Page 87 of Her Duke By Accident
The girl glanced around hurriedly till she snapped, pointing a finger at the wrinkled paper in Alicia’s lap. “How about that, Your Grace?”
“What?” she asked, lifting the letter. “My brother’s letter?”
“You said your brother was vague in his letter, right?”
“Yes.”
Juliet shrugged. “Let me see if I might deduce some more information out of it, something you might not have seen!”
“How on earth would you be able to do that?”
“Wouldn’t it help for another pair of eyes to take a look over it? To get the full picture?”
Alicia eyed her skeptically. “I suppose.”
“If I overstep, Your Grace,” Juliet quickly added, “do not feel pressured to say yes. I do not want to cross my bounds.”
“I know you only wish to help, Juliet,” Alicia said, slowly handing over the letter.
Juliet smiled reassuringly at her. “If anything, this might help unburden the weight that currently rests on your heart.”
“Perhaps, Juliet.”
The girl unfolded the letter, smoothing it out on lap, before she raised it to her eyes, examining the words with an intense concentration. Her lips moved as she silently read the words, her thin eyebrows furrowing the further she read. When she finished, Juliet lowered it, glancing at Alicia before looking over it once more.
“A second read,” Alicia mused playfully. “Must be a tough case to crack.”
Juliet chewed on her lips silently.
Narrowing her eyes at her, Alicia placed a steady hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Don’t look so tormented, Juliet. It’s all right for you to only see the same things I saw.”
“It isn’t that, Your Grace.”
“Then what is it? You look rather peculiar.”
“Well, it’s the exact opposite.”
Alicia smiled at her. “No more games, Juliet. It’s only a letter.”
“This isn’t a game, Your Grace!”
“How can you see something I didn’t?”
Juliet turned in the carriage to face her. “Tell me, Your Grace, how good of a writer is your brother?”
“The best of someone in his station,” Alicia replied. “I hope you don’t mean to insult my brother’s literacy.”
“No, Your Grace, but would it be common of him to have someone else write his letters?”
Alicia opened and closed her mouth, searching for an answer, but unable to point her finger to one. “I wouldn’t think so,” she said.
“But you haveseenhis writing, right?”
“Oh,” Alicia sighed, shrugging her shoulders, “not as much as you may think. Most of any writing he did was business related, and I had no place within it. I cannot remember a time where I looked over his own writing.”
“He never sent any letters?”
“We were always together, Juliet. Any business travel was for my father — he only passed a year ago, and my brother has not been in the practice long enough to send me letters.”
