Page 71 of Claiming His Scottish Duchess
Richard frowned, his mind racing as he tried to imagine anyone not liking his brother. John was everything Richard was not.
“John? Enemies? No. Everyone liked John. He was… he was goodness itself.”
“And thorough, I gather, in his investigations,” Ashworth murmured thoughtfully. “Perhaps he stumbled upon something that someone powerful wanted buried.”
What could you have found, John? Why didn’t you tell me?
“Do you have anything else?” Richard pressed, his voice tight with urgency as he wracked his brain for answers given what he had just learned. “Anything at all?”
“A year has passed, Your Grace,” Ashworth sighed, shaking his head sympathetically. “The trail has gone cold. Whoever orchestrated this was smart, thorough. I’m afraid this is all I could uncover.” He offered a look of genuine regret. “I apologize.”
Richard nodded slowly, a grim determination settling in his eyes. “Thank you, Ashworth. You have given me a lot to think about.”
As Ashworth rose to leave, he paused at the door, his gaze lingering on Richard’s unsettled expression.
“Your niece, Your Grace,” he said softly, carefully. “Children are unique creatures. They very often see things that adults miss. It is important to listen to what they say. And their fears, well, they can be quite telling.”
Richard’s jaw tightened at the mention of Lydia.
He had dismissed Catriona’s concerns about Lydia’s fear of Sampson, unwilling to entertain the possibility that someone he had known so long, and right under his nose, could be involvedin anything sinister involving his family. The thought made him dizzy as he drained the last few drops of his coffee.
“I appreciate your advice, Ashworth,” he said stiffly, but not insincerely. “I have my own ways of uncovering the truth, and that is exactly what I intend to do.”
Ashworth simply nodded, a knowing look in his eyes as he left.
Richard sank back into his chair, the weight of Ashworth’s information pressing down on him like a stone.
“Reeves!” he yelled.
“Yes, Your Grace?”
“I’m going to need more coffee, please.”
“Right away, Your Grace. How about some food?”
“Coffee, Reeves.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
If the robbery had been a lie, which it was, this was a carefully constructed facade. Someone silenced the supposed culprits. Someone with connections, he ruminated as he considered the tragic scene once more.
His thoughts then drifted to Lydia, to the flash of raw terror in her eyes whenever Sampson was near. Catriona had noticed it too, her own intuition screaming a warning she had tried so desperately to share. Yet, he had ignored it. More than ignored, he had rebuked it.
Could it…? No, surely not.
The Earl of Mortridge had been a part of his life for years, but the events of the recent fair were extremely suspicious. Something about the meeting was too convenient.
How can one ever truly know the inner workings of another man? How well do I really know the Earl of Mortridge?
Whatever the truth, one thing was now crystal clear. He couldn’t remain here, drowning in his guilt and chasing shadows in London.
Something nefarious was on the rise, and he had to return to Wilthorne, and fast.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Tha stoirm air fàire, cuimhnich air do chòta.” The storm is on the horizon, remember your coat.
“Eliza!” Catriona called out as she knocked on the door. She slowly entered her guest quarters as she greeted her. “The maids are drawin’ a hot bath for ye with fresh lavender oils. Ye arrived here with such haste, offerin’ us yer comfort without hesitation. Ye deserve a moment of respite and relaxation, me friend.”
