Page 146 of Courting the Wrong Duke

At that, some of Gabriel’s confidence finally faltered. “That may require rather more correcting.”

Despite everything, a laugh nearly escaped William. There was something so profoundly absurd about finding Gabriel buried beneath books on painting and medieval women less than a day after discovering him sprawled dramatically across the lawn that, under any other circumstances, William might have enjoyed this immensely.

Then Rosalind’s face beside the pond returned to him.

I trusted you.

The amusement vanished before it could fully take hold.

Gabriel noticed the change immediately. He set down his pen, his own expression sobering. “What happened?”

William lowered himself into the chair opposite him. “Quite a lot.”

Something in his tone made Gabriel close the book.

William told him what had happened since he sent him to bed the night before. By the time he reached the carriage, Gabriel’s earlier amusement had disappeared entirely.

“You’re certain it belongs to Algernon?”

“One of our own grooms confirmed it. The carriage Eastmere entered outside White’s belongs to my brother.”

Gabriel sat back, absorbing that. “And Algernon has never mentioned seeing him that night?”

“Not once. I spent the entire ride here trying to remember whether Eastmere ever mentioned meeting him, taking a journey, anything that might explain it. I can think of nothing.”

Gabriel rose and began pacing, his expression thoughtful.

“None of it makes sense,” William continued. “Every lead we find seems to create another question.”

Gabriel slowed. “Perhaps we have been looking at this incorrectly.”

William frowned. “How?”

“We keep saying the carriage is our only useful clue.”

“At present, it is.”

“No.” Gabriel turned toward him. “There is the letter.”

“Which is at Rosalind’s house. And considering she ended our courtship less than an hour ago, I doubt calling upon her to borrow it would be particularly well received.”

“We don’t need the letter itself. We already know what mattered about it.”

William stared at him.

“The quotation,” Gabriel said.

Understanding came swiftly. “Byron.”

Gabriel nodded.

William rose from his chair as the significance of it settled over him.

The quotation from Lord Eastmere’s letter had troubled them from the beginning.

And thus the heart will break, yet brokenly live on.

They had recognized the line as Byron’s immediately, but only now did its significance seem obvious. Edmund and Algernon had shared a particular fondness for his poetry, spending countless hours discussing it together.