Who Wants to Marry a Duke - Sabrina Jeffries Page 0,69
eyes widened. “But . . . but I thought your father died in a carriage accident.”
“He did. I spoke to the local constable this morning, however, and he said it was conceivable that the accident came about because someone damaged the carriage beforehand. Perhaps even loosened the screws on the coachman’s perch, since it was found at a distance from the carriage.”
“Dear heaven. How awful!”
“This is all conjecture, you realize. So we may have trouble proving it. But I’m willing to look into it to see what I can learn.”
“What about the other deaths? Did those people die of poison, too?”
“Afraid not. That would make everything simple. The death of Grey’s father was actually the easiest to prove, which was why we were investigating it first. The manner of death for the others is different. But their deaths did seem suspicious—all were accidents and the like. That’s why this is important to us. Because none of us can feel safe without being sure of the reasons for the deaths of our fathers . . . and for two of Beatrice’s and Joshua’s uncles, one of them being our stepfather.”
She hugged him closer as if to protect him. “That does seem to be a lot of deaths.”
“Especially when all four were dukes. And two of them died relatively young.”
“How shocking! And your poor mother, to be widowed three times. How does she bear it?”
“For one thing, we haven’t involved her in this investigation, as I mentioned before. We don’t want to say anything to her until we’re certain they were murdered.”
“That’s wise. No point in alarming her unless you’re sure.”
“Precisely.”
“But what I meant was how does she bear the loss of three husbands? That has to have been difficult.”
“It was. It is.” He smiled. “Thankfully, she has all of us to lean on.”
Olivia shifted to lie on her back, staring up at the canopy. “Oh, but that’s not the same, and you know it. I can’t imagine being used to having a husband, and somehow having him torn from me through no fault of my own. Even once would be awful. But three times? That would be horrible.”
She had a point. And he did know Mother had suffered. It was a vote for never marrying, in his opinion. Yet Mother obviously didn’t feel that way.
“To be honest,” he said, “our mother only truly loved one of her husbands—in the grandiose sense of a romantic love for the ages, that is.”
Olivia turned to stare at him. “Your father, you mean. The one Mama said had a mistress.”
“Yes. Though I’m not entirely sure I believe your stepmother on that score anymore.”
“But you used to, apparently. Is that why you don’t put any stock in love and happiness in marriage?” she whispered. “Because of what Mama said about your parents?”
Damn. They’d wandered into a subject he’d rather not discuss just now. He knew he must make an offer for Olivia’s hand, but he wasn’t ready to do so.
You’re afraid she’ll turn you down again, his conscience whispered.
That wasn’t true. He wasn’t afraid of anything.
Yet here he was, talking around the fact that she deserved better. He shook off that thought.
“Well?” she persisted. “Is that why you don’t believe in love and happiness? Because of what Mama told you?”
He sighed. “Partly. But partly because I’ve seen firsthand how unhappy a marriage can be.” He turned the tables on her. “And so have you. You said yourself that your stepmother might as well be a widow given how often your father leaves her alone.”
“Yes, but I don’t think their marriage is unhappy. They don’t fight. They just . . . don’t do much of anything together. Neither did Papa and my mother, to the extent that I can recall. He’s just . . . not the marrying sort. I suspect he has a mistress. Or a string of them. Although honestly, I don’t know for certain. He would never be so foolish as to flaunt them.” She met his gaze steadily. “So whose unhappy marriage did you witness ‘firsthand’? Your mother’s to your stepfather?”
“Not them. Like your parents, they weren’t unhappy exactly. But neither were they in love. They made a practical match, and it served them well. I think they had true affection for each other . . . just not the sort of romantic love the poets praise.” He smoothed a lock of her hair over her shoulder. “In fact, I would hazard a guess they were happy precisely because love did not enter