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He scowled. “Why on earth would I keep it?”
“It is of a love story, Roman—quite an epic one by the sounds of it. Who would take such risks if it were not for a great love? Your ancestor paid greatly for their love. Surely you would wish to keep it as a memorial to them?”
“A memorial to them?” He snorted. “My family had its titles and lands stripped from them because of their foolishness. Do you know what my great-great-grandfather had to go through to gain back our lands and name?”
“Lots of groveling I should imagine,” she muttered.
He didn’t want to agree but it had indeed taken generations of groveling and being at the King’s behest. Were it not for his great-great grandfather’s political actions in service of the crown during the Restoration, Roman doubted he would be a marquis let alone own the land which had been in his family’s name since the twelfth century.
A Musgrave could never understand such a thing. Roman did not much care whether they were old or new wealth or even dirt poor, but he needed someone who could understand the importance of a family’s history.
“The letter will be destroyed as soon as you find it.”
She ignored him.
“Clem,” he said, and she swung a surprised look his way at the use of her name. “As soon as you find it, you are to give it to me.”
She puffed out her cheeks. “You are assuming Iwillfind it, of course.”
He smirked. “I know you well enough now, Musgrave. I’m certain you’ll find it eventually.”
Lady Portchester laughed at something Duke said, so loud it drew not only his attention but the notice of most of the diners. He heard a man mutter about the quality of people in the room and Roman curled a hand around his spoon. Clementine glanced at his blanched knuckles.
He should speak up. He wanted to. But his father’s voice echoed in the back of his mind. If he rose and spoke against the man in defense of the Musgraves of all people, he’d be drawing unwanted attention to the family name. His, that was.
Easing the grip on the spoon, Roman took a deep inhale, and Clementine looked away. Perhaps he’d disappointed her. Most likely he had—he wasn’t certain as he did not dare look at her—but he was disappointed in himself that was to be damned sure.
Chapter Nineteen
The nudge of something soft at her back made Clem give a startled squeak. From her crouched position, balancing precariously on the soles of her feet, she wavered then dropped firmly onto her rear. She sighed and shook her head at the white dog.
“Are you trying to sabotage me, Snowy?”
The dog eyeballed her before doing a loop around her and nudging her hand. She sighed and moved her hand away. “I cannot pet you, you know this. It only leads to trouble.”
She wasn’t certain if she was reminding the dog or herself. The temptation to scoop the dog close and bury her nose in her fur burned fiercely. The affection of a soft, warm dog would surely assuage some of the frustration making the muscles around her neck tight.
“Musgraves must not touch dogs,” she told Snowy. “I am sorry, but it’s the way it is.”
She shoved herself up from the library floor and eyed the towering bookcase. Short of searching every book all over again, she did not know what to do. She’d already examined the house for further hidden walls and pestered the few servants for any other possible hiding places in Mary’s house. Furniture had been pulled away from walls and drawers rummaged through. The mountains of paperwork in Mary’s late-husband’s study had been poured over ages ago. Clem supposed that was her next stop.
“Will you take Snowy for a walk, dear?” Mary stood in the doorway, a hand curled around her cane. “She’s desperate to stretch her legs and I do not think it would do you any harm either. You missed luncheon.”
Clem pressed a hand to her stomach out of habit but could not find any desire for food. It was either her determination to find the letter or something else stealing her appetite.
Roman hadn’t visited all week.
Which was good, was it not? Even if the empty ache in her chest suggested otherwise. At dinner at the Pump Room, she had feared he would confront the rude man who continued to mutter things about her mother and family; however, he’d remained rigid and ignored it all.
It was what she wanted. If they wanted more attention, they’d simply return to London. Yet some part of her had sunk into disappointment. How wonderful it would be for a powerful, respected man to do what no one had been brave enough to do.
He’d told her in no uncertain terms, even if silently, that there was no hope for them.
That was good, too. After all, why would she hope for anything from a man so unsuited to her who was also apparently soon to be engaged to the lovely, sweet Miss Fisher?
“I forgot about food.” Clem admitted and pressed a hand to the top of her spine in an attempt to loosen the knots there. “But I’ve searched the whole library now.”
“And you found nothing, I presume?”
