Page 35 of Every Duke Has His Thorn
He didn’t reply. She had the right of it after all.
Putting the poem aside, she leafed through the remainder of the book. “It looks as if the last entry in the history was made by my grandmother. The notation discusses a barn that burned down.”
“Does it say where it was located on the estate?” he asked, thinking about the clue that pointed to a barn.
“From the description of a path and a grove of Hawthorn trees, I believe a greenhouse is now on the site.” His aunt continued to peruse the ledger.
“There isn’t a grove of trees near the greenhouse,” he replied, shaking his head.
“Precisely.” His aunt looked up. “It says here some of the trees were burnt down in the fire. My grandfather had the rest cut down.”
“So there is nothing of the barn left, and we can’t decipher the next clue,” he replied with a twist of his lips.
“Miss Davies may be right and we are supposed to keep our focus on the outdoors.” She picked the poem up again. “You do realize there is only one stanza left after the one about the barn?”
“I do.” He paused, pulling his copy of the poem out of his trouser pocket. “Perhaps we can still figure out where the treasure is.”
He read the last stanza aloud:
Fire can be helpful to the forest you know
A building constructed where flora may grow
I’m known as a trickster you will soon learn
Skip over just one step, your reward you will ---
“My goodness!” His aunt smiled widely. “The poet is my grandmother! She was known to love a good joke and my grandfather called her a trickster. I imagine she even had someone else draft the poem to conceal her identity.”
He frowned in reply. “That is all well and good, but the last word in the stanza is indecipherable.”
“Perhaps she didn’t want just anyone to be able to solve the clue.”
The dressing gong in the entrance hall sounded.
“I’ll see you at supper.” His aunt replaced the poem in the ledger, closed the volume, and rose to her feet. “You should think about notifying Miss Davies of our progress.”
He’d already decided to send a missive to her father requesting Miss Davies attend their morning meeting.
Perhaps the brilliant young woman would have an idea what the last word of the poem might be.
* * * * *
“The duke would like you to join us at our morning meeting tomorrow,” her father said over dinner. “He sent a note advising me that he and Lady Barton made some headway on the next clue to the treasure.”
Anne was pouring wine at the table, and her hand jerked a bit, spilling wine on the tablecloth.
“I’m ever so sorry, Sir Joseph,” Anne said in a plaintive voice, her face stricken.
Her father waved a hand. “Not to worry, my dear girl. A bit of milk should get most of it out. Cook need not know you spilled the wine. It will be our secret.”
“Thank you, sir. I’ve got the clean up this evening, so perhaps I can get the stain out myself.” Anne finished pouring wine for Marina and left the room.
The stew, rolls, and dessert were already on the table. Marina ladled out some stew for her father. “This all looks lovely. Cook makes even the simplest dishes well.”
“When Brooks and Cook wanted the same half day, I couldn’t say no,” he replied. “I think there is a romance brewing there.”
“I think you’re right.”
