But then, the duke was not so sure he got the right man, or two men at this point, as he’d just seen another man with a scratch on his face.
It seemed everybody was scratched, they all must die, and the bodies were piling up.
Miss Mayton laid down the book with a sigh. “I expect our governess is going to be very moved when she finds her duke is a murderer three times over for love of her.”
“I don’t suppose a magistrate will bother to inquire why there are now three dead bodies in the village,” Matthew said.
Darden laughed and said, “I doubt it, that would be very inconvenient to the burgeoning love affair between those two. They need all the help they can get.”
“Don’t they just,” Matthew said.
“Well,” the earl said, “it is only a story, after all. Let us hope the road to marital felicity runs smoother for our Beatrice.”
“Perhaps that road will run straight into a duchy,” Darden said. “People are saying that Conbatten takes an unusual interest.”
“Beatrice a duchess?” the earl said. “That would be pleasant, I dare say.”
Matthew noted the glances and small smiles made between all the sisters at the mention of Conbatten. And Miss Mayton, for that matter. They knew something. They knew a secret they kept between themselves. They often did so, they were rather like a cabal when they held a secret.
“Father, she would be duchess to not justanyduke,” Darden said. “We are talking about Conbatten. He is…well, he is Conbatten.”
Rather than comment on the idea that Conbatten was Conbatten, Beatrice stood and said, “I find I am very tired this evening. I think I will go up early.”
Matthew watched her kiss her father good night.
ItwasConbatten. She had become discomposed to hear the duke spoken of. Something had been said. If not an outright proposal, then a hint that one was in the offing.
Could she really consider it, though? Beatrice had never been swayed by rank or money and what else did the fellow have?
He might be tall, confident, highly placed, the owner of vast estates, dressed superbly, and worshipped by theton. But that was really all he had going for him.
Conbatten must be stopped. For Beatrice’s sake.
*
Beatrice had beenasked if she were out of sorts and she’d denied it. The truth was, she was very out of sorts. Of all the things she imagined might happen to her in London, suddenly failing to understand her own feelings had not presented itself as a possibility. There was a heaviness she could not name, and though she sought out the cause it would not make itself known.
Lynette had come when she rang the bell and she was swift enough into her nightclothes. She dismissed her maid, wrapped her shoulders in a blanket, and sat by the window overlooking the wide avenue of Portland Place.
The street was dark but for the soft glow of the oil lamps and the occasional carriage returning home. Portland Place was such a haven of peace, it not being open to the through traffic of carts, hackneys, and drovers.
At least, shehadfelt its peace. She was not certain why she did not feel it now.
A soft knock on the door stole her attention from the window. “Come,” she said, assuming Lynette had forgotten something.
Rather, it was her aunt.
“My dear,” Miss Mayton said, bustling in, “I thought to pop up and check on you. You were so very quiet this evening, I fear you have developed a headache or a stomachache.”
“Neither of those,” Beatrice said, “though I cannot even explain what ails me.”
Miss Mayton came across the room and sat in the oversize chair next to her. “It is nerves, I think. I did wonder when they might catch up to you.”
“Is that what it is?” Beatrice asked, having not considered the possibility. She had never known herself to be a nervous person.
“I imagine so,” Miss Mayton said. “Just think, all your life you’ve been comfortably going along in Somerset. Everybody and everything was known. Now, here you are in this tremendous town with strangers everywhere and people coming and going to who knows where. As if that is not enough to jangle the nerves, you’ve come to find your true love. I should wonder about you if you were not shaken by the experience.”
“Perhaps that is what it is,” Beatrice said. “Nothing seems as it was. Not even Van Doren. He seems so different than he has always been.”
