Page 9 of Never Love a Duke

“Come on, Mr. Linton.” She lifted a spook to his sealed lips.

For something to do—because for some reason he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands—Gabriel clasped his fingers behind his back. “You can’t force someone to eat.”

With a small startle, eggs slid off of her spoon and onto the floor.

“Botheration,” she muttered under her breath.

“He can hear you. Might think you’re talking about him.”

With a sickeningly sweet smile turned to the old man, she reassured him, “That wasn’t directed to you, Mr. Linton.” And she gave him a small pat on the forearm.

After picking up the eggs and resting the plate on the table, Mirabelle gave a soft sigh. He could see the defeat in her eyes before she spoke.

“He’s had such a rough go of it. First the fire, then the burglary. Yesterday’s explosion. No wonder he doesn’t want to eat.”

“Yes. It’s quite the coincidence, is it not?” Gabriel spoke equally to Mr. Linton and to Mirabelle, despite neither of them meeting his gaze.

“I can’t say I’d want to eat either.”

An unnatural laugh barked out of him.

“Are you laughing at me?” Mirabelle tilted her head and rolled back one shoulder as she pinned him with a steely look.

“Yes. As a matter of fact I am. I can’t see a meager explosion ruining your appetite. You’re not the kind to curl up and admit defeat. If something in your life exploded, you’d probably serve up an extra large breakfast to tackle the day.”

“You might not be wrong,” she conceded with a narrowing of her eyes.

And he couldn’t help puffing out his chest. Just an inch or so. “You know I’m right, Mirabelle.”

“Perhaps.”

“Perhaps nothing. A fighter doesn’t give up.” He strode toward Mr. Linton’s bed and sat down on the side of it where the old man’s head was tilted. “Which leads me to ask what exactly Mr. Linton is feeling. If it’s not the fight to push on, perhaps it’s something else.”

And then, to both his and Mirabelle’s complete astonishment, Mr. Linton spoke. His voice was raspy, but clear. “It’s guilt.”

“What’s that, Mr. Linton?” Mirabelle leaned closer.

A tear slid from his eye as he repeated a single word, “Guilt.”

The two waited upon the silence hanging in the air, not daring to speak.

“I did it. I set the fire. And then I messed with the boiler,” he spoke over a giant lump in his throat and the words came out choked. “I didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt.”

“The robbery?” Mirabelle asked.

“I saw him pacing outside and figured out what he was about to do. Told him to come into my store and I’d stay out of his way. I didn’t know y-you and your friends would be there.” His voice cracked. “No one was supposed to get hurt.” His blubbering went on. “I didn’t think the town would come together and rebuild the shop. When they did, I thought…I thought I could just keep working. You know, show the town my appreciation. But I’m old. Far too old for this. I wanted to collect on my insurance and go back to stay with my sister. I’m sorry. So sorry.”

“Oh dear—”

Gabriel’s stern voice interrupted. “We’ll see that you have a fair punishment, Mr. Linton.”

“Punishment? But he’s…old. He just wants to live his life in peace and not have to work anymore.”

“He caused harm to the people around him. Unnecessary harm. He could have just sold his shop and taken that money to live off of.”

“But no one would have bought a jewelry shop in Kisswick. No offense, Mr. Linton.”

“None taken,” the old man shook his head quickly, watching the two of them argue back and forth.