"

"No. I can think of few people I would call less fanciful than you," she answered honestly. "I did not notice any particular coldness toward you, but then, I was not on the receiving end of his gaze. If that is the opinion you formed, I would think you had good reason for it." She hesitated, then went on. "What, then, do you suspect? That Owenby might have ... killed her?"

His expression turned rueful. "It sounds a bit far-fetched."

"Well ... Owenby did seem to dislike her a good deal. Perhaps he discovered her affair with your uncle, and he wanted to rid your father of her. He could have forged the letter. Or perhaps your father knew what he did and helped him conceal the crime. Maybe Lord Cecil did not want to lose the man, no matter what he had done."