Gervase raised his brows. He believed that no more than Madeline. “A bit late in the season.”
“Well, yes,” Edmond said, “but we’ve only just got back from school so we thought it was worth checking.”
Three angelic faces smiled at him, looking from him to Madeline.
Gervase glanced at Madeline. Her expression was severe, but…although she knew she was being lied to, she was suppressing her reaction.
“It’s tea time,” Ben stated. “We were going in for scones.”
Lips compressing, Madeline nodded; stepping out of their way, she waved them on. “Off you go, then.”
They went, with telltale alacrity.
She watched, then sighed. “They’re up to something—I know it.”
Gervase fell in beside her as she started back more slowly along the path. “Of course they are—they’re boys.”
“Indeed.” She cast him a sharp glance. “You probably understand better than I do.”
His lips quirked. “Very likely.” After a moment, he added, “You didn’t call their bluff.”
They walked through the clearing; he thought she wasn’t going to respond, but then she said, “If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, it’s never to force a confession or an accounting. They’ll either tell me the truth of their own accord…or whatever they tell me won’t be worth a damn.”
Truer words were never spoken. Gervase inclined his head. They trailed the boys back to the house; he had a strong suspicion about what they were up to, and it had nothing whatever to do with birds.
He’d spoken a little with Harry at the castle two nights before; the lad had reminded him of his cousin Christopher, he who had died of consumption unexpectedly, leaving Gervase as his uncle’s heir. Gervase had been a few years older, and like him Christopher had been a child of this coast. He’d been as adventurous as Gervase, yet underneath there’d been a quiet seriousness, as if he’d always known that at some point the responsibility of the earldom would fall on his shoulders.
Gervase had seen the same combination of traits in Harry, adventurousness running hand-in-hand with an acceptance of fate. He couldn’t see Harry leading his brothers into any truly dangerous enterprise.
Sometimes, however, danger wore a disguise.
They reached the house; he held the door open for Madeline, then followed her in. She led him into the front hall, then turned to give him her hand. “If you have any further questions about the festival, I’ll be happy to answer as best I can.”
Closing his fingers about her hand—not shaking it as she’d expected—he smiled. “I’ll bear that in mind.” Lowering his voice, he said, “I suspect your brothers are hunting for the smugglers’ caves.”
Her lips tightened. “I think so, too.”
“If you like…I still have excellent contacts with the local fraternity. I can mention the boys’ interest—they’re unlikely to come to any harm if the locals know they might stumble on them.”
The local smuggling gangs were one arena of male activity to which she would never, ever gain admittance; she would never know who was involved, let alone be invited to join, as every male in the locality, especially those of the major houses, usually were.
Her eyes narrowed as she searched his. “It must be some time since you sailed with any of them.”
“On a run? More than a decade.” He hesitated, then admitted, “But I had other, more recent reasons for keeping those contacts alive. I know all the leaders along this stretch of coast, and they will all talk, and listen, to me.”
He watched her put two and two together, and come up with a revealing answer. Over the years he’d been away “fighting Boney,” he’d reappeared now and then, when his father had died, and Christopher, and later his uncle, and then again to install Sybil and his sisters at the castle, and put his agents and stewards in charge of the estate.
Her eyes widened; her lips formed a soundless “Oh.” Refocusing on his face, she hesitated for an instant more, then nodded. “If it’s no trouble…I would like to know that they don’t need to fear anything from that direction.” Meeting his eyes, she grimaced. “While I would much rather they didn’t get involved in such exploits, I might as well try to hold back the waves.”
“Indeed.” He hadn’t released her fingers. Now he raised them; closing his other palm gently over her hand, he lifted the slender digits to his lips and pressed a light kiss to their backs.
Her eyes went wide; her breathing suspended.
A light blush rose to her cheeks.
He smiled, more intently. He lightly squeezed her fingers, then released them. “I’ll let you know if I hear anything definite about the boys.”
With a nod, he turned and walked out of the front door, entirely content.