She nodded. “May I ask how your brother fares this morning?”
“There is no improvement, I fear.”
“We are all of us praying belowstairs.” She reached for the door latch, then turned back. “I am so sorry this happened. For all your sakes.”
How wide her blue eyes, how appealing her tremulous lips. It was all he could do not to take her in his arms. What a comfort that would be. What a torment.
Instead he remained where he was. “Thank you.”
———
After Margaret left, Nathaniel gathered the poem he had just found in Lewis’s things, the duel challenge note, and Preston’s “must I visit Fairbourne Hall” threat, and took all three up to the sitting room to show Helen.
He first handed her the new “How dare ye set yer hands upon her, blasted louse” poem.
She read it and breathed, “Good heavens.”
Nathaniel jabbed a finger toward the note. “This points to Preston. The man calls himself the Poet Pirate, after all. Yet I had no idea his vendetta encompassed Lewis as well.”
Helen held out her palm. “Let me see the poem he wrote threatening to come here for the rest of the profits.”
He handed it to her, and she compared the two poems. “The handwriting is completely different.”
Nathaniel looked over her shoulder. “You’re right. Why would he disguise his hand, yet write in his signature poetry?”
“I don’t know.”
He handed her the third letter he’d brought upstairs. “Here’s the note challenging Lewis to a duel in the first place.”
Helen compared the brief challenge note to the latest poem. “These two were written by the same person.”
Nathaniel grimaced. “Are you saying Preston wrote only the first letter, threatening to come here, and the other two were written by a different person?”
Helen nodded.
“Two poets?” Nathaniel said, incredulous. “One threatening me, the other threatening Lewis?”
Helen nodded. “I agree it seems highly unlikely.” She frowned over the latest poem and read it aloud. “ ‘Ye cruel, vain, blasted louse. Detested by all in my house. How dare ye set yer hands upon her. Such a sweet innocent girl. Go somewhere else to seek yer pleasure. With some other poor pearl.’ ” She shook her head. “I feel as though I have read this before....”
Nathaniel agreed. “It is very like the Burns poem ‘To a Louse.’ ”
Helen’s eyes lit in recognition. “Ah. So it is.”
Abel Preston specialized in manufacturing poetry to suit the occasion. But two poets? Nathaniel’s head hurt. He felt more confused than before.
On her way to the servants’ hall for dinner, Margaret peeked into the stillroom and glimpsed a flash of deep red—the back of Connor’s auburn head. She supposed he was talking with Hester again. But was talking all they were doing? Margaret hoped Mrs. Budgeon wouldn’t catch them. Staff romances were deeply frowned upon, she knew.
But when Margaret reached the servants’ hall, there was Hester, cheerfully helping Jenny lay out the servants’ dinner.
“Oh.” Margaret drew up short. “I thought you were in the stillroom.”
Hester set down a tray of savory biscuits and looked up. “Now, why would you think that?”
Margaret waited until Jenny had returned to the kitchen and then said, “I saw Connor in there.”
Hester’s face lit up. “Did you? Wonder what he needs.” She winked. “Besides me, a’course.”
Seeing the fondness shining in Hester’s eyes, Margaret felt oddly envious of the stillroom maid. Oh, to be loved and to have that love reciprocated. She thought back to her last conversation with Nathaniel. It was almost as if his words had carried latent meaning forher—Margaret.“Any man might be angry, to think the woman he loved preferred Lewis.”And the way he had looked at her...
