The Heart of a Duke(60)
“I have no idea. However, this morning, Robbie and I paid a visit to the offices of Messrs. Shaw, Dodges, and Fuller to speak to my father’s solicitor, Abel Shaw, as his letter requested. It was not a productive visit. Abel Shaw is dead.”
“Christ, that’s untimely,” Brett muttered.
It was as if some perverse hand of fate was tossing one obstacle after another into his path. “What was so important that he could not have written it in a letter?” Impatience laced Daniel’s tone. “He died nigh on three months ago. He must have been on his deathbed as I was making arrangements to sail over here.”
“Perhaps that was what precipitated his writing to you after all these years. A deathbed confession,” Robbie suggested.
Daniel feared Robbie was right. But he would be damned if he’d give up. Abel Shaw might have confided in someone, and if so, Daniel vowed to find out whom.
Brett nodded, appearing to consider the matter before venturing to another point. “Do you think these searches and the fire are connected?”
Robbie lowered his voice. “Bedford can’t find what he wants if he incinerates the place. More so, if Bedford was responsible for that . . . that’s fratricide. Accusing a duke, a peer of the realm of . . . of murder, well, that might go over in America, but here . . . well, here it would be suicide.”
“Unless he is guilty. Surely even your anointed peerage is not above justice?” Brett rejoined, cocking a brow at Robbie.
Daniel interceded, seeing Robbie’s expression blacken. “Edmund despises me, but not enough to murder me. If so, he had ample opportunity throughout our childhood. And what would he gain from my death? He inherited the title and all that goes with it. It does not make any sense. I pose no threat to him, and he would jeopardize everything he values if he kills me.”
They fell silent.
“We need to begin where it all started,” Brett said. “With your father’s solicitor’s letter. He had the information that he wanted to impart to Daniel.”
“On that we agree.” Robbie took a sip of his ale and swiped his mouth.
“So we will begin with Shaw’s partners, who were not in residence when we visited. One of their clerks met with us. We will have to return and speak to one of the partners. Learn where Shaw’s papers reside now, what solicitors took over his work, and glean any other information they can provide. Shaw may be dead, but some seeds of information must be alive.”
“And find his family. He might have spoken to them,” Brett said. “Or his papers might have passed on to them.”
“And Weasel, he might have information about the fire,” Robbie added.
“We will be busy. Good thing I don’t have an expanding company to oversee,” Brett said wryly.
Robbie waved his hand. “That’s child’s play. Daniel here has a woman to woo. And she wants nothing to do with him, considering he is responsible for ruining her—”
“Quiet, Robbie,” Daniel warned.
Brett smiled, studying Daniel with renewed interest. “Well, then you have been busy. However, had you told me you were looking for a wife, I would have given you one of my sisters. I have three, you know.”
“As you keep reminding me,” Daniel said dryly, well aware his friend knew his sisters regarded Daniel more as a brother than a suitor, having watched them grow from gangly young girls to dangerous young women.
Brett shoved Daniel’s pint closer to him and leaned forward. “Drink up and tell me everything, particularly the salacious details. Those are the best part.”
“That’s what I told him,” Robbie exclaimed and slapped Brett on his back.
Daniel lifted his drink and took a big sip. He would need it.
HOURS LATER, THEY staggered out of the tavern. Daniel cursed the last pint that he hadn’t needed. His head felt two sizes two big and his feet were having trouble navigating the dirt road. Robbie and Brett followed, Brett’s arm slung around Robbie’s broad shoulders. The two men had bonded over their comical—that is, comical to them—suggestions on how to get Julia to accept Daniel’s hand. Bunch of idiots.
Brett had suggested he scale Juliet’s balcony and spout Shakespeare. Daniel refrained from correcting Julia’s name or pointing out that he doubted Taunton’s London residence had a balcony, or if so, that Julia’s room would be near it. Nor would there be any poetry spouting coming from him. Ever.
Lost in his thoughts, he did not give the three men walking toward them much heed. When they came abreast of their trio, the man directly in front of Daniel raised his arm. Daniel saw the streak of silver just in time to pivot to his side. There was no chance to fully dodge the knife’s cut, but it sliced along his side, rather than directly into his gut.