‘And where do you intend to make your enquiries?’
‘Oh! I do not know.’ She waved her arm as she paced, brushing aside his query as though it were an irritating fly. ‘His usual haunts. The Nag’s Head, in Stourbridge, for a start. He often went there for a drink in the evening. Someone there might know where he went. And they will know of other places he frequented.’
‘The Nag’s Head? A public house?’
She slammed to a halt, staring at him. ‘Do not—’ her voice throbbed with warning ‘—tell me I cannot go there because I am a woman.’
Vernon felt his eyes narrow. ‘That is precisely what I am telling you. Such scandalous behaviour is completely unacceptable. Your reputation would be ruined.’
‘Scandal! What do I care for scandal? My brother is missing and I must—’
‘You should care about scandal. Your good name, once lost, will not be easily recovered.’
‘We are not in your overprotected and rarefied world now, my lord. As I said before, I am not—’
‘Not one of my fine ladies. Yes, you have already made that point.’
Her mouth set in a mulish line and the dogged determination upon her face reminded Vernon of his niece, Olivia, when told she could not do something she had set her heart upon. But Olivia was eighteen years of age. Miss Markham should...must, surely...have more sense.
He’d had enough of this, she was not thinking rationally. She must realise how dangerous such places might be and not only to her good name. He changed tack. Demanding her obedience would not work, that much he had already learned.
‘Promise me you will not go haring off on such an ill-advised crusade.’
‘But I must, for if I do not, who will?’
‘Your father?’
She turned her head aside, but not before he recognised her anguish. ‘He is not well. He must not be upset.’
‘Other male relatives?’
She shook her head, freeing even more of those fascinating curls to bounce around her face. Her hair appeared to have a life of its own, the curls like flaming corkscrews.
‘I am not a fool,’ she said. ‘I would not go alone. I would take a groom. Or even two. For protection. So, you see, there is no need for you to be concerned, or even to stay here any longer.’ She tilted her chin. ‘You said yourself you do not know Daniel and neither do you know the area. You would not know where to begin looking.’
Vernon eyed her with exasperation as he pondered the mystery of Daniel Markham’s disappearance and how, if at all, it was connected to Henry. He should, probably, return to town and wait for Markham to make further contact. But...he considered that option. What was there to return to? Leo would be fully occupied with his new bride and, soon, most everyone would be leaving London to spend summer on their estates or in the seaside resorts.
There was little enticement there to lure him home in a hurry.
And here, in Worcestershire...his blood stirred. All kinds of emotions swirled within him and chief amongst them was intrigue. Not only was there a mystery to solve, but he was needed, whether Miss Markham admitted it or not. That thought gave way to another as he realised, with a sense of shock, that to be needed was a rare feeling in his life thus far. The Beauchamps were a close family, but he was not needed...he was just there.
The spare, of the ‘heir and a spare’ fame.
He had learned the lesson that he would always play second fiddle to his older brother as a young man on the town for the first time. He had fallen in love—or so he had thought—with the Incomparable of the day, but although Lady Pamela had happily flirted with him and even encouraged his attentions, she had made it perfectly clear she wanted a man with a peerage, not a duke’s second son with a mere courtesy title. Had Leo not been married to his first wife at that time, she would doubtless have set her cap at him.
Vernon’s heart had not been broken, although it had been bruised. It was his pride that had been battered.
He loved Leo and he loved his nephews and his niece but he had to admit he still found it hard to find his own place in the world. They ran many businesses in partnership—the estates, their horse-breeding enterprises, the mining interests in Cornwall and the coal mines in the north-east—but, with Leo being the older of the two, as well as the Duke, Vernon was outranked for ever.
He did not want to walk away from the mystery of Daniel Markham’s disappearance. He wanted to be involved, to take action, to help.
‘There is still the question of why your brother wrote to mine,’ he said. ‘You cannot expect me to leave without finding out how my Cousin Henry is involved and it is both senseless and unnecessary for you to risk either your reputation or your safety when I am better able to make the necessary enquiries. So, Miss Markham, I shall be your flagbearer: I shall visit the Nag’s Head and make enquiries on your behalf. And—’ he raised his voice as she opened her mouth...to argue, no doubt ‘—I urge you to remember that other men will tell me things they would not say in front of you.’
‘What sort of things?’
He wagged his head at her, stifling another grin at her clear frustration. ‘You cannot possibly expect me to divulge such secrets, Miss Markham. Suffice it to say that I have a better chance of prising information from them than you.’
The tiniest wobble of her lower lip reminded Vernon that, however brave the face she presented, beneath it, she must be devastated.
‘Do not despair, Miss Markham. I shall find Daniel.’
Hope lit her eyes and, having raised it, he was not about to dash it by voicing aloud the thought that followed: Alive or dead, I shall find him.
Footsteps clacked along the hall outside, getting nearer, and then the door behind Vernon opened. Miss Markham’s expression blanked and she tensed.
‘Dorothea.’ A woman’s voice. ‘There you—oh!’
Vernon looked around. A middle-aged woman, her greying hair bundled into a cap, had entered the room.
‘I beg your pardon,’ she said to Vernon. ‘I was not informed we had visitors.’ Annoyance lent an edge to her tone and the look she cast Miss Markham—Dorothea—was...bitter.
Dorothea, meanwhile, had hurried around the desk, but halted before she got too close to the other woman. To Vernon’s eyes, she appeared to stand at attention, her hands clasped at her waist, her fingers twisting together.
‘Mama! There was no need to inform you of L... Mr Beauchamp’s visit. He called in on a matter of business and is about to leave. I am sorry. Did you have need of me?’
This was her mother? Vernon looked from one to the other, wondering at those noticeable cracks in their relationship.
Mrs Markham gave a tight smile, but ignored her daughter’s question.
‘I trust my daughter was able to satisfactorily answer your queries, Mr Beauchamp? It is unfortunate
