Page 60 of Drowned in the Pleasure of a Devilish Baron
“When did these begin coming in?”
“For the past three days, save one, with the last one arriving today.” He took a drink of his wine.
“Do you have any idea who has been sending them? Or what,” he looked back down at the letter before him. “What thing they are speaking of that is not yours to take?”
“I would think the answer to that was quite clear, given the situation you walked into just a few minutes before.”
Leonard frowned. “You think John wrote and sent these?”
“I believe he is behind this, yes. I cannot say for certain that he wrote the letters out and sent them to me, or if he had someone else do his dirty work.”
“And if that were to be the case, then the thing he is telling you to stay away from is his sister?”
Felix nodded, looking down into his glass. He knew drinking would not lift these sorrows, that he would have to stop after this glass, but for now, he was enjoying the warmth it offered.
Leonard’s frown deepened. “Hm.” The way he said it made it clear he did not fully agree, but Felix was too tired and heartsick to press him on why. To him, it was obvious. Who else would be working against him? Who else had such a vendetta?
No, to Felix, the answer to the man behind the letters was clear.
“So then…” Leonard seemed to be slowly catching up. “Do you believe that John had the fields set on fire? Because you did not heed his warning?”
Felix looked up at him in surprise, but Leonard answered simply, “That must be what you mean by showing these to me now.”
Had that been what he thought? Was that why he was showing the letters to Leonard now? Perhaps, but his brain was too thick with grief to be sure of it.
“Do you believe that?” Leonard pressed.
Felix shrugged. “Perhaps. The threat is there, on those pages. I did not stop my attempt to court Sarah. Perhaps that gave him reason to set my fields… our fields… on fire.”
“But did he seem surprised? When he saw the land?”
Felix thought back. Had John seemed to be surprised? They had been together, after all, when the farmer had ridden up and announced the fire. But Felix had been focused on the news, on the farmer himself, with half his brain still thinking of fighting John in Sarah’s defense.
And John had certainly been gloating here, on Felix’s land. But still, Felix thought that he had seemed surprised to see the devastation as well. He shook his head, as much to dislodge the confused tangle of his thoughts as to answer Leonard’s question.
“He did seem surprised, but I cannot say for sure. And even if he was, he could have had someone else handling the fire. It’s not definitive, not either way.”
Leonard sighed and nodded. “Listen, Felix, do not give up all hope just yet. We will work something out, together. All will be well.”
Felix nodded but kept his eyes on the ground, his head too heavy to lift.
“After all, they did not go after the beer and mead rooms,” Leonard pointed out in a tone of forced brightness. “You still have that.”
“The money those will make will hardly make a dent in what I owe for the vines. The vines were the highest cost, and the work it took to plant them. We needed the wine they would produce to pay the cost of that back. Without the wine, the beer and mead will be just enough to make small payments back to you and Lord Camden for the rest of my life.”
Leonard had no answer to this. “I’d like to take another look at the land and the damage,” he said, rising. Felix moved to stand as well, but Leonard put a hand up to stop him. “You stay here and rest. It’s been a terribly trying day. Finish your drink and I will be back before long.”
Felix sank back into his seat, glad to not have to face the destroyed fields once more, as Leonard left the room. He set his wine glass aside and stretched his legs before him, head down, and he noticed that his jacket was buttoned wrong, the buttons in the incorrect holes, evidence that his brain had been elsewhere when he had put it back on.
With effort, he unbuttoned it and decided to leave it off completely. It was warm in the drawing room, and he was certainly not receiving any company aside from his brother-in-law, who would not be bothered by it. But when he lay the jacket on the edge of the armrest, he heard a small crinkle of paper.
He frowned and felt the pockets. There was paper in his inner jacket pocket, but he had given Leonard all of the letters already. Then he remembered. As he was leaving the Marlow house, a boy had shoved a piece of paper in his hand for Juliet. He could not imagine why the boy would have done that, particularly at that time, but no matter. He pulled it from his pocket, deciding he would give it to Leonard to take home with him.
It was not a proper letter, but a small piece of paper, folded cleverly into itself. And on the front, in a script he recognized at once, read Juliet’s name.
He, Sarah, and Juliet—and even John, though it was surprising to remember that now—had played a multitude of games together as children, but one of their favorites had been to play as pirates. They would create treasure maps and hide small, precious items—a perfectly round stone, a bright blue feather, a shining penny—around the property. Each child would have their turn hiding the items and making the map so the other three could search, but Sarah had always been the best.
He smiled at the memory now, of her round-cheeked face and careful attention to detail. She had loved to create overly elaborate backstories of their pirates, taking the time to write letters that were used as clues. The boys had often been more interested in tearing out across the fields without too much thought, but he had always loved to read Sarah’s pirate notes and stories.
