Page 61 of Make Mine a Marquess

“We could travel to Scotland.”

Phoebe’s fork rattled against her plate. “Pardon?”

“I understand Gretna Green is a far journey. However, I have a well-sprung carriage.” He leaned forward and held her gaze. “And most important, banns are not required there.”

“No.” She found her voice and her resolve. “I want a wedding in our parish church. An English church.”

She also wanted her parents and family present. For Beatrice to tell her all would be well, and she would, not only because she was her cousin, but because she was her best friend. She wanted her mother to help her with her wedding gown and tell her how beautiful she looked. For her father to kiss her and give her away.

Willard gave a curt nod. “If that is your wish, then I will abide.”

She picked up her discarded fork. The delicate fish which had been prepared by the talented French chef lacked flavor. She could have been eating gruel and not have noticed.

She found herself counting the minutes until the meal with her betrothed ended.

And the hours until she joined Landon over a game of backgammon.

Chapter Sixteen

“This is the place.” Landon glanced at the receipt then back to a barn before them. After informing Aram of what he’d discovered in Willard’s room, the two had set out for the Hertfordshire saltpeter distributor.

Aram wrinkled his nose. “It smells like gunpowder.”

“That’s because saltpeter is a main ingredient,” said Landon.

The barn door was open. Rather than house horses or farm animals, half a dozen men dressed in shirtsleeves and trousers lifted heavy sacks and moved crates.

A thickly muscled man with a bald pate and sweat-stained shirt and dirty trousers approached. His meaty fists were twice the size of Landon’s.

“We’re looking for the owner of this business,” Landon said, holding the giant’s stare.

“I’m Hugh, the manager.”

Landon held out the receipt he’d found in Willard’s desk. “What can you tell me about this delivery?”

Hugh’s large brow furrowed. “It’s dated five years ago.”

“It is.”

“I remember it.” Hugh tapped his temple. “I have a good memory, but this one was special.”

Landon took a deep breath. “Special how?”

“I don’t remember the man’s name so much as the order. Forty pounds of saltpeter. We deal mostly with army requisitions for saltpeter to make their gunpowder, you see. But this man, this Cawley, asked a lot of questions.”

“What kind of questions?” Landon asked.

“First, he asked for the saltpeter to be in a crate rather than sacks like we normally deliver. I tried my best to talk him out of it, but he was insistent.”

Landon’s mouth was grim. A crate, which was nailed shut, could easily be mislabeled and loaded in the ship’s cargo versus four sacks which could easily be inspected.

“What else?” Aram asked.

Hugh scratched his head as if recalling the memory. “He asked whether saltpeter was flammable on its own. When I told him no, he asked how best to make it combust.”

“What did you tell him?” Landon asked.

“Sugar,” Hugh said.