When a Duchess Says I Do - Grace Burrowes Page 0,53
if you are protecting a traitor or a murderess?”
“You could, of course, have put a period to my existence the day we met, but your murderous impulses were apparently on hiatus that morning. If you are a felon of some sort, then I’m a fool, and I deserve the consequences that follow from believing you innocent.”
Patently impossible, for Duncan Wentworth to be a fool. “I’m not a murderess.” She might well be a traitor. Matilda herself wasn’t sure.
Duncan’s mouth remained a perfect uninflected pair of lips, while his eyes danced. “Ever so relieved to hear it.”
Matilda should not be relieved. She should be packing for her often-delayed unannounced departure, burning her Book of Common Prayer—a grievous sin, surely—and leaving a note telling Lord Stephen to forward funds to her without a word to Duncan.
“I limit myself to one game of chess a day,” Matilda said, “when I have a partner who can hold my interest.” This was an admission, though Duncan likely couldn’t appreciate it as such.
“Do I have the honor of holding your interest, Matilda?”
Matilda saw no advantage in dissembling. “You do. I wish it was not so, for all concerned, but, Duncan Wentworth, you do hold my interest.” To make matters worse, she was beaming at him, like sunshine determined to melt away the final snow from early spring.
“Then I’ll look forward to our next match.” He rose and offered his hand, and Matilda let him assist her to her feet.
* * *
A week of careful study, bad roads, and awful tavern fare had not improved Parker’s mood. Dukes were few and far between, a mere two and a half dozen in number give or take, but every damned one of them apparently owned a country estate to the west of London.
Some of these properties were hunting boxes, others minor holdings for warehousing dowagers or younger sons. Still others were lovely estates let out to climbing cits or ambitious horse trainers. To the extent Parker could inquire, he’d not found anybody of Matilda’s description recently hired at any of them.
“The whole business wants more effort,” Parker grumbled into his ale.
“Shall I fetch another pint, sir?” a serving maid asked. The Waddling Goose was a proper establishment, so her smile was merely polite. She was pretty, though, not one of the gap-toothed dumplings on offer in the humbler establishments.
“No more ale, thank you. When will my meal be served?”
“The private dining room is spoken for, sir. If you are willing to eat here in the common, the food is ready now.”
“Are there many ducal properties hereabouts?” The locals knew more than Debrett’s and would chatter at length on the least provocation.
She set her pitcher on the table. “Several, sir. There’s His Grace of Grafton’s stud farm, His Grace of Devonshire has a hunting box, and His Grace of Windham owns a significant parcel—”
Parker was coming to detest the words His Grace. “Have any of those dukes died in recent years?”
She looked at him the same way the old tollkeeper had, the same way many people had in the past week—as if Parker had left his wits back in London.
“I’m a military man,” he said. “I’ve been gone from England for years. I haven’t kept up with the doings of dukes.”
“His Grace of Devonshire went to his reward the same year the Regent took the throne. So did the late Duke of Grafton. As far as I know, the Duke of Windham is in great good health, may God bless and keep him.”
Oh, right. God bless and keep a man who likely owned five hundred times what he and his family needed to survive an English winter, while Parker, who’d risked his life repeatedly for the likes of their various graces, drank flat ale and grew saddle sore.
“Do any ducal holdings lie to the west of here?”
A trio of swells arrived at the front desk, bringing in a draft of cold air and the smell of wet wool. “Bring me a flagon of ale, wench!” one called. “I’ve always wanted to say that. Sounds jolly, don’t you think?”
“Teddy’s foxed,” a second man said.
“Miss,” Parker nearly snapped his fingers. “About the ducal holdings.”
“I wouldn’t know, sir. We’re a market town, and I was born and raised here. I’ve never traveled to the west or even into London. You might ask the young gentlemen. Excuse me.” She was off across the common, her smile shifting from polite to friendly.
Parker’s coachman sidled past the newcomers, who were making loud noises about needing the