Page 72 of The Duke’s Unwilling Bride

“Do not fret. Nothing appears to be amiss, only that the chamber is already full. Though I can’t fathom what could be in there. If it’s still full of tobacco, the scent should still be there. Or if not, the ground leaves should have fallen out with just transporting it to and fro.”

Turning it in his hands, he smacks the bowl against his palm. I cringe inside at each blow, convinced that the next one will be the finale for this pipe. However, after a few more pops against his skin, he rolls it back over and eases his fingers into the chamber, pulling out a piece of rolled paper.

It doesn’t appear burnt, merely stained by soot. Glancing up at me, Joseph hands me the paper, allowing me to see what it contains first. Such a sweet gesture from one I once held in ill regard.

As I unroll it, smoothing it down with my fingers, he comes behind me, wrapping his arms about my waist, lending strength with his purr. The words blur for a moment or two as tears gather in my eyes. It’s certainly from my father based on the handwriting.

There comes a point in any man’s life when he must face the mortality of his person. And so, having made peace with God and man, I resign myself to sloughing off this mortal coil and joining my wife in heaven above.

However, in so doing, I know my daughter’s future might be in peril. If this is the case, then I know my clever, cunning little girl is more than apt to read the following inscription and find out how to secure her place. She always was such a bright thing.

It is my final wish that this message ends up in the hands of Teresa Eloise Baker and none else. If someone else happens upon it, good luck and good riddance. There are special places in hell for people such as you. To my daughter, I love you more than life.

Pausing, I look up at Joseph, noting his frown. “Do you suppose he’s referring to my cousin?”

He grits his teeth, tightening his grip around me. “Your father is not the man Middlehey led you to believe.”

I drop the paper and turn in my husband’s arms, desperation, a bone-aching need to have him understand, beating in my chest. “Please. If there’s something you know. Something I could have done.”

Lowering his fingers to my lips, he quiets me. “I have not gathered all the proof yet, but it seems that your cousin is the one amassing great debts and then lying to both of us about it. I’ve had spies and runners looking for every bit of debt that’s been owed. Unfortunately, it was in a quest to prove to me once and for all that you were the one lying.”

“But I-”

“Hush, my dear. I know that now. Once our bond was in place, I saw everything. I know you are true and pure, which led me to reexamine Middlehey. It was so difficult to catch him because he went hither and yon to do his gambling and betting. It took a bit for them to catch up with him, but even now he has collectors calling.”

“But what about the money you gave him to marry me? Didn’t that take care of it?”

“From what I gather, even if he did apply it to his debts, which there’s no proof of that happening, he’d still be in arrears by a lot.”

“Surely there’s something we can do.”

“Not while he holds the title of Earl. Even as a pauper, that title holds power.”

“Maybe Father knew this. Maybe this note has a clue!” Turning back, I pick up where I left off, reading the rest of his words.

Around the table

Robust men gather

Ignorant in the fact that

Same thoughts are shared

To and fro.

Obstinate are those that

Talk much and listen little.

Learn at the feet of the greats.

Eager are the lips that sow discord.

“This doesn’t make any sense. What is this supposed to tell me?” Frustration beats at my brain as I read the passage again and again, hoping each time something will pop.

And that’s when I examine not just the words, but style. Instead of writing each sentence as a whole, it’s arranged in a way that defies normal syntax. Excitement churns in my gut as I turn to tug on Joseph’s lapels, bringing him closer.

“Look. Just there. The first letters. It’s an acrostic poem! A. R. I. S. T. O. T. L. E. Aristotle. It spells Aristotle!”