When a Duke Loves a Governess (Unlikely Duchesses #3) - Olivia Drake Page 0,48
parted and a wrinkled, bearded face peered out at me. A decidedly English face.”
The audience listened raptly as he described how the scruffy man had vanished into the shrubbery and was nowhere to be found. Over the next few days, Guy had left offerings of eggs from the hens aboard the ship, a loaf of bread, a rough linen shirt and breeches. Each morning the gifts would be gone until finally, he’d coaxed the skittish fellow out of hiding.
“It turned out, Nate had been a cabin boy when a great hurricane sank the pirate ship and drowned the rest of the crew. Ever since, he’d been living off figs, plantains, and various roots, along with fish and birds. His age must have been about seventy since he recalled seeing King George the Third’s coronation parade when he was a lad. I offered Nate passage on my ship, but having lived so long on the island, he balked at leaving. When I gave him provisions from our stores, he declared his intent to repay me. So he took a page from my sketchbook and scribbled a map that showed where the pirate captain had buried several treasure chests on another island.”
A clamor of excited voices broke out. His cousin spoke the loudest. “Thunder and turf,” Edgar exclaimed, “d’you mean you’ve a real treasure map? Why, you might’ve told your family.”
Lord Churchford slapped his knee. “You’re a sly one, Carlin. So you did find gold, after all.”
“No,” Guy corrected, “we sailed from there to Guiana, where I picked up a packet of letters at the consul in Georgetown and learned of my grandfather’s death. Naturally, I returned to England at once.”
Further questions bombarded him, but Guy held up his hand to quiet the audience. “I shall be writing a book about my travels, so everyone will have the opportunity to read all the details. That concludes my presentation. Please feel free to come and take a closer look at my paintings.”
As the guests arose amid an excited chattering and the scrape of chairs, several footmen circulated with trays of champagne. His aunt had arranged for a lavish buffet in the adjoining room, and a number of people wandered in that direction. John Symonton, however, came forward to buttonhole Guy.
“Perhaps you’ll allow me a peek at that map, Your Grace,” he said, peering owlishly through his round spectacles. “The museum may fund an expedition since the cache could include artifacts of scientific value.”
Lord Churchford appeared behind him. “Bah, ’tis likely Spanish doubloons. Gold belongs in a bank, not put on display. I’d pay you well for that map, Carlin.”
Guy was half sorry he’d ever mentioned it, though he’d done so to please Tessa. “I’d be a poor friend if I betrayed Nate’s trust in me. Who knows if he correctly remembered the location, anyway, after more than fifty years? I’m inclined to think it would be a wild goose chase.”
“What, you’d leave those treasure chests buried?” Churchford said in astonishment. “That’s as outrageous as placing gold in a museum.”
“Well,” Mr. Symonton huffed. “At least I am not driven by greed. My sole interest is in the historical nature of the contents.”
“The answer is still no. If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen.”
Leaving them squabbling, Guy made good his escape, thankful to forget about that map. As he wended his way through the crowd, people stopped to butter him up with flattery about the lecture. He accepted their accolades while covertly scanning the throng for Tessa. It wouldn’t be wise to pay her special notice, yet surely exchanging a few words with her would not be amiss.
Banfield stood by the arched doorway and directed a guest to the refreshments room. With his trim gray suit and nondescript features, the touch of silver at his temples, he might have been any one of a thousand middle-aged English gentlemen forced by circumstance to work for their bread.
The secretary bowed. “My compliments, Your Grace.”
“Thank you. Have you by chance seen Miss James?”
A slight narrowing of the eyes was the only indication that Banfield still disapproved of the governess. “I believe she went down the passage toward the rear of the house.”
Guy strode in that direction. Really, the man was as much a stickler as the old duke. His grandfather had hired the secretary more than a decade ago, and it occurred to Guy that he knew as little about Banfield’s background as he did Tessa’s. But aside from a tendency to be judgmental, Banfield had been a godsend in