Who Wants to Marry a Duke

by Sabrina Jeffries

  “That’s what we thought about Carymont, too.”

  “But you took care of that here by posting a guard. So you have no reason to worry about her.”

  He bit back a curse. He wasn’t worried. He was annoyed about not being able to see her. “Is she planning on eating any of her meals with us?”

  “Does it matter? She’s not here to be sociable. You made that perfectly clear when you asked me to chaperone.” With a sigh, Gwyn set down her paper. “How did you put it? Ah, yes. ‘Don’t expect her to be tramping about the countryside or going riding or talking about architecture with you. She has a task to complete and must not be disturbed.’ Perhaps you should heed your own advice.”

  “I just didn’t think she’d be quite this unsociable. And for this long, either.”

  “Three or four days?” Gwyn snorted. “That isn’t so long. And I suspect you didn’t think at all. Honestly, given how you behaved at dinner with Mr. Juncker, I don’t blame her for wanting to keep to herself.”

  “He was being an arse,” Thorn grumbled.

  “Because he was using his celebrity to flirt with her?”

  Thorn had to bite his tongue to keep from telling Gwyn that Juncker had no celebrity. But then he’d also have to tell her the whole story about his writing, and he didn’t want to risk her revealing it to Olivia.

  “You’d do the same in Mr. Juncker’s place,” Gwyn added with a sly grin, “and you know it.”

  “I suppose I would.”

  Apparently that settled the matter in Gwyn’s head, for she returned to reading her newspaper. Sometimes he wondered if Gwyn had already guessed he was writing the Juncker plays. But surely she would tell him if she did.

  Thwarted in his attempt to get information from her about Olivia, he picked up a paper Gwyn had already discarded and began to read as he ate. They sat there a long while in companionable silence.

  Then Thorn’s butler came in. “The parish constable is here to see you, Your Grace. He said you left a message for him at his home?”

  “I did indeed. Please show him in here.”

  As the butler walked out, Gwyn narrowed her gaze on him. “Why are you speaking to the parish constable?”

  “Because if Olivia determines that Grey’s father was poisoned, then our next step is to determine if our father’s accident was something more.”

  “Oh, right.”

  Just then Constable Upton, a wizened old man with huge ears and bushy white eyebrows, was ushered in. With hat in hand, he bowed and said, “Your Grace. You wished to see me?”

  “Yes, Upton. Thank you for coming.”

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t do it sooner. Had business in London, y’see, and I only just got back late last night.”

  “No need to apologize. Indeed, we much appreciate your attending us so soon after your return home. Please, help yourself to some breakfast.”

  Upton relaxed now that he could tell he wasn’t in any trouble. “I already ate this morning, Your Grace, but I wouldn’t mind a cup of that coffee.”

  “Would you prefer tea?” Gwyn asked. “We have both.”

  “Coffee’s fine, my lady.”

  As she poured Upton a cup of coffee, Thorn gestured to a chair. “Do have a seat, Constable.”

  Upton shot a wary glance at Gwyn as he sat down across from Thorn.

  “Don’t worry,” Thorn added. “My sister knows all about what I wish to discuss with you, although I suppose we should close the door. It’s probably unwise to let anyone else hear.”

  After determining how the constable wanted his coffee, Gwyn doctored it accordingly and handed it to him. Meanwhile Thorn rose to shut the door, then debated how to begin.

  Might as well be blunt. “We have some questions for you about the carriage accident that took our father’s life. You were constable then, too, weren’t you?”

  Upton thrust his chest out. “Aye, Your Grace. I’ve served as constable for forty years.”

  “When you’re not running the blacksmith shop in town. Is that correct?”

  “Aye, along with my boy. Got to make a living somehow, Your Grace.”

  “Of course,” Thorn said. “No one questions that.” The constabulary was unpaid, so most constables had to do it alongside their regular work. “Here’s the thing. It has come to our attention that someone may have purposely damaged our father’s carriage in order to cause the accident that killed him.”

  The constable frowned. “I don’t know nothing about that, Your Grace.”

  Gwyn cleared her throat. “You understand, sir, that no one is accusing you. We are simply trying to get at the truth. After all, it wasn’t just our father who was killed. Two footmen died in the accident as well, and the coachman was gravely injured. It was quite a tragedy.”

  “Exactly,” Thorn said hastily, grateful to have Gwyn there since she had a way of putting people at their ease. He wasn’t quite as good at that. “And you’re the only person who might be able to tell us anything. The estate manager who ran Rosethorn while Gwyn and I were abroad with our mother and stepfather died a few years ago, so we can’t ask him. But I thought you might have examined Father’s carriage after the accident. That you might remember how it looked.”

  “Anything you can tell us would be appreciated,” Gwyn added, casting the man a kindly smile.

  The constable drank some coffee, then set the cup down. “The carriage ended up as kindling on account of it being so mangled in the accident that it couldn’t be repaired. But the coachman’s perch was found a ways behind the carriage, and we did think at the time as perhaps it came off first, spooking the horses into bolting and causing the accident.”

  A chill skittered down Thorn’s spine. “So the screws holding the perch on might have been loosened?” he asked. When Gwyn’s husband had determined a few months ago that someone had tried to damage Thorn’s own carriage, that was exactly how the person had done it.

  “I suppose it’s possible. Whatever was done, the carriage rolled not too far down the road and broke open, crushing His Grace beneath it and dashing the footmen against a boulder.” He shook his head. “Forgive me, Duke, but I hope you’re wrong about the cause of it. Your father was a good man and an excellent landlord. His tenants loved him. I can’t think of nobody who’d have wished him dead.”

  “Thank you for saying so, Constable,” Gwyn said. “Since neither of us were even born at the time of his death, we must rely on good people like you to tell us about him. Mother doesn’t like to talk about him. They were so very happy that his death nearly broke her heart, or so she has always said.”

  Thorn held his tongue. Perhaps it was time he pressed Mother for the truth. After he pressed the constable, that is. “I do have one question regarding what happened that day. Someone who knew my parents said that Father was in a hurry to get to London, and that his urging the coachman to a reckless speed was why the accident happened. Do you know if that could have been the case?”

  He felt Gwyn’s gaze on him. He might end up having to tell her what information Lady Norley had blackmailed him with, but perhaps that was just as well. As Shakespeare once wrote, “truth will out.” And he was tired of keeping his late father’s secrets.

  “Begging your pardon, Your Grace,” the constable said, “but that don’t sound right. His Grace wasn’t the reckless sort of young man. And knowing he was to be a father very soon would have kept him from recklessness anyway.”

  Thorn forced a smile. “I’m sure you’re right.” He toyed with the handle of his empty coffee cup. “One more question before you go. Why did my father head off to London that day? Mother said he had urgent business, but she didn’t seem to know what it was.” Or she hadn’t wanted to say, which was more likely. “And as you pointed out, he was expecting to be a father any day. So why rush off and leave our mother with only servants to attend her?”

  The constable was already shaking his head. “He didn’t leave the duchess by herself. There was a house full of people—his family
, her family, some of her friends who wanted to be here for the birth.... She wasn’t alone, in any case.”

  Thorn and Gwyn exchanged glances. Their mother had never said anything about houseguests. Then again, she didn’t like to talk about that day at all.

  “You don’t happen to know who exactly was here, do you?” Thorn asked.

  “No, Duke, I don’t. I’m sorry.” He pushed his cup aside. “But as for why your father left, the gossip in town was he hurried off to London to fetch some famous accoucheur to deliver the babe. It was looking like you were coming early, and everyone was worried about that. Of course, once you proved to be twins, that explained the early birth. And our local midwife did just fine in delivering you both.”

  Because Mother hadn’t had a choice. By the time she’d gone into labor, Father had already died trying to bring back that “famous accoucheur.” Thorn preferred that explanation of Father’s sudden London trip to the one Lady Norley had offered. Perhaps she’d been wrong. Perhaps she’d even lied. It did seem odd that Father would have gone off to visit a mistress while they’d had a houseful of guests at Rosethorn.

  And why hadn’t Mother ever mentioned that, anyway? Perhaps because it hadn’t signified when compared to the awful circumstances surrounding Father’s death.

  In any case, the constable had told them more than they knew before. It was nothing concrete, but it did support the idea that Father might have had good reason for hurrying to London. And the fact that there had been so many guests around meant that in both cases—the death of Grey’s father and the death of his and Gwyn’s father—there’d been a sort of house party going on. So they should pursue that angle.

  Thorn stood. “Thank you, sir. You’ve been invaluable in giving us a place to start.” As the constable rose as well, Thorn held out his hand. “We appreciate your candor and the information you did have to offer.”

  The constable shook Thorn’s hand. “I only wish I could have been of more help, Your Grace.” He picked up his hat and headed for the door. Then he paused. “But if you’re still curious about the accident, you ought to pay a visit to your late father’s coachman.”

  “He’s alive?” Gwyn said. “We understood that he hadn’t survived his injuries.”

  “Well,” Upton said, “he didn’t entirely. His head ain’t quite right, and his legs don’t work. But he still might remember something of use to you. Your mother made sure he received the best of care and a pension, too, so he’s to be looked after for the rest of his days. Just keep in mind that he was in his forties at the time of the accident, so now he’s in his seventies. Lives over in Newbury with his daughter.”

  Another surprise. But Thorn should have known. He paid the funds for that pension, yet he’d never asked who the man was that received it. It was a sobering realization. What else did he not know about the past?

  “I best be getting on then,” the constable said. “Let me know if you wish me to bring you over to visit the coachman, Your Grace.” He nodded to Gwyn. “And thank you for the coffee, my lady. You grew up to be as gracious as your mother.”

  Gwyn smiled warmly. “You couldn’t have paid me a higher compliment, sir.”

  After he left, Gwyn took a seat at the table once more. “Well! That was interesting.”

  “To say the least.” Thorn sat down and poured himself more coffee. “Did you know about that house party? Because I didn’t.”

  “That was the first I’d heard of it, to be sure.” She tapped her chin. “We should ask Mother who was here.”

  “Absolutely. I’ll leave that to you. You’re better at not rousing her suspicions.”

  Gwyn rose to go look out the window. “I wonder if we’re making a mistake in not telling Mama what we’re investigating. She’s the one whose husbands were quite possibly murdered. Shouldn’t she at least know that? She might be able to give us information that we require.”

  “Yes, but if we’re wrong, then we’ve roused her painful memories for nothing.”

  Gwyn shook her head. “Mama isn’t as fragile as you fellows seem to think. Besides, from what I gleaned from Lady Hornsby during my debut, Mama barely tolerated Grey’s father. He married her for her fortune, which he then looted as soon as the wedding was over. She never speaks of him with any kind of affection.”

  “True, but he also gave her a son. Whom she loves dearly.”

  “My point is, her only memories of Grey’s father are bad ones, so rousing those won’t be a problem. I suspect she’s happy he died when he did.”

  “Probably.” Thorn drank more coffee. “Especially since she found our father as a result. Things were different between her and him than between her and Grey’s father, though.” For the first time in nine years, he could almost believe in that again.

  “I think they truly were in love,” Gwyn said.

  “Or they truly believed they were, anyway,” he said.

  “Are you still so cynical?” Gwyn asked. “Hasn’t Olivia changed your opinion about love in the least?”

  He snorted. “Certainly not.” And surely Olivia was too practical to believe in love.

  But Gwyn was wrong about it being time they told Mother their suspicions concerning the deaths. It was too soon. They didn’t even have enough evidence to prove the murders or who might have done them.

  Telling his half brothers, Sheridan and Heywood, on the other hand, was another matter. When Sheridan had first pointed out that the two most recent dukes of Armitage, including their stepfather, might have been murdered, Grey, and later, Thorn, had been skeptical. Now both of them were less so. And since the current Duke of Armitage was Sheridan, Thorn could no longer afford to ignore the possibility that Sheridan might be next.

  That thought rolled around in his head throughout the day. While he was riding out to speak to a tenant farmer about switching to growing barley next year. Or when he was talking to the master of the hounds about buying a few more retrievers to fill out their kennel. Or even after dinner while he relaxed in his banyan and hunted through the printed copies of his plays to see if he’d ever done a final scene like the one he was preparing to write.

  Thoughts of Sheridan and Heywood were still at the back of his mind when he strolled out into the hallway to find Olivia coming up the stairs with brisk steps and bright eyes. Her gown—a coarse one of bottle-green fustian with cap sleeves—seemed to be the one she preferred for working with chemicals. To that was added a white apron.

  For some reason, he imagined her in nothing but that apron, and his pulse leapt into double-time. He wanted to strip everything from her. He wanted to see her naked.

  Damn. “Up late again, I see.” Thorn closed the door to his study behind him. It wouldn’t do for her to wander in and see his work in progress spread out across his desk.

  “So are you. But I’m glad.” She smiled as she paused outside his study. “How is it you always guess when I’ve made an important discovery I’m just itching to tell you about?”

  “Perhaps I really can read your mind.”

  “I doubt that,” she said with a lilting laugh. “Because if you could, you’d know I have done it!” She continued up the stairs at a slow pace that invited him to follow.

  So he did. “Done what? Is this another of those remarkable developments in chemistry that I can’t even understand when you explain them?”

  “No, indeed. This is the culmination of everything we hoped for. I found arsenic exactly where I’d postulated that it might be—in his stomach, which means his food had been poisoned with a large dose. And the fact that I didn’t find any in his other organs only confirms that the poison had been fed to him.”

  “That’s impressive. Congratulations. So that means your method works just as you had expected?”

  “It does. I can write an article about it as soon as you and Grey are comfortable with that.”

  “You’re sure it can be trusted as evidence in a court of law?”

  “I am. Isn’t that amazing?”

&nbs
p; “It is,” he said as they reached the next floor. He found her excitement amusing, considering what had caused it. “You’ve proved that Grey’s father was murdered. Amazing, indeed.”

  Her face fell. “When you say it like that, it sounds awful.” Slowly, she headed toward the suite of rooms she’d been using, across from Gwyn’s bedchamber. “I shouldn’t be excited over any man’s death.”

  “I’m just teasing you. He died long ago.” He prayed his sister was asleep by now. Otherwise, their voices might impel her to come chaperone, and he was enjoying having Olivia to himself. “Forgive me, but I find it funny the way you get so delighted about the results of your experiments.”

  “Well, I’ve always been more comfortable in the laboratory. I don’t understand people very well. I try to, but sometimes their behavior just isn’t logical.”

  “I agree with you there. People are peculiar beings.”

  She nodded. “As Shakespeare said, ‘For man—’”

  “‘—is a giddy thing.’”

  “Yes! I do love that line.”

  “And I do realize your success in finding the arsenic is quite an accomplishment, not just for you, but for all of us. It means we haven’t been imagining things.”

  She paused outside her sitting room. “You mean about Grey’s father being murdered?”

  He glanced at the door to his sister’s bedchamber. “More than that. But it’s a long story, which we can discuss in the morning. I don’t want to wake Gwyn.”

  “Of course.” She lowered her voice. “Why don’t you come into my sitting room for a bit? Unless you’re too tired to talk.”

  The chance to be alone with her outweighed any weariness he might be feeling just now. “I’m fine,” he said, and opened the door for her.

  Once they’d both entered, he closed the door behind them. She didn’t seem to notice or care. But after what had happened between them the night of the explosion, he wasn’t taking any chances on their being caught, not by Gwyn and not by one of his servants. He wanted to at least kiss her, and for that he needed privacy.

  “Give me a moment.” She walked through the connecting door to her bedchamber.