When a Duchess Says I Do - Grace Burrowes Page 0,83
analytical thought difficult. He tossed Stephen his coat and picked up the scythe.
“We know that one Colonel Lord Atticus Parker might consider himself her suitor, that Thomas Wakefield bides in London looking like a harmless art dealer, that Matilda is terrified. If her father was carrying secrets for foreign powers or stealing military plans to pass along to Britain’s foes, then her fear is justified.”
Stephen poked at the melting snow with his cane, making a pattern of holes in a perfect semi-circle.
“We have precious few facts, Duncan.”
Duncan took a swipe at the overgrown hedge. “We know Parker came upon Matilda translating a message that dealt with England invading France through the Low Countries.”
“Why invade France?” Stephen asked, resting his cane across his knees. “England is in a poor position to resume hostilities. The bulk of our seasoned troops are cashiered out or serving in far-flung locations, and the national exchequer is sorely depleted. Then too, the French pose no threat to anybody.”
Stephen was right, of course. Napoleon’s frolics had left France bankrupt, all but devoid of healthy men below the age of fifty, and plundered by its own army. The next crop of cannon fodder had yet to reach its majority, and, more pertinently, France had no functioning cannon left to speak of.
“In my essays,” Duncan said, swinging his scythe, “I mention the sad state of the French countryside, the devastation, the legacy of ruin left by the emperor.” Not because an Englishman was tempted to gloat, but because until the very end of the war, Napoleon’s fighting hadn’t taken place on French soil.
France had been looted by her own leadership and would be decades recovering.
“You mention the devastation,” Stephen said, pushing to his feet, “in the essays you’ve done nothing to see published. Matilda says you’re a literary genius.” He took up a rake, and in a halting, careful fashion, swept up the trimmings Duncan had cut from the hedge.
“When Matilda is under threat of death at the hands of the Crown, my scribblings are of no moment.” Be careful, Duncan wanted to add, because Stephen was none too steady on his legs, and the most difficult tasks for him were those that challenged his balance.
“I am puzzled as to why the Crown hasn’t found her,” Stephen said. “Every village has a militia, every turnpike a platoon of tollkeepers. A handbill posted in the commons of the coaching inns, a reward, a few dedicated runners…For as long as she’s been in hiding, for as close as she is to London, somebody should have picked up her trail. The English delight in hanging traitors, no matter their rank or gender.”
Stephen was being cautious, raking gently while he plucked Duncan’s last nerve. “You will please not remind Matilda of that last fact.” Though Stephen’s observation was also bothersome: a lone young woman at large with plans in her keeping that could cause international embarrassment, put troops at risk, alter the course of history…
Why no hue and cry? Why no newspaper articles or broadsheets? Why no sketches of Matilda littering every drovers’ inn in the realm?
Duncan made another pass at the hedge, pruning a few inches at a time when he wanted to hack the plants down to the roots.
“I am puzzled by other aspects of her situation,” he said. “Parker was a deadly dull suitor with a predictable and uninspired rotation of gestures that passed for his version of courting. He’s a military man accustomed to strict schedules and protocols. Why did he arrive more than thirty minutes early to that one appointment with Matilda?”
“Because he was in love with her?” Stephen suggested. “I nearly am.”
I am, most assuredly. “When the condition troubles you in earnest, you will please keep the affliction to yourself, for the sake of your own pride and my dignity.”
The rake slipped and Stephen nearly went down. Duncan ignored the stumble as he’d ignored a thousand others.
“I’m in love with her mind,” Stephen said. “This is a novel brand of infatuation for me. I rather like it. One can be besotted and enjoy spectacular chess without risking having his brains blown out. What else bothers you about her situation?”
Duncan found a rhythm, swinging the blade with enough momentum that the scythe did the work with the least effort from him.
“Matilda said her father always had too many servants. Where were those servants when she tolerated Parker’s company on Tuesday evenings?” Duncan asked.
“Matilda and Parker were a courting couple. I’m told leaving the parties alone for short periods