A Duke in the Night(61)

Jealousy does not become you, Your Grace.

He wasn’t jealous. He was thorough. If this man was in Clara Hayward’s life, he wanted to find out how. And why. There was no such thing as too much information.

“I would have thought you’d heard enough of Stilton when you bought that damn lace factory,” Duncan mumbled as he strode over to the leather case resting near the portmanteau and rummaged through it, coming up with a piece of paper and what looked like an aged newspaper sheet. His face was mercifully blank as he straightened. “Mr. Mathias Stilton. Age forty-one. Originally from Southwark, only child of the late Jerome and Ellen Stilton. You know the part about his dismal business acumen, so I’ll skip that bit. Moved to London after that and married a woman of means named Emily Livet.”

“He’s married?”

“Widowed. She died two years after they wed, leaving him the substantial parcel of land she’d brought to the marriage, which kept him in fine style before, and certainly after, her death. Though from what I hear, he’s no longer popular with the merchants on Bond Street. He has a great number of outstanding debts, the least of which is to his tailor.”

August felt his fingers tighten on the edges of the sign. An unpleasant sensation curled through his gut. “How did his wife die?” he asked.

Duncan unfolded an aged and somewhat brittle page of the Times. “According to the paper, she drowned in a boating accident.”

“Witnesses?” August couldn’t believe he was actually asking this, but his instincts were demanding his attention, and he always paid attention to his instincts.

“Just her distraught husband. Though it says a good Samaritan pulled him out of the Thames half-drowned himself after trying to save her. A picnic and punt on an idyllic afternoon turned tragic. Or at least that was what the account said.” He passed the sheet to August. “You don’t think it was an accident.”

Duncan was reading his mind again. “I don’t know. Either way, it left him a man of property and free to marry again, should he wish it.”

“May I inquire why you are asking about him now?” Duncan asked, his brows drawn together. “Is he—”

The sound of the knocker on the heavy front door silenced the rest of his question, and the same footman who had disappeared with August’s coat reappeared almost instantly to open the door.

August blinked as Anne strode in, handing her gloves to the servant. She stopped short in surprise. “Good heavens. Mr. Down?”

“Lady Anne.” Duncan offered her a bow. “Good afternoon. You look radiant.”

“Thank you.” Anne smiled at Duncan, a genuine smile that caused her eyes to light up and made her radiant indeed. “I didn’t know you were coming to Dover.”

“Nor did I until very recently. But I’m very glad I did.”

August stared at the two of them. Bloody hell, was his sister blushing?

Anne’s gaze turned abruptly to August, and some of that radiance faltered. “Good afternoon, August. I was hoping to catch you here so that we could talk—” Her words died suddenly as her gaze fell on the large sign August still gripped. “Oh.” Her hand went to her mouth.

Duncan took a step back as Anne approached, her eyes fixed firmly on the tavern sign. “That’s my sign,” she whispered, her brows drawn together. “The one I drew.”

“Yes,” said August, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. His sister had the most peculiar expression on her face.

Anne reached out a hand and traced with her finger the carved curlicues that ran along the top. “I don’t understand.”

August cleared his throat. “What is there to understand? The current sign is in deplorable condition. I thought to have a new one made, and I rather liked your design. It was…expedient.”

“Expedient.” Anne looked up at him, her eyes brimming with what looked like unshed tears. Holy hell, was she going to cry? He wasn’t sure he had ever seen Anne cry.

“Mr. Down brought it with him,” August rushed on. “I thought perhaps you might like to see it hung.”

“Yes,” she whispered.

August suddenly found himself in an awkward hug, his sister embracing him over the top of the sign. He slid an arm around her back and squeezed.

“Thank you, August,” she mumbled into the front of his coat.

“You’re very welcome.” He cleared his throat again because it seemed to have thickened inexplicably.

Anne drew away and turned to Duncan, wrapping him in an impulsive embrace as well. “Thank you, Mr. Down.”

“It was my pleasure,” Duncan said, his eyes darting to where August stood. “You’re very talented.”

Anne extricated herself and turned back to the sign, crouching down and running her hand over the polished surface. “No more bats,” she said with a shaky laugh.

“Or flamingoes,” August muttered.

She looked up at him, almost shyly. “I have some other ideas for the Swan,” she said. “Maybe later I could show them to you?”

August would have agreed to almost anything at that point, if only to keep the smile on her face. “That would be nice.”

“This is the best present you’ve ever given me,” she said with a sniff.

“But it’s not even something for you,” August protested. “I didn’t really give you anything.”