“My investments in your ventures have paid off very well,” he said. “I have no illusions that it isn’t from your keen mind that all these things flow.”
Danford brushed off the compliment with a shrug. “I think any man who recognized the potential for the canals, for steam engines, for all these things that will lead our country into the future, would have done just as well as I have.”
“I’m not certain that is true. To succeed you must have a vision for the future,” Clairemont insisted.
He nodded. “I suppose.”
“And what is yours?”
His companion seemed to ponder his answer for a moment before he responded, “I think industry is the future. Building, inventing, expanding.”
Danford’s eyes lit up as he spoke, perhaps not with the same passion that he showed when speaking of his wife, but some small version of it. It was clear he was enthusiastic about his ventures. But what was he willing to trade for that zeal?
“Does the war not make it more difficult?” Clairemont pressed, careful now. The correspondence between the real duke and this man had never blatantly addressed the issue of the war, the embargo, the information and weaponry being traded at the expense of the effort.
But there had to be a reason the dead duke had filed Danford’s letters in hidden places just like he did with more incriminating papers.
Danford dipped his head, and Clairemont leaned forward as he awaited the answer. He wanted to see the body language, hear the tone, as well as analyze each word.
“The war is difficult for many reasons,” Danford said, his tone suddenly rough. “Trade is impossible in some ways, which makesanybusiness more complicated. Some of the effort that could go to building must go to defense. But I think I see the results more in my workers.”
“How so?”
Danford frowned. “Many of their relatives are enlisted men. They are dying, and it breaks the spirit. There is discontent and I can hardly blame them for it.”
Clairemont nodded, but his heart rate had increased with that statement. Turncoats on the inside were said to be breeding the very discontent in the populace that Danford referred to. Was he part of that treasonous effort or just commenting on it?
“You think they should hate our leaders?” he pressed, trying to maintain a disinterested tone.
Danford shrugged. “I think it’s hardnotto blame the leadership when you are scraping for bread and burying your brothers. I try to provide a good and safe environment for them and pay them fairly. It is the best I can do for crown and country, I suppose.”
Clairemont pondered the answer. Those were not the words of a traitor, but of a fair and decent employer. A man of principle who could see the feelings of his workers and tried to better them. Perhaps even tried to calm them for the sake of his king.
Danford rose to his feet and set his empty glass aside. “Two lovely ladies are awaiting our return in the parlor,” he said. “Shall we set aside these less than pleasant topics and join them?”
Clairemont nodded, perhaps more enthusiastically than he should, for he was pressing his finger on the topic he needed to explore most. But right now he wanted so much to put duty aside and spend a little time with the very interesting woman in the parlor.
He placed his glass next to Grayson’s and followed him into the hall. “Miss Fitzgilbert was engaged to your brother once, wasn’t she?”
Danford sent him a side glance, and in an instant their positions were reversed. Where Clairemont had until this point been investigating him, he now felt Danford searchinghim. He was protective of Celia, and there was a part of Clairemont that appreciated that.
“She was,” Danford said slowly. “An arranged union, as many are. She and my brother were kind enough to step aside from it when they realized Rosalinde and I had fallen in love.”
“To appease her grandfather, so she said,” Clairemont mused. “But you do not see the man now, do you?”
Danford’s body language transformed to an angry tension, coiled and ready to strike. “He was not appeased, unfortunately. But it is for the best. Celia is better off with us.”
Clairemont tilted his head. There was more to this story. He had sensed it before, but now he was certain. And though he doubted it had anything to do with his case, he found himself wanting to understand the truth.
“Here we are,” Danford said, his tone still taut as he opened the parlor door. But the moment he stepped inside, his body language changed. Clairemont watched as he strode across the room to his wife and took her hand as if they had been separated for days rather than less than an hour.
He found his gaze shifting to Celia. She, too, watched the almost intimate exchange, and when her eyes moved to him, she blushed.
He moved toward her and smiled. “What is it that ladies discuss when the gentlemen leave the room?” he asked. “I’ve always wanted to know.”
He expected her to smile at his teasing, but instead her face fell a fraction. Whatever she had discussed with her sister, it hadn’t been a happy topic. The tension in the room was now palpable.
“Celia?” he asked, dropping his tone so the other two wouldn’t hear the familiarity of his address. “What is it?”
