A Duke in the Night(60)

“Where have you been?” August demanded, instantly regretting his tone. He hadn’t actually been expecting Duncan to come to Dover in person, only to forward him what he’d requested. But now that he was here, August was inordinately pleased to see him.

Duncan raised his brows above his spectacles and continued chewing. “Avondale House first, where a rather stodgy butler directed me in no uncertain terms to this dower house,” he said once he had swallowed. “But before that? Stuffed on a bloody mail coach.”

“I’m sorry.” August ran a hand through his hair. “It’s been a trying few days.”

Duncan glanced around him at the polished opulence. “I can see that. The mail coach, however, was nothing but sheer luxury.”

August scowled. “Point taken.” He gestured to the pile. “What did you bring me?”

“Everything you asked for. I wasn’t sure where you wanted everything or where you wanted me, for that matter, so I had the footmen leave everything here.”

“You can have your pick of rooms upstairs,” August replied, distracted, as he heaved the large, square bundle upright. “Is this the tavern sign?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“And was it crafted as per the drawing?”

“See for yourself.” Duncan took a bite of his second biscuit.

August pulled at the knots and tossed the rope aside, unwinding the burlap. He let the fabric fall to the ground with an appreciative whistle. “It’s stunning.”

“It better be, given what it cost to have it completed in such a short time,” Duncan mumbled through a mouthful of crumbs.

The sign stood a little taller than August’s waist and was about equally wide. It was painted a glossy ebony, a carved silhouette of a gliding swan dominating the center. The Silver Swan was carved in an elegant script just below the image, while whimsical curlicues stretched out from the center above. All the carving had been painted a brilliant white, flecks of silver embedded in the paint to give it a sparkling sheen.

“She’s going to adore it,” Duncan said, dusting crumbs from his hands.

“Who?”

“Lady Anne.”

August ran his hand over the top and fingered the two heavy hooks that had been mounted into the wood, one at each side. “And why would you think Lady Anne has any interest in a tavern sign?”

“Because that sign was her sketch,” Duncan said slowly.

“And how do you know that?”

“Because she showed it to me.” He was watching August a little uncertainly.

“When?”

“I’m can’t quite recall, Your Grace.”

August scowled again, wondering what the hell was wrong with him. He couldn’t truly be thinking what he thought he was. That Anne and Duncan— He cut that notion off. If his sister had been badgering Duncan about the hotel books and laundries and fishmongers, it was quite likely she had been badgering him about tavern signs and God only knew what else.

“Is something amiss, Your Grace?” Duncan was peering at him with concern.

Yes, there was a great deal that was amiss. Nothing that concerned his man of business, however. “What about the other two matters I asked you to look into?”

Duncan glanced around the hall, but it was deserted. He dropped his voice anyway. “As of two days ago, there was still no sign of Strathmore’s ships. However, his Lordship forwarded a payment on to his banker just before I left London.”

“What? How?”

Duncan shrugged.

“For how much?”

Duncan shook his head. “I wasn’t able to ascertain the exact amount, but it was substantial enough to prompt his banker to extend his loan an additional week.”

August stared at the swan frozen in graceful lines in front of him. Where the hell had Strathmore gotten capital like that? “And he has no other assets? Something we missed?”

“I looked again but found no record of anything,” Duncan confirmed.

“The man could have the map to El Dorado squirreled away, and I wouldn’t know it,” August grumbled.

“So it’s not going well? With the baron, I mean?” Duncan asked.

“I’ve managed to have a single conversation with him about business in the entire time I’ve been here. One in which he left halfway through, but not before he made it clear that he had no intention of selling Strathmore Shipping. Ever.”

“Your calculated charm has failed?”

August shot him a black look. His charm hadn’t failed. It had deserted him altogether to be replaced with acute need and want and longing and a muddled sense of direction.

“He might yet change his mind,” Duncan suggested.

“He will when his ships don’t return and he’s facing ruination. But maybe not even then if he’s got more tricks up his sleeve that we don’t know about.”

“Well, you can’t win them all, Your Grace. At the very least, you still have Haverhall.”

August shook his head. That didn’t make him feel any better. And probably not for the reason Duncan would think. “What about the other bit of information I asked you for?” he said, changing the topic.

“Mr. Mathias Stilton.”

“Yes.” August kept his expression stony. He hadn’t told Duncan why he had asked for information on the dandy, only that it was a business matter.