Page 25 of When He Was a Duke
Before he could ask further questions, his companions quieted, glancing nervously toward the door. Sebastian turned to see Hargrave had entered the tavern.
“Don’t say anything about this to him,” Finch whispered. “He’ll punish us if he knows we told you so much.”
“Please?” Prudence’s eyes widened with obvious fear.
“Nary a word, I promise,” Sebastian whispered back.
The butler surveyed the room before his pale eyes settled on their table. He approached with measured steps, uninvited.
“Good afternoon,” he said, settling into an empty chair. “Enjoying your day off?”
They all nodded mutely. Sebastian noticed how differently his companions behaved around the butler—shoulders tense, eyes downcast.
“So, Doyle,” he said, voice smooth and sharp, “I trust you’re finding our little corner of the countryside satisfactory?”
Sebastian set down his tankard. “Yes, sir. It’s good, honest work.”
“Hmm.” Hargrave’s gaze flicked over him. “Thorncroft speaks well of you. But I always like to form my own impressions.”
Sebastian said nothing, letting the silence stretch. The fire crackled.
Hargrave tilted his head slightly. “Something about you doesn’t sit right with me, Doyle. Can’t quite figure out why.”
Sebastian held his stare. “I just tend the gardens, sir.”
“Let’s keep it that way,” Hargrave said mildly, though the steel beneath his words was unmistakable. “The Wentworths value discretion. I assume Thorncroft explained that.”
“He did.”
“Excellent.” Hargrave gave a single nod, then turned to address the table at large. “Early start tomorrow, ladies and gents. Best not let the ale do your thinking for you.”
He left without another glance, his shadow lingering long after he’d gone.
For a few moments, no one spoke. Then Prudence muttered, “He really knows how to ruin a person’s day off.”
“Indeed,” Finch said.
“We should go back,” Prudence said. “And Sebastian? It might be best if you didn’t ask too many questions about the past. Some people have long memories.”
As they prepared to leave, Sebastian spotted Hargrave outside, speaking with a stocky man in a constable’s uniform.
“Who’s that with Hargrave?” he asked Finch quietly.
“Constable Stephens. He replaced Pritchard a few years back. They say he’s honest, but…” Finch shrugged. “Honest men don’t tend to last long around here.”
“Meaning Wentworth pays them to do his bidding?” Sebastian asked.
“That’s right,” Finch said. “An honest constable doesn’t stand a chance.”
The walk back to the manor was subdued. Sebastian’s mind raced with everything he’d learned. The servants suspected Wentworth was guilty; Hargrave had mysteriously disappeared for hours after the murder; and Mary clearly knew something she was too frightened to share.
Most importantly, he now had a clear picture of what had happened that night. Lady Wentworth had discovered her husband’s smuggling operation—funded by her own dowry—and confronted him about it. In his rage, the man who had already been abusing her physically had finally killed her.
And then he’d framed an innocent man to cover his crimes.
How could he get Mary to tell him what she’d really seen that night? And how could he prove what he now knew to be true?
Chapter Six
