Page 28 of Every Duke Has His Thorn
“A drop of milk?” his aunt asked.
“You remembered.”
“Of course, my boy. I remember everything.”
He accepted a cup of tea without responding.
“She loved you in her own way.”
He didn’t ask of whom she spoke. “I know.”
“You don’t. Not really. She was raised to believe her only worth in life was to bear children.” She added softly, “After so many miscarriages, you were a miracle in her eyes. Did you know that?”
He hadn’t.
“Her fear wasn’t only because you were an only heir. You were her only child. The only thing that made her feel as if she’d had some purpose in the world.”
Those words caught him up short. An explanation, an excuse coming from a woman that hadn’t really liked his mother. “My father never said that she’d come up short.”
“He wouldn’t have. His duchess was bred for her part. Although your father was a duke, he was a kind-hearted man. There hadn’t been love, but there was respect for what she’d endured.”
All thought of Miss Davies and the treasure fled his mind as he remembered what he’d witnessed of his parents’ relationship. They were cordial to each other. His aunt’s use of the word respect was an apt description of the marriage.
“I may not have got on with the duchess, but over the years I’ve come to understand her better,” his aunt said in as gentle a voice as he’d ever heard from her. “Your mother was afraid to lose you because you were her only child. She loved you more than you will ever know.”
* * * * *
Marina was in the drawing room when she heard a carriage arrive in the courtyard.
“That will be the duke’s aunt,” her father said between sips of tea.
“The duke’s aunt?” she queried, eyebrows raised.
“His late father’s sister, Lady Barton. The duke mentioned at our meeting this morning that the lady would arrive soon. He expects she will want to stay in the hall despite the work being done.”
She wasn’t surprised her father hadn’t mentioned the duke’s aunt before. To him, one more person residing in the hall didn’t matter. As for herself, she wondered if the duke would forget all about the treasure hunt with his aunt in residence. Perhaps the lady might be of some use with the next clue.
She’d decided the poem couldn’t have been written too long ago as the language was not archaic. Perhaps Lady Barton might have seen the poem before. She might even know the poet.
“You seem quite preoccupied, my dear,” her father said musingly. “Still working out the significance of the pink ribbon?”
“Yes, Father.” She wrinkled her nose and added, “I’m going to look over my most recent notes on the state of the entrance hall. I believe I’m all caught up.”
“Despite the weather delay, the repairs on the roof should still be complete in a sennight. The duke has been so loose with the purse strings that we hired more craftsmen at once than we ever have. We could be done with the hall in a month.”
Inexplicably, she was disappointed by the news. She liked the hall, the estate. It was a beautiful area and everyone had been most kind to her and her father. Even the duke had warmed to them a bit since their arrival.
To distract herself from the duke and the treasure, she picked up her notebook. When they completed a job her father gave a copy of her notes to their employer. It served as a receipt and a history of what had been accomplished in the house during the restoration.
A knock came at the drawing room door, and Anne looked in.
“Yes, Anne?” her father asked.
“The duke’s aunt, Lady Barton, requested your and Miss Davies’s presence at dinner this evening. Dinner will be served in the drawing room at seven o’clock.”
“Very good, Anne.”
When the maid had departed, her father got to his feet. “I should check on the progress of the dining room ceiling before I dress for dinner. I imagine Lady Barton will want a report on the work that has been done in the house. Wear whatever you have that is best for dinner. I will return momentarily.”
