Owen glanced once more at the other server in the room before taking the chance to walk around Diana, placing a comforting hand to her shoulder that would not be seen. As Owen saw to the rest of the preparations for the breakfast, he was aware of Diana pulling the paper forward and reading the headlines. A minute later, a high-pitched sound escaped her, startling Owen so much that he nearly dropped the teapot he was using to pour her tea.
“Your Grace? What is wrong?” he asked, having to stop himself from reaching for her.
“Look.” She proffered the newspaper for him to see, and he took it in a fumble, hurrying to place down the teapot. The headline made his body feel cold.
‘Fire at Brokerwood.’
The article went on, describing a fire that had taken place at Brokerwood on the edge of Frome. Houses had been ravaged, practically torn down to the ground. The truly awful part was that there were injured tenants. Three men were badly burnt, clinging to life, having tried to fight the fire.
“Thank you, Jacobs, that will be all,” Owen called to the other server, needing a minute alone with Diana. Jacobs pointed down at what he was doing, clearly showing he was not yet done. “I will finish it.” Jacobs nodded and hurried out of the room, leaving Owen and Diana alone at last.
He placed the paper down on the table and reached for her shoulder, taking it gently.
“Was it the third name on your list?” he asked in a whisper.
“It was,” she said, nodding with her hands trembling as she clung to the tabletop. “It read Haymarket Field, Avon Acres, and Brokerwood. How is it possible that Gilbert would write down the three locations of fires before two of them had even taken place?”
“Shh, calm yourself.” Owen bent down to her level, glancing at the open doorway in fear of someone coming back at any moment.
“Didn’t you say that Haymarket and Avon Acres were his tenants?”
“Yes.”
“What of Brokerwood?”
“I don’t know,” Owen said calmly, taking her hand in his and holding it tightly, hoping he could stop some of the trembling.
“He had something to do with these fires, I know it.” Diana was practically climbing out of the chair, reaching for him.
“We cannot know that for certain.” Owen tried to say the words in some kind of comfort, even though he knew it was hopeless. To his own mind, he was as certain as Diana. It was impossible for the duke to be innocent in all this mess. That shred of paper condemned him.
There was a sound out in the corridor, the signal of someone else approaching.
Owen managed to get Diana back down into her seat and step away, but it pained him to do it. He longed to take her in his arms, to tell her that all would be well.
“Fresh bread, Your Grace.” One of the servers walked into the room, carrying a wooden board of fresh bread.
“Th-thank you,” Diana said, stammering through the words, unable to lift her eyes from the table.
Once the bread was delivered, Owen nodded at the server, urging him to leave once again. He followed the order, leaving quickly. This time, Owen wasn’t going to leave it to chance. He rounded the dining table and closed the door before coming back to Diana and taking her hands in his again, sitting in the seat beside her.
“He did it, didn’t he?” Diana asked. “He has burnt these people’s homes to the ground. Why would he do that?”
“I do not know,” Owen said. Knowing now what the duke was capable of, he longed more than anything for Diana to be free of him. It made him nervous, too if the duke ever discovered her duplicity. For a man who could burn down strangers’ homes, what would he do to the wife that had been unfaithful to him?
***
Owen wasn’t sure how long he had been in the breakfast room trying to calm Diana, but he was late back down the stairs. It wasn’t just Tommie’s and Jessie’s eyes that turned to him as he entered the kitchen, others looked too.
Owen cleared his throat, capturing even more of the servants’ attention, knowing he had to come up with some excuse for his absence.
“It seems our duchess has had an unpleasant shock. Another one of those fires has upset her greatly. Jacobs, perhaps you could prepare something for her nerves? Something to help calm her?”
“Yes, of course,” Jacobs said, hurrying off to do his wishes. Seeing the excuse seemed to convince most people, Owen moved to Tommie’s side. Yet he had not convinced everyone. Jessie hurried to his side, too, her eyes wide.
“What fire?” Her question was the last thing Owen had been expecting her to say.
“There was a fire at Brokerwood in Frome. People have been seriously injured.”
