Page 60 of The Icy Duke Claims a Bride

“24th of March 1795,” Hugh mused. “What happened in the spring of 1795? More than twenty years ago. I wasn’t even ten…”

“Until that point, Edwin would have been the sole executor and would have been left in charge of everything, including you. Were there any major changes in the family? Financial issues? Arguments? Did someone die, perhaps?”

“Not that I can recall,” Hugh said, his brow creasing in concentration. “My grandfather died years before that, and I don’t suppose anyone would have told me about arguments or financial issues…”

Then, suddenly his eyes widened. “It’s when Uncle Edwin got married!”

“Are you sure?”

“Completely sure. I had to be a page boy at their wedding, and I hated the stupid little uniform I had to wear. Rose managed to coax me into it by telling me how much she secretly hated her bridesmaid’s dress, too. That was definitely the spring of 1795.”

Catherine took a deep breath, her thoughts racing now. “So, your uncle marries, and presumably he and everyone else anticipate that he will have children. Once he has a family of his own to take care of, your father stops trusting him for some reason.”

“Perhaps he noticed Uncle Edwin’s ambitions or priorities change. I suppose it’s only natural when a man marries. There need not be anything sinister to this,” Hugh reflected. “My father might only have been realistic in thinking that Edwin would always put the interests of his own children first.”

“Perhaps,” Catherine muttered, her instinct telling her that they had not yet gotten to the bottom of this particular mystery.

“Do you need anything, Your Graces? Mrs. Kaye will be serving luncheon at one o’clock unless you have other instructions.” Elsie peered curiously at the piles of papers around the library as the clock struck eleven.

“No, Elsie. All is well, and Mrs. Kaye should proceed as usual,” Catherine replied, slightly irked by the intrusion. “We are busy clearing out some old papers, at the moment. It’s long overdue.”

“You can go, Elsie. Thank you,” Hugh added when the maid continued to hover in the doorway.

“I might speak to Mrs. Kaye,” Catherine commented quietly once the door closed again. “If you don’t think it unreasonable. Wedidn’t ring for anyone, and as I understand it, only Perkins or Mrs. Kaye would normally dare disturb you in the library. Is there to be less respect for privacy, now that I am here?”

“Do as you see fit,” Hugh said. “It is your household to run, my Duchess. That particular maid seems merely young and over-keen sometimes. Mrs. Kaye may want to give her extra duties if she is so keen to do more.”

Catherine kissed her husband lightly and then more thoroughly, noting that he had not put his mask on that morning and seemed perfectly relaxed. She offered no resistance when Hugh pulled her onto his lap.

“Are we going to continue looking for references to William Fitzroy and others in these papers, or am I going to ravish you on the sheepskin rug?” he asked playfully.

“Unless we lock the door, it will have to be the former,” Catherine answered, “given the boldness of the maids in this household. Still, perhaps they only want to see how good-looking their master really is without his mask…”

Hugh closed his eyes in pleasure as she stroked his face. “I’m going to lock that door,” he said decidedly a moment later. “After ten years, the ghost of William Fitzroy can wait a little longer.”

By the end of the day, Catherine and Hugh had come to several broad conclusions after painstakingly comparing historical records from agents with those from his father’s files and Mr. Bennett’s carefully dated diaries of meetings, transactions, and decisions, as well as unscheduled callers at his firm’s offices.

There was no complete agreement between the sources, which was perhaps only to be expected in matters of detail. Still, it was curious to Catherine that the inconsistencies so often involved Edwin Vaughan.

On dates when Reginald Bennett had noted Edwin holding meetings at the offices of Bennett, Haworth & Sons, Jonathan’s papers also made it clear that Edwin had been here at Redbridge with him, or even once apparently away on the Continent, consulting producers on wine for Redbridge Halls’ cellars. A man could not be in two places at once… although he could lie about his whereabouts.

Catherine and Hugh had also coupled three times on rugs, desks and walls, crumpling papers, knocking books to the floor, and trying with uncertain success to keep the sounds of their passion within the library walls.

“No one will believe we’re really sifting through old paperwork in here.” Hugh laughed after the third round, setting Catherine back on her feet and kissing her. “They’ll think this is just an excuse for an extended honeymoon because I can’t keep my hands off you.”

“Good. The less anyone knows about what we’re really doing, the better,” Catherine said, pressing herself against him and breathing in the scent of his hot damp skin through his rumpled shirt.

She asked herself again how a man’s body could give her such pleasure and contentment, but now there was only wonder in the question rather than anger or self-reproach.

“What are you thinking?” Hugh asked suddenly, his fingers gently tilting her face up to his.

“I’m thinking how lucky I am,” Catherine told him, looking into his deep blue eyes.

“Does that mean you trust me now, Duchess?” he asked with a broad smile.

She nodded.

Hugh guffawed as he took her hand and led her back to the abandoned desks to resume their work. “Trust is the bedrock of our firm… I’m sorry, Catherine. It’s that parrot in my head again.”

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