Moreham handed her his candle and inserted the key. Another quiet snick in the night and the door to the small safe sprung open. Fully aware of their discovery in the duke’s bookroom in Town, he gave extra attention to the papers in the front of the safe.
Sheets of foolscap laid on top of what he assumed was the duchess’ jewels. Why the jewels were not in London with Whitney and his duchess was enough of a conundrum to merit a look inside the box. A closer perusal of the sheets of foolscap was unexciting, deeds and writs mostly. Moreham had thought to find some letter or note with a reference to Arnold or Jones, but nothing.
He handed Gillian the jewelry box. “Look through that. See if there are any pieces missing or notes hidden in amongst the pieces, maybe a false bottom. I’m going to look in the bedchamber.”
He left Gillian sitting on a settee sorting through the gold and silver pieces. Whitney’s bedchamber was darker than the sitting room. He lit another taper. He made quick work of opening drawers. He found nothing. Moreham spied an armoire. He’d eased open a drawer or two when he heard another door nearby creak open and then close.
“Barney, stop your complaining. The earl and his bride are sleeping like babes. Bet the old boy is enjoying a blissful slumber, as the gents would say. Would like to have a go at his missus myself.”
“Those words will get you hung. His lordship don’t look like a man who’d…”
Moreham didn’t wait around to hear what the man had to say. He ever so slowly closed the drawer and stepped backward into what he hoped was the open door to the sitting room.
Moreham pulled the door closed. “Gillian, we have company. In the dressing room.”
Gillian jumped up and shoved the jewelry box back into the safe. She clicked the padlock shut and touched the catch to return the fake wall to its rightful place. Moreham stood, the urn in hand at the ready to sit the faux silver vessel back in its place. To his surprise, Gillian took the key and slipped it under the urn before pulling on his hand toward the doorway they’d entered through earlier.
Neither spoke a word as they opened the door. Moreham peeked out into the corridor. With no one in sight, they tiptoed down the hall. Moreham held his breath as they passed the bedchamber doors. He heard the two men mumbling. He grabbed Gillian’s arm, fled down the hall to their sitting room, all but threw her across the threshold before following her into the room.
“Well, that was most exciting. I don’t think my heart ever pounded as fast it did when you came into the room.” She pointed to the clock on the mantel. “We have only been gone a half-hour. Seems much longer.”
Moreham drew a deep breath, trying to get his heart rate to slow down. He wiped his brow to push his hair out of his eyes and found sweat.
“Fear, my dear, brings on a euphoria unlike any you will ever experience. Blood pumps faster, lungs pull in air, your body reacts with strength when you feel threatened.”
Gillian wrapped her arms around her middle. She looked so lonely. His heart ached for her. He acted by instinct and rushed over to her. He put his arms around her. “There, there, dearest, we are safe. The good news is we did not find any incriminating evidence against your uncle.”
Gillian stiffened and stepped away from him. Eyes filled with unshed tears, Gillian shook her head and held out her hand. “Moreham, I found another note.”
Moreham took the piece of foolscap from her hand and read the now familiar handwriting. The same hand wrote the note they found in London. Of that there was no doubt. He read the names of the gentleman due to attend the house party. Had someone dictated to Whitney who to invite?
Moreham led Gillian over to their bed. He jerked the bedcovers back and laid her in the middle of the bed. “Come, sweetness, we must sleep. Even with this note we still need to ride out in the morning. We must visit the meeting place…this abbey of yours.”
Gillian moved over in the bed and made room for him to join her. “Moreham, will you hold me for a bit? I don’t think I can sleep. Not after learning Sturm is missing and finding that second note which only makes Uncle look more guilty?”
“Most certainly, I’ll hold you all night if need be. You must not lose hope. Our business is full of conundrums at every turn. As I keep saying nothing is ever as it seems.”
He tightened his hold around her shoulders and nudged her closer so she could rest her head on his chest. “Now, close your eyes. I’m here if you need me. Tomorrow, we will venture toward the abbey ruins. Mayhap we will find evidence of who is really the culprit in this conspiracy.”
Moreham kissed her forehead and looked down to find his wife asleep. Her breathing coming in tiny puffs.
The next morning came far too quickly. Foggy headed from the late night, Gillian fought waking up. Warmth pulled her back down into the bed and with a moan she forced herself to open her eyes only to find herself in Moreham’s arms. The man’s gray eyes were trained on her face.
She glanced over his shoulder to see the early light of day through the bed curtains.
“You should have woken me. We should be riding by now. I know you are impatient to find your proof of my uncle’s guilt.” Gillian winced at the harsh sound of her words.
Moreham growled and pulled her back to face him. “I share your opinion. The key under the urn proves anyone could have planted the note. You said yourself the duke hasn’t been in residence in two
