A Duke by Any Other Name by Grace Burrowes Page 0,88

sickroom overnight. Thatcher has become a problem, but he cannot be pensioned, and I am only one person.”

Something has to change. Nathaniel stopped short of that difficult truth because Robbie was gazing intently across the garden. He took another sip of his tea, which put to rout the notion that he was having a staring spell.

“I would set up a household on the Continent,” he said, “but how does one hire trustworthy staff in a foreign country?”

That was as close as Robbie would come to admitting a dependence on Nathaniel, and yet, that dependence shaped both of their lives.

“I want to question Soames, and I’d like you to be present,” Nathaniel said.

“Because of the notes.”

“Somebody knows how we’re going on here, and they will not keep the information to themselves. I expect a blackmail demand any day.” Another reason that Althea had to return to her own life, where her greatest challenge was dodging Phoebe Philpot’s sniping.

“We’re rich,” Robbie said, setting his mug on the walkway. “We can spare a few pounds to keep somebody’s mouth shut.”

The words sounded arrogant and selfish, but Nathaniel could hear the worry beneath them. “We aren’t rich enough to endure a lifetime of such demands, particularly when we don’t know from whom they could be coming. Can you make a list of any staff you recall from your time in Soames’s care?”

Robbie appeared to consider a bed of irises not yet in bloom. “I remember them all. In the entirety of my time away, I had no more than a dozen staff assigned to me, but what’s to say the housekeeper or groundskeeper at the madhouse didn’t get to gossiping with my attendants? Mrs. Soames had the actual running of the place and she had family in the area.”

“What of the other patients?” Nathaniel asked. “Did any of them know your situation?”

“I doubt it. I didn’t know the particulars of my own situation, after all.” Robbie crossed his legs, the posture elegant and relaxed. “If they did become aware of matters here at the Hall, they would never betray me, nor I them.

“They aren’t imprisoned anymore, you know,” he went on more softly. “I correspond with several of them each year at Yuletide, though they know me only as Mr. Robbie Roth, which was how Soames referred to me when last names were unavoidable. I am most familiar with Alexander Morton, and he keeps me informed regarding the rest. He was the other epileptic, and Soames studied the degree to which our seizures coincided.”

“Did they?”

“Only rarely, and never exactly. I fail to see how anybody at the asylum other than Soames or his wife could know I was pronounced dead. Somebody apparently signed a death certificate, true, but nothing in my routine changed. Nobody became aware I had been declared dead.”

“You’re suggesting the malefactor is at or near the Hall. Somebody knew exactly why His Grace was sending money to Soames and knew the money did not stop with your tragic demise. They knew His Grace was too tight-fisted to make ongoing charitable donations, and they don’t care how revealing the truth affects either us or the staff.”

Strong drink early in the day was never well advised, but Nathaniel was tempted. Sorely tempted.

“How well do you trust Sorenson?” Robbie asked.

“A fair question.” With no reliable answer. “If he’s intent on betraying us, why now? You had last rites more than three years ago.” After a particularly bad seizure, which had rendered Robbie insensate for hours. The housekeeper had sent for the vicar because Nathaniel had been on a rare journey into York with Treegum.

He and Treegum hadn’t both been away from the Hall at the same time since.

“Perhaps the vicar has marital aspirations,” Robbie said. “A spot of the ready would improve his options.”

“He’s quite comfortably well-off.” Which should have been a relief, but then, the vicar was also quite single and a perfectly charming man, damn the luck.

Robbie smacked Nathaniel on the arm. “Vicars don’t offer for the sisters of dukes.”

“Vicars are considered gentlemen, and our vicar has well-placed connections in Denmark.” Very well placed. “What shall we do about questioning Soames?”

“He was in failing health, last I heard, and his missus has already gone to her reward—or her punishment. The last patient left the estate years ago.”

Robbie was withholding details, but that he had kept an eye on his former jailer should not have surprised Nathaniel.

“How do you know this?”

“The old duke was forever prying and spying, Nathaniel.” Robbie took up his