Page 67 of Project Duke

His gaze followed one of the servants cleaning the tables. It was a young woman with dark hair.

“Come, let’s talk to Daisy,” he said. “She has worked here ever since I can remember.”

They moved through the crowd, the dogs leading the way.

“Daisy,” said Nathaniel when they approached her.

“Ah, the duke is ’ere.” She straightened with a wet cloth in her hand and placed her fist on her hip. “What can I do for you, luv? Last time you won me five whole pounds.”

Calliope didn’t like the woman’s hooded eyes when she looked at him. Not in the slightest. A stab of jealousy made Calliope’s nostrils flare. A slight smile on his lips made her wonder if it was only politeness or if they had ever shared more than that. The thought of him with another made nausea rise in her stomach.

“We wondered about one night last September,” she said before Nathaniel could say anything, her voice coming out quick and cold. “The night when there was a big raid here. Many men were press-ganged.”

Daisy looked her over from head to toe, one eyebrow rising. “Oh.”

“This is my wife, the Duchess of Kelford,” said Nathaniel.

The woman’s eyebrows practically crawled to her hairline. “Your wife?”

“Yes, his wife,” said Calliope.

“What is your wife doing in a place like this?” Daisy scoffed and returned to wiping the round table. Patrons lifted their cups from the surface, letting her clean.

“It’s her brother,” said Nathaniel softly. “He was taken during the raid to be press-ganged, and we wondered if you saw anything?”

She stilled, her gaze momentarily softening with sympathy. “I know what night you speak of,” she said as she picked up empty mugs and straightened. “I didn’t work that night.”

Disappointment felt like a heavy weight in Calliope’s chest. “Oh,” she said. “Have you heard anything about that night? Something that might be useful?”

“Who was your brother?” The barmaid narrowed her eyes.

“He was the Duke of Grandhampton. Spencer,” said Calliope.

Daisy’s eyes widened with understanding and a sly smile. Did the woman enjoy a special connection with both her husband and her brother?

“Spencer…” she murmured. “Duke Ironfist. I’m gutted ’e’s gone, luv.” Her sudden softness to Calliope was a surprise. “Ain’t ’eard nothin’ except he copped it that night, right there. Broke me ’eart, it did. Always had me back if a punter got too handsy. ’e was a good man.”

“Thank you. He still is a good man,” said Calliope firmly. “We’re trying to find him as we found out he didn’t die but was taken onto a navy ship against his will.”

“Right,” she said and turned away as she walked through the crowd towards the bar. They followed. “Mayhap, Harvey can ’elp. He is ’ere every night.”

“Yes, we should talk to Harvey,” said Nathaniel. “Come, Calliope.”

They made their way to a bear of a man in his fifties. Despite his age, he had hands that seemed capable of crushing stone and arms that had seen their fair share of labor. A dense silver beard covered his square jaw. He had something of a military stance about him. His eyes, deep-set and sharp as a hawk’s, missed nothing as they surveyed his establishment. There was an unmistakable aura of authority and respect that clung to him.

“He is a veteran of the American War of 1775,” Nathaniel whispered to her.

“Ah, Noble Knuckles,” said Harvey, glancing up at Nathaniel with a smile as he wiped the smooth wooden surface of the bar. “Are you fightin’ today?”

“No,” said Nathaniel.

“He wants to ask you about the night of the press-gang last September,” said Daisy. “And this one’s hitched now,” she added with a quick glance at Calliope.

“Many ’appy years,” said Harvey, his eyes scanning Calliope with estimation. “What about that night?”

“Do you remember it well?” asked Nathaniel, leaning over the bar to hear him better as the crowd roared at something that happened in the ring.

The man’s gaze darkened. “Hard to forget the night when every bloomin’ thing I ’ad got smashed and a duke copped it ’ere.”