Page 43 of Every Duke Has His Thorn
Marina rose from the bed, placing the letter on her night table. Her father followed her from the room, and down the stairs to the ground floor.
“If the maid is still in the house, she would be in the kitchen,” her father informed her. “You should speak to her alone. I will await you in the drawing room.”
Marina did indeed find Anne in the kitchen. She was seated alone at the long table in the center of the room, her head in her hands.
“Anne?”
The maid looked up, eyes wide, her face pale. “Miss! Do you need something?”
“I came to tell you that your uncle is well. His Grace says he knows all, and he understands.”
The girl jumped to her feet, visibly shaking. “I have no idea what you mean, miss. What uncle?”
She replied in a soothing voice, “Mr. Sparks. I don’t know all the details, but the duke promised no reprisal for anything you or your uncle may have done.”
Anne’s shoulders slumped, and she used a hand to brace herself against the table. “I’m so sorry, miss. You have been good to me, and I deceived you. Lied to you.”
“About being from Blackpool?” she asked gently.
“You knew?”
She nodded. “As does His Grace. Why did you lie, Anne?”
“It’s a long story, miss.”
Marina pulled out one of the wooden chairs and took a seat. “We have time. I don’t see either of us being able to sleep for a while, do you?”
Chapter Eighteen
Preston woke to the sound of hammering on the floor above his temporary bedchamber. He stretched, then sat up, realizing he’d fallen asleep fully clothed. A glance at the clock on his night table alerted him that it was well after nine o’clock in the morning.
He remembered dreaming about Miss Davies. He’d asked her to stay on at Barton Hall, and she’d agreed.
A knock came at the chamber door. “Come!”
“Your Grace.” His valet Thompson entered the room with a tray he settled on the end of the bed. He looked askance at his employer’s disheveled appearance but merely said, “Sir Joseph has been informed you will meet with him at your convenience later today.”
“Do you have any messages for me from either Winston or Mr. Bailey?” He poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot on the tray.
“Winston advised me your missive to the Duke of Blackpool has been dispatched. Mr. Bailey says your guest and his niece have been relocated to a cottage in the village; he told me you would know which cottage he refers to.” The valet paused. “Lady Barton’s maid informed me that her mistress is still abed and asked not to be disturbed.”
“Very good, Thompson.” He took a sip of excellent coffee before adding, “Do see that hot water is brought up. I desperately need to bathe.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Once the valet had departed, Preston buttered a piece of toast. He was famished. There were also eggs under the silver cloche, and he’d devoured every morsel on the tray by the time a footman arrived with hot water.
“Please advise Sir Joseph I will meet with him and his daughter at eleven o’clock in the library,” he informed his valet once he was ensconced in a warm bath.
He would have time for his ablutions before meeting with the architect and Miss Davies. There was so much he had to tell the young woman. His aunt had waited in the drawing room until he returned to the house at close to midnight. She’d wanted to know everything that occurred at the folly and he’d obliged her.
It would soon be common knowledge that the treasure was found. He couldn’t hope to keep the discovery quiet, even with the help of the Wayward Dukes’ Alliance.
As for the return of Mr. Sparks? Everyone thought the man had disappeared. Preston saw no need to enlighten them.
Preston turned his mind to the task ahead. He was in love for the first time in his life. Now he must discover how the lady felt about him.
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