Page 108 of Miss Prim and the Duke of Wylde
Meg nodded. “We were in the middle of the lake before we noticed water was leaking in.”
Studying Drago and Meg, Toby frowned and focused on Drago. “But you can swim. I know Meg doesn’t swim well and might have been in trouble if she’d been alone, but you were there and, clearly, were able to haul her as well as yourself out. While this is obviously another attack, it seems something of a long shot, especially as within weeks of your wedding, it was odds on that you’d be with Meg—” Toby noticed that Denton, George, and Harry were all shaking their heads and looking exceedingly grave. “Ah,” Toby said, “what have I missed?”
Denton looked at Drago. “I, for one, would never have imagined you would row out on the lake.” He glanced at Meg, who was clearly as mystified as her brother and cousins. “Not even to please Meg.” Denton looked at George and Harry, both of whom nodded solemnly, then continued, “If anyone had asked any of us”—he arched his brows at George and Harry, and both quickly shook their heads—“not that anyone did, but if they had, we each would have sworn that while Meg might have taken out the boat, under no circumstances would you have been with her.”
Meg turned her blue gaze on Drago. “What don’t we know?”
Drago met her eyes. After a few tense seconds, he said, “Denton and I had a younger brother—our youngest sibling, Edward. One spring, when both Denton and I were away at school, Edward drowned in the lake. We”—he gestured at Denton—“came home for the funeral. After that day…neither of us, nor our sisters or our parents, ever went out on the lake again. The rowboat was kept ready and in good order for guests, but the family never again indulged.”
Meg reached across and closed her hand about one of his. “You should have told me when I asked to go out last week.”
He smiled faintly, turned his hand, and gently squeezed hers. “Our marriage and us coming here has signaled the start of a new era for the Helmsfords. It seemed time to let that particular piece of the past fade.”
For several seconds, no one spoke, then Toby said, “That actually tells us something about our villain.”
Before anyone could ask what, Maurice returned, bearing the still-damp handkerchief.
Drago took it and, spreading it over one hand, checked the corners. “As I thought, it doesn’t have a monogram.”
“Let me see.” Meg lifted the linen square from Drago’s fingers and examined it more closely.
“Your Grace.” Maurice bowed, preparing to depart.
“Maurice, wait.” Meg looked up and held out the square to the valet. “You know your handkerchiefs. What does this one say of its owner?”
Maurice glanced at Drago, and at his nod, came forward and took the handkerchief. He, too, examined it, even more closely than Meg had. Then he looked at her. “In my opinion, Your Grace, this is the handkerchief of a gentleman, a reasonably well-to-do one. The quality of the linen is excellent, and although there’s no monogram, the hems are expertly sewn.” He bounced the handkerchief on his palm. “Conduit Street quality, I would say.”
“Thank you.” Meg took back the handkerchief, and Maurice bowed and withdrew.
The instant the door closed behind the valet, Toby nodded. “That fits with what I was about to say.” He met Drago’s eyes. “The expectation that you wouldn’t have gone out on the lake—that it would be Meg alone or at best with a footman who most likely wouldn’t have been able to swim at all—isn’t widely known.” He glanced at Meg and his cousins. “For instance, we didn’t know. If one of us had planned this latest attack…well, we wouldn’t have bothered because we would have assumed you would be with Meg and most likely can swim better than she can and you would get both of you out.”
Aidan was nodding. “We would have anticipated the attempt playing out exactly as it did—meaning that it wouldn’t have worked.”
“Precisely. Instead,” Toby continued, “our villain took a risk and came here, onto the estate, sometime between last Monday and today, put a hole in the rowboat’s hull, stuffed it with his handkerchief to slow the leak sufficiently, then left the boat exactly as it should have been.” He arched a brow at Drago. “Did you notice anything out of the ordinary before you put the boat in the water?”
Drago consulted his memory, then shook his head. “Everything was as I expected to find it. And with the way the boat’s always left—in a sling just above the water—the hole beneath the seat wasn’t visible.”
“That suggests,” Carter put in, “that whoever’s behind the attacks knows this place quite well.”
“More,” Toby said, his expression intent, “he knows your family. He knew of your reason for not going on the lake. He knew about your reaction to your brother’s death.”
Drago felt his expression harden as that reality sank in. Slowly, he nodded, then met Toby’s eyes. “That reduces the list of suspects quite a lot.”
“I thought it might.” Toby looked at Denton, George, and Harry. “You three knew. Who else?”
“Well,” Harry said, “Thomas, of course. All of us spent part of our summers here, so of course we all know.”
“Who else?” Meg looked at Drago.
“Our sisters, our mother, Edith, and Warley, plus all of the staff here, at the Court itself. Grooms, stable hands, gardeners—all likely know. Many were here even then and attended Edward’s funeral.” He hauled in a breath, then exhaled and said, “However, I believe we can absolve all of the above of any villainous intent. It’s all but impossible to imagine a motive.”
“Besides,” Meg said, “none of the staff here have been up to London. Unless we postulate some conspiracy of sorts, our villain must be someone who can move freely between London and Kent.”
“And we mustn’t forget that our villain is a gentleman,” Evan said.
Silence fell as they all digested the latest revelations.
Then Evan looked at Drago. “You called us down here because of some accident that happened yesterday. What was that?”
