Page 23 of Every Duke Has His Thorn
“The hunt for treasure is the only reason I’m spending time with His Grace. Have I been neglecting my work?”
“Not at all, my dear. I just worry for you.”
“There is no reason to worry. I doubt there is a treasure, but the hunt is very entertaining.” To change the subject, she asked, “What would you like me to do this afternoon?”
“Please sketch the fireplace frieze in the dining room. The drawing will be a nice addition to the ledger for this project. The craftsman has recently finished the repair work.”
“Yes, Father. I’ll just get my notebook.”
They parted ways. Marina strolled to the dower house, unaccountably cheerful despite the overcast sky. It looked and smelled like rain, a circumstance that would delay work on the hall's roof and, thus, the progress of the refurbishment of the house.
Surely she couldn’t be hoping for rain, although spending more time at the hall would allow her to decipher the rest of the clues in the poem. And spend more time with the duke, a little voice pointed out.
When she reentered the hall, notebook in hand, the skies opened, and rain began to come down in sheets.
Chapter Ten
Preston reminded himself he had more important things to do than look for treasure. He reminded himself again when his steward asked if he was listening to their conversation.
“Oh yes, yes.” He waved a languid hand, looking about the tack room in the stables. Perhaps he did not need to oversee every project on the estate. “Continue however you see fit. I think we’ve worked together long enough for you to anticipate my wishes.”
He exited the stable block, and the rain that had threatened came down in a torrent. Soaking wet, he ran to the west entrance of the hall. After he entered the house, a footman rushed to him with an enormous toweling cloth.
“Your Grace.”
“I’ll dry myself.”
Although he was used to being waited on hand and foot, Preston did not want to be toweled dry in a shadowy corridor by a footman. He patted himself down enough not to drip water on Mrs. Barnes’ immaculate floor and removed his muddy boots. He would change into dry clothing before seeking out the housekeeper to ask her about any armor that might be closeted away in the house.
Mrs. Barnes answered his question without asking any of her own. “There was a set of armor in the entrance hall at one time. I believe it may be in the cellars. I’ll have one of the footmen take a look.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Barnes. If the armor is found, notify me as soon as possible.”
“Do you wish it to be returned to the entrance hall?”
He shook his head. “I don’t want it moved until I’ve inspected it.”
The housekeeper nodded and commented no further, despite looking intrigued at his request.
After changing out of his wet clothing, he retired to the library and watched the rain pour down. There would be a break in the restoration work. That would mean the architect and his daughter would stay at the hall for even longer. He was pleasantly surprised their presence on the estate was not the imposition he’d imagined.
His aunt was due to arrive tomorrow. If the roads were muddy, her arrival could be delayed.
Even if he had written her about the renovations at the hall, the letter would not likely have reached her before she departed the abbey. She would occupy a minor chamber on the ground floor, or she might elect to stay at an inn in the village.
There was a knock at the library door. “Come!”
“Your Grace.” Sir Joseph stood just inside the now open door. “The roof has been covered. Work is still ongoing in the dining room, but I have sent the roofing crew home. I personally observed every man leave the estate.”
He knew the man referred to the possibility of an uninvited overnight guest in the hall. “We knew there might be weather delays.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” He raised a hand, showing it held some papers. “I have a diagram of the damage to the chimneypiece in the drawing room, and a sketch of the completed restoration work.”
“Your daughter drew the sketches?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
He looked over the illustrations, impressed yet again at the young woman’s drawing skills. “My former steward made a mess of things.”
