Who Wants to Marry a Duke - Sabrina Jeffries Page 0,60
that pesky last scene that eluded him.
He filled his plate with toast and bacon, then took a seat opposite her. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen our guest this morning.”
“No,” Gwyn said. “Nor have I been overly concerned about it. Last I checked, Rosethorn is a fairly safe place.”
“That’s what we thought about Carymont, too.”
“But you took care of that here by posting a guard. So you have no reason to worry about her.”
He bit back a curse. He wasn’t worried. He was annoyed about not being able to see her. “Is she planning on eating any of her meals with us?”
“Does it matter? She’s not here to be sociable. You made that perfectly clear when you asked me to chaperone.” With a sigh, Gwyn set down her paper. “How did you put it? Ah, yes. ‘Don’t expect her to be tramping about the countryside or going riding or talking about architecture with you. She has a task to complete and must not be disturbed.’ Perhaps you should heed your own advice.”
“I just didn’t think she’d be quite this unsociable. And for this long, either.”
“Three or four days?” Gwyn snorted. “That isn’t so long. And I suspect you didn’t think at all. Honestly, given how you behaved at dinner with Mr. Juncker, I don’t blame her for wanting to keep to herself.”
“He was being an arse,” Thorn grumbled.
“Because he was using his celebrity to flirt with her?”
Thorn had to bite his tongue to keep from telling Gwyn that Juncker had no celebrity. But then he’d also have to tell her the whole story about his writing, and he didn’t want to risk her revealing it to Olivia.
“You’d do the same in Mr. Juncker’s place,” Gwyn added with a sly grin, “and you know it.”
“I suppose I would.”
Apparently that settled the matter in Gwyn’s head, for she returned to reading her newspaper. Sometimes he wondered if Gwyn had already guessed he was writing the Juncker plays. But surely she would tell him if she did.
Thwarted in his attempt to get information from her about Olivia, he picked up a paper Gwyn had already discarded and began to read as he ate. They sat there a long while in companionable silence.
Then Thorn’s butler came in. “The parish constable is here to see you, Your Grace. He said you left a message for him at his home?”
“I did indeed. Please show him in here.”
As the butler walked out, Gwyn narrowed her gaze on him. “Why are you speaking to the parish constable?”
“Because if Olivia determines that Grey’s father was poisoned, then our next step is to determine if our father’s accident was something more.”
“Oh, right.”
Just then Constable Upton, a wizened old man with huge ears and bushy white eyebrows, was ushered in. With hat in hand, he bowed and said, “Your Grace. You wished to see me?”
“Yes, Upton. Thank you for coming.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t do it sooner. Had business in London, y’see, and I only just got back late last night.”
“No need to apologize. Indeed, we much appreciate your attending us so soon after your return home. Please, help yourself to some breakfast.”
Upton relaxed now that he could tell he wasn’t in any trouble. “I already ate this morning, Your Grace, but I wouldn’t mind a cup of that coffee.”
“Would you prefer tea?” Gwyn asked. “We have both.”
“Coffee’s fine, my lady.”
As she poured Upton a cup of coffee, Thorn gestured to a chair. “Do have a seat, Constable.”
Upton shot a wary glance at Gwyn as he sat down across from Thorn.
“Don’t worry,” Thorn added. “My sister knows all about what I wish to discuss with you, although I suppose we should close the door. It’s probably unwise to let anyone else hear.”
After determining how the constable wanted his coffee, Gwyn doctored it accordingly and handed it to him. Meanwhile Thorn rose to shut the door, then debated how to begin.
Might as well be blunt. “We have some questions for you about the carriage accident that took our father’s life. You were constable then, too, weren’t you?”
Upton thrust his chest out. “Aye, Your Grace. I’ve served as constable for forty years.”
“When you’re not running the blacksmith shop in town. Is that correct?”
“Aye, along with my boy. Got to make a living somehow, Your Grace.”
“Of course,” Thorn said. “No one questions that.” The constabulary was unpaid, so most constables had to do it alongside their regular work. “Here’s the thing. It has come to our attention that someone may have purposely damaged our father’s carriage