Page 24 of Every Duke Has His Thorn
“Thankfully, the repair to the fireplace is immaculate.”
Preston handed the illustrations back to the architect. “That is a relief to hear. Thank you, Sir Joseph. Is that all?”
“Yes, Your Grace. I will see you in the morning.”
Left to his own devices, he drummed the fingers of one hand on the desk top. He couldn’t go searching through the cellars himself. He would just have to be patient.
Opening a desk drawer, he pulled out his preliminary sketches of the folly. Looking at them with a critical eye, he thought they weren’t too awful.
* * * * *
The rain continued throughout the afternoon and early evening. After supper, Marina thought to inspect the hall for more loose panels, but the rain was coming down so hard she decided not to leave the dower house.
“Shall we play backgammon?” she asked her father, staring gloomily out of a drawing room window.
“Despite your aptitude for cheating, I will play with you.”
She snorted delicately. “And who might have taught me to cheat?”
Marina took a seat at a lovely rosewood fold over card table and set up the counters on a backgammon board. Her father poured himself a generous glass of port.
She declined a glass of sherry. “I must keep my wits about me.”
“Have you made any further progress on the treasure?” her father asked after taking a sip of his drink.
She told him of Marvell’s book and the armor.
“Oh yes, Andrew Marvell. An ancestor of your mother’s.”
For a moment, his face looked haggard before he smiled weakly.
“I’m sorry, Father.”
“I know, my dear.” He reached out a hand and patted hers where it rested on the table. “I’m grateful for the time your mother and I had together.”
Marina knew the first few years of the marriage had been a struggle. Her father was still making a name for himself. By the time Marina was born five years into their union, her father was making a comfortable living.
She’d heard him mention her mother’s family only once. He’d wanted to extend an olive branch. At his urging, her mother sent off a missive and it remained unanswered. One day she overheard her mother crying.
“I’ll not try again,” her mother said in a broken voice. “All my friends have cut me. My choice of husband seems to have been too much for everyone to bear.” And that had been the end of it.
Marina had decided she would not think of her mother’s family, nor ever contact them. A resentment toward the aristocracy had built up over time.
Her father was lucky with the backgammon dice, and she teased him, attempting to raise both their spirits. The rain continued to pelt against the windows.
“I don’t see this stopping,” her father commented. “It looks like tomorrow will be a day to catch up on my reading.”
* * * * *
Preston would surely go mad if the rain didn’t stop. He’d missed his daily ride and was now pacing the Long Gallery for exercise. Glancing out of a window, he was happy to see the rain had lightened to a mist.
“Thank heavens!” The day was looking up. Perhaps the suit of armor would be found.
Checking his pocket watch, he noted it was nearly one o’clock. Cook would have a tray for him in the library. With the dining room currently a shambles, he’d been taking all his meals on a tray.
As he ate a nuncheon of crusty rolls, soup, and stewed apples, he thought about his aunt’s impending arrival. If she insisted on staying at the hall, he needed to provide a space for them to eat together. Barton Hall didn’t have a breakfast room. There was a table in the drawing room that could be used for meals. He would discuss the matter with the housekeeper.
“Your Grace.” His butler stood at the open door of the library.
