If he could afford it, Ned wanted to add. However, he had been saving.
“That could take ages,” the duke said.
“It won’t be quick,” Shielding agreed. He looked to Ned. “So she has the will?”
“I don’t know. She says she has proof that Old Andy left The Garland to her. She refuses to show it to me. She will have to show it to the magistrate. Still, we must do this right or we’ll have the village set against us. Have you forgotten what happened last night?” He looked directly at Dawson, whose mother had not been pleased with him. “The women in the village are excited about Mrs. Estep’s plans. We must be careful.”
No one’s head nodded agreement.
“Mars might take weeks to return,” Michaels protested.
The duke warned, “By then, the women will be entrenched. We will never remove them.”
Sheepishly, Fitz said, “My mother is already celebrating the arrival of a tea garden. She will be taking several plantings from our beds to Mrs. Estep today.”
“See?” Dawson said. “This is what the lot of them were talking about after church. Oh, they are just chirping and planning. Even the husbands were over there. The Reverend Summerall can’t do enough for Mrs. Estep. He is practically at her feet.”
Ned tried to urge calm again as he cinched the saddle. “Mrs. Estep claims Old Andy wanted her to take over The Garland. She says she has proof, but we are going to challenge her claim. You know the earl will see the matter in our favor. I have no doubt on that. Until that time, as chairman of the Society, I want you gents to cool your heels.”
“And where do we drink until then?” Dawson asked sulkily.
It was on the tip of Ned’s tongue to say that they could try staying sober a night. That would be wasted breath. “Meet at a different location again.”
“So we come here?” Fitz said.
“No.” Ned had just finished bridling his horse and he turned so fast with his answer, Hippocrates gave a start. He steadied the animal with a hand on his neck. He was not giving up his plans for a decent night’s sleep. “After all, you’ve gone through my larder.”
“That is true,” Shielding agreed before asking, “Where else can we go?”
“Not my house,” Michaels said. “I live with my mother.”
“As do I,” Fitzsimmons agreed.
“Same here,” Dawson echoed.
“You will come to me,” Winderton said with great decision. “I’m in the Dower House. I have plenty of food and drink.” His statement was met with the sort of acclaim usually saved for conquering heroes.
And Ned had only himself to blame. Mars had warned him. Most of them don’t have the wits to light a candle, he’d said.
Now, Ned reflected on how sometimes, as an egalitarian, those he wished to help annoyed the devil out of him.
Especially when the duke wondered aloud, “You know, if Mrs. Estep does have proof like she claims, we may lose The Garland . . . unless the proof disappears.”
“Exactly,” Shielding agreed.
“We could help it disappear,” Winderton suggested. Heads nodded as if this was the best idea they’d ever heard.
Ned had been about to put his foot in the stirrup but now he faced them. “Here now, none of that. We do this the right way.”
Their expressions said louder than words they didn’t think the right way would work.
Ned was done arguing with them. Taking the reins, he swung up in the saddle. “It will all turn in our favor,” he promised, and set his horse in motion.
Ned’s first stop was Belvoir and, while he wasn’t a praying man in church, he was saying prayers up the drive that Mars had returned. He needed an ally. One with common sense. He couldn’t bother Balfour with all of this.
Not only was the man no longer a Logical Men’s Society member, but now his concerns were for his wife and the coming babe. Then there was the sticky problem that Winderton was his nephew. There was some bad blood between them. Ned had no desire to step in the middle of it.
He knew the moment he saw Mars’s butler’s face what the answer was. “He hasn’t returned.”
Gibson’s gaze shifted. “No, sir.”
“Did he send word when he would return?”
“No, sir.”
Ned studied the man a moment, a suspicion forming. “Did the messenger actually speak to him?”
Gibson frowned, a servant tight-lipped with his master’s secrets.
But Ned was also Mars’s physician. He knew the secrets. “He’s not at it again, is he?”
The butler shifted. “I don’t know that I should say, sir. I don’t know that I can.”
“Gibson, the last time Marsden disappeared, we both know where he went.” Mars had a taste for opium.
Ned did not approve of his friend’s occasional proclivities. Then again, Mars hadn’t asked for Ned’s opinion or permission. He claimed it was his small vice, although Ned wondered why any man, especially one as blessed with good fortune and the favorable opinion of his fellows as the earl was, would be even tempted by the damnable habit.
If he was visiting one of the city’s many dens, who knew when he’d return? Men lost days in their opium dreams.
And the Logical Men’s Society did not have days to wait.
“Please tell him I called,” Ned said to the butler.
“I will, sir.”
Ned turned and started down the steps of the stately manor, but then Gibson said, “We all worry. He hasn’t done this for some time. Don’t think that your influence is wasted on him.”
“Thank you, Gibson. We’ll both keep trying, eh?” The servant bowed agreement and Ned continued down the steps to his horse.
Now what was he to do? He was thankful the members of the Logical Men’s Society hadn’t accompanied him to know that there would be delay. And he was not going to be in a hurry to share the news.
He rode his horse back to the road. He was tempted to hunt Mars down, and not just because of The Garland but because he was concerned. That was becoming the bane of Ned’s existence. He worried about people. When he was all alone, back in his London days, he’d never given a thought to anyone but himself.
Then again, who knew how long it would take to find Mars? Furthermore, if Ned left and, heaven help him, Kate Balfour went into labor, well, he could not leave her to the local midwife. He couldn’t do that. He’d promised her he’d see her baby safe.
Just as Ned reached the road and turned Hippocrates toward a visit to the Widow Smethers, Royce came riding up in a tear. “Sir! I’m glad I found you. Simon Crisp had an accident. His son says his father has cut off his finger.”
Crisp was a yeoman on the Belvoir estate and fortunately didn’t live far from here—and then Ned had an idea.
He looked to Royce, who was some twenty years older than himself. His assistant had once been in the military. He might be able to do what Ned couldn’t. “Royce, I have a particular task that needs to be done and I know it is asking a great deal.”
“What is it, sir?”
“I want you to ride to London and find the earl.”
“Is he not home?”
“His home right now is an opium den.”