When a Duke Loves a Governess (Unlikely Duchesses #3) - Olivia Drake Page 0,97

And now you have been attacked!”

“It’s too soon to label today’s incident an attack. It may well have been an accident.”

“Perhaps,” Tessa interjected. “Yet I believe you should seriously consider the possibility, Carlin. After today, there does seem to be cause for concern. If you hadn’t moved, that bullet likely would have killed you.”

Guy regarded her, sitting on the ottoman, her hands folded in her lap. Despite her prim posture, her eyes held a keen worry that touched him deeply. She’d been largely silent since he had placated Marbury with that hint of a possible betrothal, and he’d feared he’d gone too far. More than that, though, it disturbed him to hear her say the shooting was no accident. Unlike his aunt, Tessa had too much common sense to engage in flights of fancy.

“I must concur,” Marbury said. “Your grandpapa had three sons who all died in their prime. A grandson, too, who was ahead of you in the succession.”

Lady Victor ticked them off on her fingers. “The eldest, Lord Fenwick, drowned in a freak accident three years ago, along with his son Charles, when their yacht capsized off the Isle of Wight. Then the second son, Lord Nigel—your papa, Carlin—contracted a deadly digestive illness. It came on him so suddenly there was naught the doctors could do to save him. And the third son, my dear husband, Lord Victor, was slain by highwaymen.”

“Don’t forget, old Carlin himself was discovered dead of a heart seizure in his bed last year,” Marbury added grimly. “He was in vigorous health, too. I was inclined to call it all misfortune, but after today, one must wonder.”

To consider the deaths laid out in a pattern greatly troubled Guy. Annabelle he discounted, for she had died of childbed fever, but the others, all his close blood relatives, had succumbed in ways that could have been random fate … or murders that had been cleverly planned to arouse no suspicion.

A chill infiltrated him. He felt witless for not having put two and two together before now. But the deaths had been spaced at the rate of one per year, not close enough to raise questions. Besides, he hadn’t been present here in England to have noticed any irregularities. He’d been sailing the world with little contact from home.

If his family were being targeted, who could have a reason to do so? Someone with a grudge, someone who’d felt wronged and wanted revenge? His grandfather had been a stern tyrant, especially in the House of Lords. But surely revenge based on a political quarrel would be aimed only at him, not at his entire family.

Frustrated, Guy turned to his secretary, who was standing discreetly by the wall, a slight frown on his brow. “You’ve worked in this house for over a decade, Banfield. What have you to say on this matter?”

The man slowly shook his head. “This has taken me quite by surprise, Your Grace. I never imagined there was anything nefarious about these unfortunate deaths. However, there is something we have all forgotten. That is the stolen diaries.”

“Yes, I heard you’d been burglarized, Carlin,” Marbury said with a sharp glance at Guy. “Has the culprit been caught?”

“No,” Guy said curtly. “I’m sure it was someone who attended my lecture and wanted the pirate’s treasure map. But go on, Banfield.”

“My point,” the secretary said, “is that I cannot think it a coincidence that the theft and the shooting occurred only a week apart. There must be a connection. I would suggest something else is going on, something unrelated to the deaths of these family members. Perhaps today was meant as a warning, Your Grace, to stop you from asking questions about who stole your notebooks.”

Guy welcomed the theory. It was certainly a more palatable explanation than imagining a killer picking off his family members one by one. “The thief must know by now that the map isn’t in the notebooks. So what purpose would it serve to kill me?”

Banfield considered for a moment. “The perpetrator may be hoping to procure the remainder of your papers upon your death. After all, what use could such things be to your heir? Mr. Edgar has no real interest in leaving England on a treasure hunt, and he would gladly sell the map to the highest bidder.”

John Symonton, Guy recalled, had already petitioned him for the papers to be donated to the Bullock Museum—and Symonton had not been pleased by Guy’s refusal. “I take your point. Then the relevant question is,