When a Duchess Says I Do - Grace Burrowes Page 0,93
dining room.
A maid bustled in, setting down plates laden with beefsteak and mashed potatoes, boiled turnips, and bread. A gentleman’s pint and lady’s pint came next, though Parker waved the lady’s pint away and ordered a tea tray instead.
Matilda was to be the wife of a colonel—a general if all went well—in His Majesty’s armed forces. She was owed hot tea and the inn’s good china, as was Parker. When she joined him at the table, the remote quality that had enveloped her in the coach remained, though she took the chair he held for her.
“We have privacy, my dear,” Parker said. “You will answer a few questions while we eat.”
Matilda bowed her head, her hands folded in her lap. She moved her lips silently, clearly offering a grace for the meal.
Fair enough. She’d likely not had regular sustenance, and gratitude was fitting in her circumstances.
“I will tell you whatever you wish to know,” she said, spreading the table napkin on her lap, “but there isn’t much to tell. Might I have the butter?”
Parker passed the butter. “Why did you run?”
She dipped her knife into the butter and put a generous portion on her bread. “Papa is in grave danger, Atticus. I have thought and thought about a document I came upon in his satchel, and I am convinced that somebody on his staff is guilty of serious wrongdoing. Have you ever noticed his servants?”
This was interesting. “One generally doesn’t, if the staff is well trained.”
“One generally does, if the staff is underfoot at all hours of the day and night, traveling with one everywhere. I didn’t see the difference until I went to live with my husband. At the castle, the servants were nearly invisible. In Papa’s house, they hover. I suspect Papa is all but a prisoner, and he hasn’t dared speak up about his circumstances because he’s been desperate to keep me safe.”
What flight was this? Parker cut into his steak—slightly overdone, not tragically so—and prepared to patiently attend to a lot of nonsense. Thomas Wakefield was not held hostage by his servants, though, upon reflection, they were a motley bunch.
“Please do elaborate, my dear. Your father has ever struck me as a man competent to look after his own self-interest, but women notice things men overlook. I am eager to hear any and all theories you care to put forth.”
While you avoid explaining to me why you ran from our engagement.
Matilda set down her fork and knife and chewed her meat slowly. Playing chess with her was exactly like this. Bloody slow and without visible evidence of a strategy. When she decided to focus on the game, her sheer unpredictability could result in victory. In the usual course, she moved pieces at random, experimenting her way to defeat nearly as often as she stumbled to victory.
She leaned closer. “Did you know that Papa’s porter is a Corsican? I cannot credit that Carlu would involve himself in dangerous schemes when he has honorable work and a good roof over his head, but Atticus, I saw information I should never have seen. The handwriting was Carlu’s—he uses a distinctive script—and the only possible explanation is that Papa has become the unwitting victim of desperate villains. He is in very great danger, and I still don’t know what to do.”
She cut off another bite of meat, but put her fork and knife down without tasting the food. “I am afraid, Atticus. I am afraid that if you are not very careful, much harm will result to people I care about dearly. You must tread cautiously or that harm could befall you too.”
How very intriguing. Parker had not known the dark-eyed fellow minding Wakefield’s door was a Corsican. An accomplice, doubtless, a fellow sneak thief of state secrets and private scandals.
“What of the rest of the staff?” Parker asked. “Have you suspicions regarding them?”
She stared at her plate, and he had the odd thought that she was trying not to cry. Matilda wasn’t the crying type, thank heavens, but at the sight of her, pale, gaunt, struggling so to find words…Parker’s gentlemanly upbringing did not allow him to ignore her upset.
“Take your time,” he said. “Unburden yourself of all your fears and nightmares, and I will see that everything is resolved as quietly as possible.”
“I can make you a list of his staff,” she said. “Papa’s servants are notably un-British. Papa would never betray his king and country, but even a well-meaning man can be taken advantage of by ruthless