The Forgotten Duchess

Chapter Forty-Eight | Governess

JAMES CRUMBLED THE missive tightly and tossed it into the fire. His hands were still shaking, in anger and disbelief.

Baldwin was dead.

Gilford had found his body earlier this morning in the man's office.

How was this possible? Two people whom he had interacted with were dead. It was no coincidence. James had inquired about the late duke and earl's death and suddenly, the two people who knew were gone. The only reasonable explanation was that both men must have stumbled upon implicating information.

It frustrated James that he was no closer to figuring who was behind it all. However, Baldwin's death had made it clear that they were being watched. It was not fair. Baldwin had been but an innocent fool who now left a family of three children behind. Who would feed them? What would Baldwin's widow do without her husband? James could only look after the children in a limited means, and he didn't know if Baldwin's widow would accept his generosity.

Frustration and red-hot anger poured over James' body. He grabbed the glass decanter from the gold painted cart and flung it across the room. The glass shattered upon impact as pieces fell across his office, shining when the small stream of sunlight reflected off them. Amber liquid seeped onto the rug and his chair, but James no longer cared.

He expelled a breath he had not realized he was holding. Tossing the decanter had not made him feel particularly better. No, it would do nobody good for him to lose control. James needed his brain to focus and figure out who the murder was. He would not be responsible for the loss of anymore lives.

Running his fingers through his hair, James walked towards his desk, careful to avoid the sharp glass pieces that were littering the floor. He stood behind his chair, looking at the painting of his father. When he had thrown the decanter, it had nicked the painting, but James was thankful that there was no other damage. Reaching out, he tried straightening it, but his fingers brushed an awkward edge.

Frowning, he let his fingertips trace the edge. His heart leapt; no, it couldn't be. Grabbing his chair, he stood on the plush seat, ignoring that his great-aunt would have a heart condition if she saw him do so. He reached out and removed his father's painting, carefully laying it on the carpet. He turned back and gasped to peer at the wall. On a single glance, it appeared normal, but upon brushing his fingers there was a small gap. Excitement thrummed through his body when he saw the small keyhole. Immediately, he knew what would fit in it.

Jumping down from the chair, he began searching around his desk for the key he found in Vivienne's pendant. It was somewhere, buried beneath the copious missives and books. Opening the desk drawer, he smiled and held the key to the light. Stepping onto the chair once again, James slotted the key into the hole—it was a perfect fit.

The wood panel loosened, and he was able to slide it to the left. James' heart hammered as he smirked in satisfaction. By God, his father had truly been crafty. He knew nobody would remove the portrait of the master of the manor and he had created the perfect hiding place. James reached in blindly, only to pull out a stack of letters. Frowning, he transferred them to his other hand, reaching into to feel if there was something else. He came up empty.

Glancing at the stack in his left hand, he frowned, surprised to see those were the only contents of the vault. The importance of the letters heightened in his mind. Settling into his chair, James pushed away the rest of the documents on his desk and began to read.

The first letter was addressed to a Pierre, indicating French origin. His eyes glazed over the letter. A large portion of it seemed to contain information on the positions and stations of the British military, as well as future moves. James' heart leapt; he was sure this was classified information which meant that the author of the letters was a traitor. He had not expected his father to betray the crown—the man James had known was kind and loyal to Britain and the crown. The first letter was not signed, and so James moved onto the next.