Page 81 of Never a Duchess
The housekeeper, Mrs Gunning, gave a discreet cough, stepping forward while they lingered in the doorway. “His Grace, the Duke of Dounreay has arrived with Miss Ware, sir.”
“Thank you, Mrs Gunning.” He stood, fastening the top button on his waistcoat. “You may retire for the evening. I shall lock the doors on my way out.”
They all moved into the hall.
Mr Daventry waited until Mrs Gunning mounted the stairs before giving them his undivided attention. “Miss Grimes is waiting in the drawing room. When left alone to contemplate their future, suspects are more inclined to confess.”
The comment prompted Lillian to broach the subject burning hot on her tongue. “Perhaps I might employ your tactics and force you to confess, sir.”
“Me?” Mr Daventry’s gaze flicked to her simple chignon, his brow quirking in mild amusement. “Yet it appears you’re the one with something to hide, Miss Ware.”
Heat rose to her cheeks, but she pressed on. “It was you who made the predictions at the fair, was it not? You who fed the mystic the information?”
Mr Daventry held a somewhat bored expression. “Do I strike you as a man who plays games with mystics?”
No, he carried himself with complete sangfroid. Yet Lillian had seen his playful interactions with his wife. Then, one glimpsed a different man. One much less restrained.
Is that what marriage to Dounreay would be like?
By night would she have the wild Highlander in her bed? By day would he appear aloof while dealing with ducal business?
“You have more important things to do than play matchmaker,” she agreed. “Hence why I’m so intrigued.”
A slow smile formed on his lips. “I spend my life finding solutions to problems, giving people the answers they deserve. Bringing peace.”
“Your work is commendable, sir.”
“Still, there is nothing more important than love, Miss Ware. Like you, I once thought love a painful concept,” Mr Daventry admitted, though now she wished she had not asked. “It’s one of the few times I have been wrong.”
He did not elaborate further, but strode into the drawing room, forcing them to follow.
The young woman on the sofa jumped to her feet, shaking as if she’d been imprisoned in a murky gaol on some forgotten island. “You’re back! What’s this about? You can’t hold a woman hostage. You’ve kept me here half the day.”
“Don’t exaggerate, Miss Grimes. You’ve been here for two hours. You came of your own free will and were paid.”
Mr Daventry gestured for them to take a seat. Despite numerous chairs, Lillian sat next to Dounreay. Anne remained standing.
“I didn’t know you’d lock me in here.”
“The door was open.”
“Oh!”
Based on Anne’s penchant for dramatics, Lillian doubted she would be a credible witness. “Someone mentioned your name in relation to the theft of a figurine from Lord Kinver’s home, and we need to establish a few facts.”
The maid blanched. “You’re accusing me of theft?”
“We’re not accusing you, but Major Rowlands said you took something from his home before you left and—”
“I knew it! I knew that murdering devil was involved.” She snatched her tatty reticule from the seat as if preparing to bolt. “He means to see me hang. He’ll not rest until I’m six feet under.”
“Sit down, Miss Grimes,” Mr Daventry said, his tone as icy as his expression. “We were told Major Rowlands assaulted you. As for the figurine, we want to know if you saw it in the study?”
Anne pursed her lips as if fighting to stop the words bursting out. She shook her head and made an odd squeaking sound.
“Very well.” Mr Daventry slapped his thigh. “I’m placing you under arrest. You’ll remain here until the magistrate arrives.”
“Under arrest?” Anne blurted. “What for?”
