Page 27 of Barbarous

Hugh dropped into the chair behind the massive desk and gripped the arms while his hammering heart slowed. He stared at the smooth surface in front of him. The desk was a work of art and Hugh would always think of it as his uncle’s possession—just like everything else in the blasted place.

Just like his widow.

“Damn and blast,” he groaned. He was so bloody hard it hurt.

“My lord?”

Hugh threw back his drink and adjusted his pounding erection before leaning back in his chair and scowling at the other man. “I want to know every last detail about this letter.”

The superior look slid from Will’s face. “I found it last night—just before I left for home. I’ve asked anyone who might have been near where the note was left, but nobody saw anything and nobody unusual was here either yesterday or for two days prior.” He pinched the narrow bridge of his nose. “It was on the floor in the tack room, I’ve no idea how long it might have been there.” He shrugged. “I’m sorry, my lord, but I’m afraid I’ve exhausted my sources of information.”

“Sources? Which sources are those?”

Will’s pale face reddened. “Perhaps sources is the wrong word. Other than the servants here, I did speak to one of the weavers who works with my sister, and she has a cousin who is a cook-maid—” His voice petered out as Hugh’s eyebrows went up and up and up. He expelled a noisy mouthful of air. “The truth is I’ve no idea how to go on with this, my lord. The note could have come at any time, from anyone.”

“What about the man you know from Tunbridge Wells? The runner or whatever he is, has he turned up anything?”

“He said the situation over at Whitton Park is tense as the servants have not been paid in some time, but other than that . . .” Will shrugged. “He is doing all he can, but he has discovered nothing linking anyone to either the letters or her ladyship.”

“Is there anyone else we could use?”

“Not anyone I would trust. I daresay you wouldn’t want any word of this to get out.”

“No, I wouldn’t.” Hugh drummed the desk with the three fingers of his left hand. Should he tell Daphne about the notes? Was it possible she might be aware of what was going on? He dismissed the thought. Why worry her when they weren’t even certain there was a problem? He was beginning to think it was all a prank, some disgruntled ex-servant stirring the pot. After all, what bloody danger could she be in at Lessing Hall? It made no sense.

“We’ll give your man a few more days. I am hesitant to go prancing about asking questions myself about such a sensitive matter. I’m afraid my interest would not go unnoticed.” That was a bloody understatement. Word of Hugh’s return had spread like proverbial wildfire. Every paper Hugh read was full of his exploits, both real and imagined. Anytime he went into Eastbourne, he could feel the weight of hundreds of eyes; he didn’t even want to think about how bad it would be in London. Already he’d hired five men from the village to patrol the property and they’d tossed a dozen newspapermen from the estate. Who knew how many others lurked undetected? No, he’d not be able to look into a damned thing without drawing a crowd.

Hugh plucked the quill from its holder and absently smoothed the barb. “I want to get someone into Whitton Park. That is all we have at present—Lady Davenport’s enmity with Hastings.”

Will nodded. “I agree. Unfortunately, your uncle severed all connections with Hastings when he and Lady Davenport married. We have almost no contact with Whitton Park—neither its master nor servants.”

“That in itself is rather unusual in such a small community, is it not?” Hugh met Will’s pale blue eyes. “Do you know the source of the disagreement between my uncle and Hastings?”

“I have no clue, my lord. Your uncle went to Whitton Park with some regularity when her ladyship’s mother was still alive.”

“Ah yes, the orchid connection,” Hugh said, his lips twisting.

Will gave him an odd look before speaking. “I have always assumed the earl stopped paying visits because of Lady Hastings’s death, but perhaps it was because of something Hastings did? The man is generally known to be a disreputable character, and you know how your uncle was about such things.”

Yes, Hugh did know. His uncle had been a bulwark of respectability, a stickler for proper behavior; he would have wanted nothing to do with a man like Malcolm Hastings. Or a man like Hugh.

“The late earl was not the only person in the neighborhood who did not welcome Hastings’s company, although he did take things one step further by making sure there was no overlap in staff, except Rowena Claxton, who was with Lady Davenport at Whitton.”

Hugh smiled at the mention of Daphne’s hostile maid. Lord, but that woman disliked him! She was old enough to remember what he’d been like as a lad. No doubt she worried—

“Do you think it might be one of Hastings’s servants sending the messages?” Will asked, breaking into his thoughts.

Hugh thought about the scrap he’d interrupted that first day. Perhaps that was the danger the notes warned about—that Hastings was trying to force Daphne into marriage. But Hugh couldn’t see it. His advances were obnoxious, but he could hardly force her to marry him.

Hugh shrugged. “I don’t know, but I want you to ask your man to try and get somebody inside. Perhaps Hastings is seeking to hire a new servant or some such. Tell him to make it a priority. In the meantime, make sure Lady Davenport never leaves the house alone.”

“She usually takes Caswell and he is well able to protect her against Hastings.”

Hugh snorted. “She’s already proven herself more than capable of dispatching that rogue.”

Will unbent enough to chuckle, but Hugh could not join him.

Yes, she might be able to protect herself from Hastings, but who would protect her from Hugh?