Page 63 of The Odd Riddle of the Lost Duchess
“It’s nothing…I can’t…it’s nothing, Son.” His mother stuttered. “Please, it’s nothing to be concerned about.”
Striding to her, Noah grasped her by her shoulders, “What were you paying him for, Mother?”
His mother didn’t answer. Her face had gone tight and Noah’s stomach sank. “What is this about a mercenary? Did you…was he the one who killed Emmeline, Mother? Did you murder the one lady I love?”
She didn’t say a word and anger laced through Noah. His voice had gone tight and ragged with pain. “Answer me, Mother, did you kill Emmeline?”
Chapter 22
A House Divided
“No,” the Duchess finally replied, “No, I would never but…I think your grandmother did. I overheard her once and I hired an investigator to find out if she had.”
Noah couldn’t fathom how he felt, “To find out if she had? Mother! You could have easily stopped it altogether. Emmeline is dead!”
“Noah!” His mother called out, her voice edged with desperation, “There was nothing more I could do!”
“Do not give me that rubbish, Mother!” Noah roared, “You have more power than you claim you do. Are you going to cower under that gorgon’s reign for the rest of your life? Become the Duchess father knew, and gain back your power.”
Spinning around, Noah left his mother standing in the middle of the garden, cloaked with night’s darkness.
* * *
George was bristling at the scathing letter he had just received from Duke Kent-upon-Barr. The letter had come moments ago at the bright hour of ten o’clock, on haste from the chambers of London. The senior Duke had just ordered him to redo his proposal with fair and equitable terms, and there were consequences to be paid if he didn’t do as ordered.
His jaw was stiff as his mind rebelled against the whole notion but he had to do it. Grabbing his pen and a sheet of paper and with stiff fingers, he started to rewrite his proposal while making sure each trade deal was fair and mutually beneficial—and it pained him.
Why couldn’t they see that this was a matter of honor? Not only was he getting revenge for his sister, but avenging his grandfather, too. But no, the Lords in London only cared about frivolous things like growing the economy—not for family pride.
George wrote quickly but efficiently, and when he was done, stabbed the last period mark so viciously that he almost split the page. He melted the candle wax with stiff fingers and sealed the letter with his signet ring before calling for his butler to find a message carrier.
When Hudgins left, the Duke discovered a craving for strong liquor, one that was robust enough to send a shockwave of warmth through his system. A quick search in his study only found wine in his cabinets. Yearning for some scotch, he rejected calling his butler and went for the liquor himself.
While crossing the second corridor, he saw the door to Emmeline’s rooms open, and immediately halted. Inching up to the doorway, he saw his mother inside, her still-frail body wrapped in a nightgown and a robe and her hair done in its silk net. The Duchess was silently tracing her fingers over the large oval mirror, the dark wood of the dresser, and the matching bed frame, with a sad look on her face.
“Mother,” George cleared his throat as he stepped inside, “Shouldn’t you be resting?”
“How can I rest, Son?” His mother sighed while looking around, “My only daughter is dead. How can I rest in peace not knowing who caused that to happen?”
Her statements were valid and they made George pause in contemplation. Over the past month and a half, he had worked through the majority of his grief for the sister that he had sworn to protect throughout her life. His tears had been secret, just as his cries of pain were. Though he still hurt inside, George had perfected his unaffected demeanor and didn’t show his pain to anyone.
“Which is why I have vowed to make Newberry pay, Mother,” the Duke swore while looking around the lifeless and barren room.
The Duchess gave an audible sigh, “George, can’t you see that her death was partly your fault? She only tried to go see the man she loved in secret because you were so inflexible and stubborn.”
Anger ripped through the Duke of Leverton, “I am inflexible, Mother because someone has to stand up for patriotism. A man with honor does that.”
“A man with honor also heeds the call of peace,” the Duchess said calmly, “Why must you be so hard on the poor boy, George? I am sure I raised you with much more Christian values that this.”
The indirect rebuke only stirred the anger inside the Duke, “Mother, I am not hard on ‘the poor boy’. I am only doing what is right by my grandfather—avenging his honor. Emmeline was killed because of him—I am not going to let that go till the day I die!”
George knew that, logically, a lot of other factors could have caused Emmeline’s death but he chose to stubbornly stick to his old hatred.
“You must forgive him, George,” his mother replied, “Catherine was here two days ago and she’s saying the same thing! I know that you know that he is not to blame here. That boy loved Emmeline with everything in him. Why did he call for peace at all, if not for that?”
“It was for trickery,” George spat, “He was up to something, Mother, and though you and Emmeline, God bless her soul, are so pardoning to those who have done us wrong, I am not of that nature.”
The older lady looked her son straight in his eyes. “Then what sort of nature are you?”
