Page 147 of Courting the Wrong Duke

William was already rising. “The books.”

Gabriel nodded. “Algernon’s collection.”

His brother owned shelves of Byron, many of the volumes so heavily annotated that the margins contained nearly as much of Algernon’s hand as the poet’s. If the quotation had been placed in the letter deliberately, there was every possibility it referred to something among them.

“Why that particular line?” William asked.

“That I do not know.” Gabriel began closing the books upon the table. “But if Eastmere wanted to leave a message connected to Algernon, Byron would be the obvious language.”

William frowned. “Or if someone else wanted Rosalind to make that connection.”

Gabriel paused.

The possibility settled uneasily between them.

They still did not know who had written the letter, nor whether the quotation was a warning, an accusation, or something else entirely. But they finally had somewhere to look.

“Algernon’s books are at Aldermere House.”

Gabriel reached for his coat. “Then I suggest we stop wasting time here.”

William turned toward the door before something occurred to him. He glanced back at the table.

“At some point, I intend to ask why courting Isabella apparently requires reading a fifteenth-century defense of women.”

Gabriel shrugged into his coat. “She intends to prove she can do anything a man can. I intend to be prepared when she begins explaining why.”

William stared at him. “That may be the most intelligent thing you have done since meeting her.”

“I know.”

“Which is deeply concerning.”

They were outside moments later.

As William mounted, urgency tightened through him again.

The answer might have been sitting in Algernon’s rooms all along.

William only hoped that whatever they found among those pages did not cost him the last pieces of his brother he still knew how to trust.

***

Night had nearly fallen by the time William and Gabriel returned to Aldermere House.

The last of the daylight lingered faintly beyond the windows, leaving the entrance hall in shadow despite the lamps already being lit. William scarcely slowed long enough to hand his coat to the footman.

“Candles,” he said.

The servant looked mildly startled. “My lord?”

“Two. And a lamp.”

Gabriel handed over his own coat. “Perhaps three candles. His determination tends to exceed his eyesight.”

William gave him a look.

“I am attempting to be useful.”