“Lord Margrave believes your brother and his correspondent used a book cipher. It is an easier method for a beginner.” She slanted her head. “Do you think your brother had experience with these sorts of tasks?”
Stanhurst winced. “I hope not. Otherwise, I have been a fool for longer than I thought.”
“You are not a fool, Your Grace. When loved ones wish to hide secrets, we are usually none the wiser. They know us too well, and the places where we will never think to look.”
“Thank you. Whether that is true or not, I feel marginally better about my ignorance. Geoffrey and I were close until a few years ago, before he began inhabiting the gaming hells. I tried to guide him toward more noble pursuits, and he accused me of being a stick-in-the-mud. I suppose I was, but I could see he was losing control of himself.”
Sophia offered a sympathetic smile. How difficult it must be to lose a sibling to the evils of excess. If Regina or Evangeline lost their way, she would be as conflicted as he.
“If it is any consolation, Your Grace, London would be better served by more sticks-in-the-mud like you.”
A warm glow filtered into his eyes; he perched on the edge of the desk. “You may address me as Stanhurst, or Perry if you do not find the familiarity too off-putting.”
She sat up straighter, and the friendly smile slid from her face. Use of his Christian name would be too familiar by half. “Perhaps I will feel like the fool after saying my piece, but I believe it is better to be forthcoming and avoid misunderstandings whenever possible. I am promised to Lord Margrave, and I am well-pleased with the match.”
“I am aware of your attachment, Miss Darlington,” he said kindly. “Even if I were not in danger of being stripped of my lands and station, and I was still in a position to court a charming young lady such as yourself, I owe the viscount my life. If he had not sent young Kane to watch over me, I would not be here today. Stealing his betrothed would be a deplorable way to show my gratitude, would it not?”
“It would indeed.” The rigidness in her spine eased and her icy demeanor began to melt. “Forgive my impudence, Your Grace.”
“There is nothing to forgive.” He left his perch on the desk and lowered into the chair opposite her. “I thought it would be easier to have a conversation if you did not feel compelled to toss in ‘Your Grace’ every now and again. I cannot help but think my father is standing behind me when someone addresses me in that manner.”
“I see,” she murmured, ashamed of assuming the worst when his world had been turned topsy-turvy in a matter of one tragic night. “That does make sense. For the sake of efficiency, you may address me by my given name.” Then because she was uncertain he knew her name, she added, “It is Sophia.”
“Very good, Sophia.” He held out the letters and diary again. “Have you decided where you would like to begin?”
She drummed her fingers against the desktop, considering her approach. “I understand your brother was not an industrious student?”
“This is true. Yet, he was ingenious when it came to shirking his duties.”
She reached for the diary. “I think we should start here. Perhaps it holds clues that will point us toward whatever book title he might have used to decipher the messages. Lord Margrave said there were no books with the letters.”
“That is correct.”
“You found them in your brother’s chambers. Were there any books in his rooms? Maybe on a bedside table?”
“No, none, his rooms were sparse. I expect he lost most of his personal effects at the gaming tables.”
She folded her hands on top of the diary. “With your permission, I would like to study your brother’s writings alone. Do you recall him reading any particular book or having a favorite?”
“He preferred activity to reading quietly.” The duke frowned. “I would have noticed him with a book, and nothing comes to mind.”
“It might be helpful to create a list of Lord Geoffrey’s preferred activities. If he carried a book that supported one of his interests, it would be less conspicuous for a man who never read for pleasure.”
“Very well.” He drew the pot of ink closer and picked up the quill. “I need paper.”
Sophia retrieved a sheet from the second desk drawer she checked and slid it across the desk. While the duke thought about his list, she began paging through Lord Geoffrey’s diary.
The initial entries were mundane. He had written of his travels on his Grand Tour. Where he slept, the dishes he ate, which streets he walked down, the shops he visited. In Geneva, he crossed paths with an old school chum, and they broke bread together several times before the friend sailed to America where he had made his home.
Lord Geoffrey seemed envious of his friend’s ability to increase his fortune during the war. The man had carved out a place of his own, free of his father’s influence—a task Lord Geoffrey found daunting, if not impossible. His own father was an overbearing and cruel man who controlled the reins by refusing to settle an annual income on Lord Geoffrey.
The reading was rather dull until he returned to England and became smitten with a singer at Drury Lane. Soon after, his language blossomed, and the pages were littered with flowery words written in ode to his new lover. The tone changed, however, when his relationship with the woman began to sour. He was obviously still in love with her, but her caginess had roused his suspicions.
Without warning, she lacks a tongue to praise. What have I done to displease her? His phrasing was odd—antiquated—but his foreshadowing had been masterful. Lord Geoffrey’s singer chose another lover a few days later. Pages upon pages of rage aimed at his former lover and her new benefactor followed. His ranting was illogical at times and frightening others, but always poetic.
“Was your brother a poet?” she asked.
Stanhurst glanced up from his list. “As far as I am aware, no. Why?”
“He developed a bit of a flair for the written word after he met Madame Zicari.” She turned back two pages and read aloud. “‘My sinful lust awards me pain, a vulgar scandal stamped upon my brow. How does a heart go on when mine is slain?’”
The duke narrowed his eyes. “It seems out of character for Geoffrey to have taken up poetry, but we were distant toward the end, as I indicated.” He placed the quill aside and leaned his elbows on the desk. “There is a familiar ring to his words. Are there any other examples?”
“A few lines stood out. Let me find them.” She thumbed through the pages. “‘She is an angel in another's hell. I am determined to free her and wage war on this bloody tyrant.’”
Crispin’s brother entered the study as she quoted Lord Geoffrey. Lieutenant Locke grinned. “Are you plagiarizing the Bard of Avalon, Miss Darlington?”
“Shakespeare!” The duke snapped his fingers. “I knew the words had a familiar ring, but they are not quite right, are they?”
Sophia held up the slim leather bound book for Crispin’s brother to see. “I am reading aloud from Lord Geoffrey’s diary. Is he quoting Shakespeare?”
“Not verbatim, no,” Lieutenant Locke said.
Stanhurst frowned. “Dare I hope plagiarism was Geoffrey’s only transgression?”
He did not expect an answer, so Sophia and the lieutenant did not supply one. She placed the diary on the desk and smoothed her hands over the pages. “Your Grace, are you sure there were no books in your brother’s bedchamber? Perhaps a copy of Romeo and Juliet or Hamlet?”
“The lines are from sonnets,” Lieutenant Locke said. “As a student, my classmates and I were assigned to take turns reading aloud from Shakespeare’s Sonnets. After the tenth reading, we were bored beyond measure, but we had one hundred and forty-four left. It was a grueling assignment.”
Sophia’s gaze flickered toward the duke. “Do you recall seeing a volume of Shakespeare’s Sonnets anywhere in your house in London? Perhaps Lord Geoffrey kept the letters and book separated to guard against suspicion.”
“It is possible there is one in the library,”
Stanhurst said. “I have never searched for the book, so it does not stand out in my memory.”
She closed the diary and addressed the lieutenant. “Would your stepfather have the book in his library?”
Lieutenant Locke gestured to the nearly empty shelves in the study. “This is the extent of his library. He reads the Bible and not much else.”
“Is there any way to get our hands on Shakespeare’s Sonnets without returning to London?”
“Possibly,” Lieutenant Locke said. “The Earl of Freyshore keeps one of the largest libraries in the county. If he owns the book, I am certain he will allow me to borrow it.”
“How soon could you call on the earl?”
“I will ride to his estate today and return by late afternoon. Once I see to my father and mother, I will depart.”
“I could go in your place if you do not want to leave your parents,” Stanhurst said.
“Thank you, Your Grace, but I promised to keep you here until my brother returns.”
Stanhurst recoiled. “Am I a prisoner?”
“A prisoner? No! Nothing of the sort.” The duke’s question seemed to fluster Lieutenant Locke. “I would never assume that authority.”
She reached across the desk to place her hand over Stanhurst’s. “You mustn’t place yourself at risk. It is best to stay in hiding until this matter can be put to rest.”
His scowl communicated his displeasure. “I have been deemed a coward.”
“That was not my meaning,” Sophia said. “Your testimony alone will ensure your cousin is held accountable for attempted murder. If you are not alive to bear witness, Lady Van Middleburg will escape justice. Think of your sisters’ welfare. Who will care for them if you are gone? A murderess?”
Mention of his sisters seemed to lessen his suspicion about why he was being asked to take refuge in the country, but his frown stayed firmly in place. “Ida will pay for her treachery,” he said through gritted teeth.
“As will Lord Van Middleburg,” Sophia agreed. “Lieutenant Locke, how might I be of help to your mother in your absence? If she would allow it, I could sit by your father’s bedside while she rests.”
“Thank you, Miss Darlington. I will encourage her to accept your help. She can be stubborn, to her own detriment.”
Crispin shared the characteristic with his mother, but somehow the two had reached a truce this morning before he left for London. A happy warm glow infused her.
“I almost forgot my purpose for interrupting,” Lieutenant Locke said. “Your aunt is taking her breakfast in her chamber, and she has requested you see her when you are available. I told her you are playing chess with Stanhurst.”
“Am I winning?” she asked.
“Of course you are, Miss Darlington.”
“Excellent!”
The lieutenant chuckled when the duke turned his scowl on her, although the spark of amusement in Stanhurst’s eyes suggested his foul mood was improving.
Sophia was pleased. The duke could be a bit intimidating when he was angry. “I will accompany Aunt Beatrice on her stroll while you see to your parents. Would you care to join us, Your Grace? Lord Margrave has asked us not to leave the manor house without an escort.”
“It would be my pleasure.” Stanhurst’s mouth set in a firm line. “If I may point out the obvious, Lieutenant Locke could be going on a wild goose chase. We cannot be certain the letters are a book cipher. I suggest we turn our attentions to the letters themselves while Locke is gone. I do not wish to waste time.”
“I understand your concern,” she said, “but my guess is based on reason, and it is all we have for now. I cannot imagine your brother meant for anyone else to read his diary. More than likely, he is guilty of unwitting imitation rather than plagiarism.”
The duke crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “Explain.”
“If Lord Geoffrey frequently consulted the sonnets while deciphering, he might have incorporated the phrases into his writing without realizing. It cannot be an uncommon phenomenon. I catch myself imitating Lady Octavia’s mannerisms and favorite phrases after we have spent the day together.”
Stanhurst nodded slowly. “I see the direction of your thoughts. Perhaps you have set us on the right path.”
“That is my hope.”
“I would still like to study the letters in Lieutenant Locke’s absence, but after your aunt’s daily constitutional.”
When the meeting with the duke and Lieutenant Locke concluded, Sophia looked in on Aunt Beatrice. She found her aunt sitting in a chair by the window, whistling a happy tune and working on the baby blanket she had started for Regina and Xavier.
“Good morning, Auntie.” Sophia came forward to kiss her smooth pale cheek. “Or should I say good afternoon? You slept longer than usual today.”
Aunt Beatrice stopped the needles long enough to glance up at her. “It appears you could have used a few more winks yourself, dearest. You have bags under your eyes like you were up all night.”
“Thanks, Auntie,” she said flatly and chuckled. Aunt Beatrice was blunt to a fault, but Sophia found her tendency to speak frankly more endearing than bothersome. “Crispin was called back to London, but he does not expect his business will keep him away for more than a couple of days.”
“I do hope it is nothing serious, although it is probably for the best if he is gone a couple of days.” A mischievous smile spread across her aunt’s face. “You should take advantage of his absence to rest. I expect many more sleepless nights are in your future.”
“You know about last night?”
Aunt Beatrice winked. “I cannot see, but my ears work well enough.”
“Law!” Sophia groaned and buried her scorching face in her hands.
Her aunt cackled. “I heard you knock on his door, dearest; nothing more.”
The reassurance did nothing to lessen Sophia’s mortification.
“You have no reason to feel embarrassed.” Aunt Beatrice sighed and a dreamy softness transformed her face. “You and Lord Margrave are young and in love. I ask only one thing of you.”
“Yes, Auntie?”
“Never allow the spark to extinguish. You will reap the rewards if you tend your marriage with the same care and attention you would a fire in the hearth.”
A wave of tenderness swept through her, filling her heart. Sophia laid her hand on her chest to contain the feeling before it slipped away. “You dispensed the same advice to Mama on her wedding day. I read it in her diary.”
A dreamy softness transformed her aunt’s face. “Isabelle and Matthew made a rare love match when they found one another. She hoped you and your sisters would have what she found with your father. Her wishes are coming true, I think. She would be happy for you, Sophia.”
“I wish I could have known her like you did, Auntie, but it was not to be.” Sophia smiled tenderly and kissed her aunt’s cheek once more. “Thank you for being a wonderful mother in her stead.”
Color rose in Aunt Beatrice’s face; she beamed up at Sophia. “It has been my greatest honor, dearest.”
Her words were not empty. Her great-aunt had loved Sophia and her sisters from the moment she had laid eyes on them, and she had never allowed them to forget it.
“Lieutenant Locke has business with the neighbor,” Sophia said, “so the Duke of Stanhurst has agreed to join us on our walk. Will you be ready soon?”
“Yes, in a moment.” She stuck the knitting needles into the blanket to keep her work from unraveling and placed everything in her basket. “About that baby blanket... Do you have a color preference?”
Sophia laughed. “Auntie, you are relentless.”
Twenty-six
Crispin arrived at the mews in Marylebone at dawn the next morning, impatient to set off for the old farmhouse where Farrin had kept Sophia’s brother-in-law hostage. After a punishing ride to London yesterday, Crispin had intended to continue on to the farmhouse, but his departure was delayed by a meeting with the Lord Chamberlain.
/> Hertford was demanding Crispin provide indisputable evidence Farrin was guilty of treason before he would even consider approaching the King. The man had hammered his point until Crispin had been tempted to walk out of his office. Unfortunately, he missed his opportunity to speak with Sophia’s actress friend until after curtain close last night.
“Good morning, milord,” a male voice called as he stepped into the stables.
“Benny.”
Crispin nailed his unwanted companion with a disgruntled glower. He did not require a partner, but he had been left with little choice. Unless he agreed to allow Benny to accompany him, the location of the farmhouse would remain a secret. Crispin could uncover the information eventually, but time was not a luxury he could afford. Even now, he worried Farrin and his men were already on the move and would find Sophia and her aunt before he found them.
Mr. Hawke, the theatre owner, had accompanied the bigger man to the mews and offered his own greeting.
Crispin nodded once to acknowledge him then spoke to Benny. “I thought you would change your mind about joining me.”
“I did not change my mind.” Benny frowned. His mouth was a muted reddish purple, as if he wore lip rouge. “You said Miss Sophia and Aunt Beatrice are in danger.”
“They are safe with my brother,” Crispin said, “and I intend to keep them that way. If you cannot keep pace, I will leave you behind.”
“I will not lag behind.”
Mr. Hawke met Crispin’s eye. “The farmhouse is east of Harlow in Essex. It was abandoned when the solicitor went to the house last month.”
“The cow found a new home, too,” Benny said.
The theatre owner smiled fondly at the bigger man. “Benny cared for a cow when he lived at the farm. She wandered to the neighbor’s after he was made to leave.”
“I see.” Crispin eyed his companion, tempted to send him back to the theatre now that he knew the location of the farmhouse.
Lord Margrave's Secret Desire (Gentlemen of Intrigue Book 4) Page 26
