Page 32 of Every Duke Has His Thorn
“Why do you ask?”
She briefly explained the poem that had been found, and their search for more clues. “The last clue we found is a pink ribbon.”
“How extraordinary!” The lady shook her head. “My brother and I were told the treasure was just a myth. Let us proceed to the hall. The portrait is hanging in the long gallery on the second floor.”
Lady Barton walked away down the path, evidently assured Marina would follow her.
“My nephew believes in the treasure?” the lady asked as they walked along the track back to the dower house.
“I don’t think so.” She paused. “Like me, I think he’s merely curious about where the clues could lead.”
From the dower house, they strolled to the hall.
Neither lady wore outer clothing, removing their bonnets upon entering the entrance hall.
When they reached the long gallery upstairs, Lady Barton waved a hand at the portrait over the single fireplace in the room. “The portrait has pride of place in the family’s collection.”
The curtains were open, letting in ample light. The portrait showed a young woman seated on an iron bench in front of the Greek folly, a long pink ribbon wound through her flowing hair. The painting also included a view of the pond and surrounding trees.
* * * * *
“Have you seen Lady Barton?” Preston asked Winston as he passed the man in the central ground floor corridor.
“I believe she is in the long gallery with Miss Davies.”
Although surprised by the information, Preston merely nodded and turned to the staircase. He found both women at the other end of the gallery, looking at a portrait over the fireplace.
“Preston! How fortuitous!” His aunt turned to him and smiled. “We have found your pink ribbon.”
He walked to stand near his aunt and looked up at the painting in question. Why hadn’t he thought of the famous portrait? A little voice he chose to ignore suggested that a lovely young lady had been too much in his thoughts.
“I surmise Miss Davies has filled you in on the search for the treasure?” He darted a look at Miss Davies.
“She has.”
“And what is your opinion?” he asked his aunt.
“Your father and I were told the treasure was an old wives’ tale. A legend.”
They all stared up at the portrait for several moments.
“When was this portrait painted?” Miss Davies asked.
“In 1748,” his aunt replied. “The poem you discovered can’t be older than that.”
That would explain the modern language in the stanzas.
Miss Davies then asked, “Would you like to see a copy of the poem, my lady?”
“I would!” His aunt reached out and took his arm. “After we repair to the drawing room for refreshment.”
He led his aunt from the gallery and down the staircase to the ground floor, Miss Davies behind them. As they entered the entrance hall, his aunt informed a footman a tea tray was required in the drawing room.
His aunt settled on one of the plush sophas and motioned for Miss Davies to join her. He took up a place on the other sopha.
Miss Davies pulled her copy of the poem from a pocket of her walking dress and handed it to his aunt.
The lady unfolded the paper and scanned the prose.
