When a Duchess Says I Do - Grace Burrowes Page 0,98

hadn’t Papa sent one of his legion of servants to leave a note for her at the Brightwell posting inn? When she’d lived in Germany, he’d occasionally written to her using her mother’s maiden name, though Matilda had never thought that quirk more than a family game.

Why hadn’t Papa put a notice in the London newspapers? He’d told her long ago that if she ever feared for his safety, she should watch the positions-sought advertisements. He would advertise as a porter who spoke Corsu and German, willing to work overnight hours.

Papa should have spotted such an advertisement. Matilda had placed three and received no response from her father.

Why did Papa take to spying in the first place, and would Matilda have kicked her heels at boarding school for another ten years had Papa not wanted a young daughter to burnish his image as an art dealer enjoying the cultural riches of the Continent?

“You hold your tongue,” Parker said, blotting his lips with a table napkin. “Good. I care for you sincerely, but you are in a great deal of trouble, Matilda. Your father and I put it about that you were traveling in America, and that taradiddle was growing difficult to support. When it becomes known that you simply wandered the countryside, unchaperoned and alone, your reputation will suffer.

“Between that,” he went on, “and your father’s unfortunate possession of suspicious documents—documents which you admit you purloined—I will have all I can do to placate my superiors, keep your neck out of a noose, and shield your father from the worst consequence of his folly. The sooner you marry me, the better.”

Why was Atticus so eager to marry a potential traitor?

“I am a widow of means,” Matilda said, setting her plate aside, “connected to a titled family. For me to travel without an escort is hardly objectionable. Traveling in your company, however, will raise a few eyebrows.”

And make the trail easy for Duncan to follow. That thought hurt. Duncan was not looking for her trail, nor did she want him to.

She also did not want to marry Atticus Parker, though she would if she had to.

“Has your appetite deserted you?” Atticus asked.

Half of Matilda’s dinner remained on her plate. “It has. Would you like to play a game of chess?”

He gave a mock shudder. “The most tedious game ever devised for the amusement of gouty old men. Thank you, no. I’ll escort you to your room.”

Matilda did not need an escort to travel up one flight of stairs and down a short hallway. Parker was making some sort of point—that he was a gentleman, perhaps. He held her chair, he held the door, he politely followed her up the steps, then took the wrong direction on the second floor.

“My room is the third door on the left in that direction,” Matilda said.

“I had your things moved to a more commodious chamber,” Parker said. “You are to be my wife, after all.”

That again. Matilda let him lead her to another room, this one facing the stable yard. The chamber was about the same size as her previous quarters, with the same appointments. She had no things of her own, but the brush, hand mirror, shawl, and nightgown the innkeeper’s wife had lent her were laid out on the vanity.

“I’ll send the maid along,” Parker said. “We’ll be in London by this time tomorrow.”

Matilda had doubts about that. “I am anxious to see my father. He will be very grateful that you made it possible for me to return home.”

Atticus remained in the doorway, his hand on the latch. “You’ll have a new home very soon, Matilda. Let that thought comfort you as you dream, but answer one more question for me. What did you do with this curious missive you claimed to find among your father’s belongings? Can you direct me to it now?”

He’d waited until they were alone to ask that question, but Matilda had already decided upon her answer.

“Do you think me stupid enough to carry plans that could jeopardize England’s safety when my own existence grew more precarious by the week? I burned that letter at the first opportunity.”

The relief in his eyes was genuine. “Well done, my dear. Very, very well done.”

He drew the door closed on that odd comment, and Matilda went to the window.

This was why he’d put her in a different room. The first chamber had looked out over the front of the inn, and Matilda’s window had been a few scant feet higher than