Page 65 of Dukes Do It Better
A pleasant-faced butler answered the door, then ushered them into a cozy parlor without ceremony. The room appeared to be decorated with abandoned books and comfortable cushions. Every flat surface not designed to support a bottom had been turned into a bookshelf of sorts. No bric-a-brac or porcelain figurines for Smith.
Mal touched a finger to a stack of books on a marble-topped table and glanced at the titles. One in Dutch, four in French, and another in Spanish. He raised a brow. Mr. Smith was quite the eclectic reader. On the mantel sat two well-worn identical volumes, the gilt lettering of the titles nearly gone off the spine. He cocked his head and stepped closer. The books were obviously well loved, with fuzzy edged pages and bumped corners, and areas of the leather covers had split from frequent use. When he read the title, it only confused him more. Two identical, equally worn copies of nature poetry. Odd.
“Who is this Smith fellow exactly?”
Simon quirked his lips as if enjoying a private joke at Malachi’s expense. “You’ll see. I’m sure they’ll be in shortly.”
The door opened and a man about their age strode in. The newcomer had light brown curls and a wide smile. “Lord Marshall, so great to see you again. It’s been an age. We were intrigued by your note.”
The man—Mr. Smith, one had to assume—turned his attention Malachi’s way. “And you must be Lord Trenton, the owner of the mysterious book.”
“Indeed. I take it you are the Mr. Smith I’ve heard so little about.”
The man laughed. “I am Edward Smith. But you don’t want me looking at your book. You want my wife. Janie should be along shortly.”
Mal glanced at Simon, who grinned. Jane Smith? No doubt a pseudonym given by a particularly unimaginative government agent.
“Did I hear Lord Marshall’s name?” A woman entered the room with a welcoming smile. With auburn hair and an uptilted snub nose, Mrs. Smith appeared unassuming in many ways, and could probably move unnoticed in most places. Having grown up around agents and those in the diplomatic service, Mal could appreciate the benefit of this woman being rather unnoticeable.
Mal glanced over at the men. Unnoticeable, unless you were Edward Smith. The smile the pair exchanged was intimate and endearing, and given the current state of his love life, painful to observe so closely.
Strange how you could spot a love match once you knew what you were looking for. These two seemed to wholly embody the concept, and he’d been in the same room with them for only twenty seconds. Malachi’s parents, for all their faults, had loved each other. Lord and Lady Amesbury, Calvin and his wife, Phee. Hell, even Simon seemed downright smitten with Miss Martin.
Surrounded by loving relationships, and here Malachi stood, wondering why he hadn’t deserved a goodbye from his lover. Thinking of the happy couples made it nearly impossible to avoid thoughts of Emma, but he shied from that path out of self-preservation.
Mal dragged his mind from woolgathering back into the present.
Simon stepped forward and offered his hand to Jane. “Smith, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”
“Likewise, Lord Marshall. Now”—she shot a look at Malachi—“you must be the one with the intriguing puzzle. May I see it?” Her whole body vibrated with excitement and her eyes sparkled as she waved a hand toward the various chairs around the room, silently urging everyone to take a seat.
Malachi pulled his father’s bank book from his pocket. He’d set it out to air in an unused room in his house, in the hopes that any lingering scents of the grave would dissipate. “It was my father’s,” he said by way of explanation, handing it over. “He worked in the diplomatic service.”
“In Russia?” Smith asked, flipping through the first few pages.
Malachi knit his brows. “Sometimes, yes. How did you know?”
“Some of these notations share characteristics with the Cyrillic alphabet.” Already, her voice sounded musing, as if talking to herself and not the room at large.
Mr. Smith crossed an ankle over his knee and leaned back in his chair. He sent a smile toward his wife but spoke to the men. “Well, she’s gone now. Down a rabbit hole of research and coding only her brain will ever understand.” He shook his head. “How she does it, I have no idea.”
“Smith is a marvel,” Simon agreed.
“I’m right here,” she murmured but didn’t look up from the book.
Simon and Mr. Smith grinned at one another.
“Shall I ring for tea?” Mr. Smith asked.
“Yes, please,” Simon answered for both of them.
“Jane, are you hungry?” her husband asked. Smith didn’t answer, wholly engrossed in the book. She pulled a notepad and pencil out of her pocket, scribbled something, then began flipping pages of the bank book, scanning the handwriting with a finger.
“It’s been a bit since we ate. I’ll ring for the cart,” Mr. Smith spoke as if she had answered. “Maybe we still have some of those lemon cakes left over from last night.”
Malachi couldn’t help smiling as Edward Smith went about playing host while holding a one-sided conversation with his wife.
“How many children are there?” Jane asked suddenly.
