He said nothing, merely played with the doubtless delicious casserole of whitefish made with white wine and tomatoes that Badger had prepared before he’d left for London.
“You impregnated her very quickly.”
“Yes, probably on our wedding night.”
“I don’t like this violence, my dear, this wretched continued violence, all directed toward the Duchess, except for this last time. Who was that horrible man trying to kill? You or the Duchess?”
“With so many shots, I’ve come to the conclusion that he was shooting at both of us. Of course, the Duchess has been attacked twice already. God knows.”
“Spears told me you’d gotten a message from Badger.”
Marcus nodded. “He’s on his way back soon. There’s nothing more he can do there. All the Wyndhams are in London. Ursula was ill with a bad cold and so was that bloody dandified Trevor who looks like a centaur riding my stallion, so Lambkin tells me with a dollop of awe in his voice. As for Aunt Wilhelmina, evidently the old bat never went near her sick children for fear of catching something herself. As for James, he was staying with a young man he met their first day in London. He was out in Richmond. Badger rode there to make certain, spoke to one of the grooms and was told that Mr. Wyndham had indeed been there, though the young men had been ripping themselves up with brandy and card playing. So you see, all of them appear to have been there, but Badger couldn’t really swear to it. Even if he’d seen each and every one of them and had witnesses swear to have been with them, it still doesn’t mean they’re innocent.”
“It’s that miserable old hag.”
“That would be nice. As I said, any of them could have hired someone to do it, even that miserable old hag.”
Aunt Gweneth came into the breakfast room, kissed her sister-in-law’s offered cheek, smiled at Marcus, and said, “That Doctor Raven seems a pleasant young man.”
Marcus grunted. “He’s young all right.”
“What does that mean, son?”
“It means I’m a fool. George is good, no matter his bloody young age.”
“He’s older than you are, Marcus. I asked him. He’s twenty-eight.”
“Yes, but I’m her husband and he isn’t.”
His mother grinned at him. “So, you’re a dog in the manger. How very odd, my dear, to see a jealous side to you. I always thought you so above such petty emotions. How refreshing to find you delightfully human.”
Marcus forked down a piece of bacon. “I know. I find it odd myself.” He gave his mother a lopsided grin to which she remarked, “That smile of yours always melted any female heart in the vicinity, even your mother’s. Now, tell Gweneth then about what Badger discovered in London.”
As he spoke, Aunt Gweneth frowned, the muffin in her left hand still untouched. “It must be something to do with the Wyndham legacy.”
“I believed that when the Duchess was struck down in the library and that old book stolen, but now? With so many shots, Auntie, he must have been after both of us. The treasure? Neither the Duchess nor I have the foggiest notion where that wretched treasure is or if it even exists.”
“Actually,” Patricia Wyndham said, rising from her chair, “I believe I just might have an idea. I’ve been thinking about it a good deal, Marcus. Would you please fetch the Duchess’s drawings for me? I’d like to study them, then we’ll see.” She beamed at her son and her sister-in-law, and left them motionless and speechless in the breakfast room.
Marcus stared at the pages stacked neatly in her small desk. He’d lifted out the drawings she’d made of the well and found other pages were beneath them. Sheet after sheet of music and the words written beneath the notes. The words on one sheet caught his eye and he read:
“ ’E ain’t the man to shout ‘Please, my dear!’
’E’s only a lout who shouts ‘Bring me a beer!’
’E’s a bonny man wit’ a bonny lass
Who troves ’im a tippler right on ’is ass.
And to hove and to trove we go, me boys,
We’ll shout as we please till ship’s ahoy!”
Then he softly began to sing it, a melody very familiar to him, one every lad in the navy sang over and over again, laughing and toasting one another. Still, he couldn’t believe it. The Duchess was R.L. Coots? She’d written all these ditties? He leafed more slowly through them, recognizing nearly all of them. There were at least twenty of them. Beneath the sheets of music were correspondence and legal documents. He smiled. Lord, she’d made a hefty sum on the more recent ones.
She’d supported herself and Badger. She’d done it alone. She had guts, this wife of his. He felt a spurt of pride that made him go soft inside. Pride and something else, something that was already there, deep and endless, this something that was surely love and he had it bad, no, no escape for him nor did he want to. Perhaps he’d loved her from the time she was nine years old and he’d called her the Duchess for the first time. God, he didn’t know, but it was there now, this well of love for her with its unplumbed depths he knew would always be there for him.
Very carefully he returned all the sheets of paper back into the original order. He shut the desk drawer.