“But why would Charlotte and any relationship Ewan might have with her drive Josiah this way?” Matthew asked.
“Heirs,” she whispered. “If Ewan were to marry and produce an heir, then that would become the line of the title. It would veer away from Josiah forever.”
Ewan staggered and took a long step away from his mother. As if distancing himself could make this horrible thing she was saying go away.
“So his plans, which were up until that point only vague, had to sharpen to a point before it was too late.” His hands shook as he wrote those words.
She nodded. “Yes. He insisted we all make the journey here, holiday or no. He had to see for himself, and if he felt the rumor was true, decide what to do about it.”
“That’swhat he meant when he said he’d seen enough earlier today,” Baldwin mused. “He saw the connection between you and Charlotte with his own eyes. He felt it confirmed what he’d been told.”
“All the way back to town, he railed about what he was going to do. How he would destroy your world.” The duchess covered her face with her hands. “Destroyyou. I know I have not been a mother to you, Ewan. I had no idea how to be. But the idea that he would strike you dead…” She drew her fingers away and stared at him. “I couldn’t…I couldn’t…”
He turned away, pacing to the window. The full truth of her words washed over him, and his stomach turned. Sothisis where they’d come to. What his father’s hate had born and bred into men he should have called brothers. Now at least one of them wanted him dead.
“He’ll come for me, then,” he wrote, handing the notebook to Matthew to read out to the Duchess of Donburrow.
She squeezed her eyes shut. “I don’t know. I assume so. He went off to that horrid Mr. Griffin as soon as he left me at the inn, with Roger trailing along behind him.”
“Mr. Griffin?” Smith interrupted from the door. “The—the shopkeep in the village?”
The duchess pursed her lips in his direction, like she was annoyed he had interrupted her little tale. “Yes,” she said, her tone snippy and short. “Griffin is Josiah’s spy.”
To Ewan’s surprise, the color left Smith’s face and he staggered, reaching out to support himself on the doorjamb.
“What is it?” Matthew asked, moving toward the butler. “Why does that mean something to you?”
Smith swallowed. “Your Grace, Lady Portsmith and her mother departed for town almost an hour ago. She had—she had an item to pick up, she said. From Mr. Griffin’s shop.”
Charlotte stepped from the carriage and waited for her mother to come down beside her. With a smile, she looked around the village of Donburrow. Her mother had been right that getting off the estate was the right decision. A little distance made her more certain than ever in what she planned to do for Ewan tonight. What she planned to say.
She just needed the silver notebook to start her journey.
“Griffin’s Emporium,” her mother read with a shake of her head. “Gracious, he does think highly of himself.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes. “He is the most dreadful man,” she whispered as they linked arms and headed toward the shop. “You have no idea, Mama. Ewan told me things that had I known, I never would have bought a single thing from the man.”
They entered the shop together, causing the little bell on the door to jangle in announcing their arrival. Charlotte looked around, surprised that the shop was empty. Of course, it was the holiday.
“He does have some nice things, though,” her mother said, parting from her side and moving to look at a bonnet behind the window display.
As she did so, Griffin appeared from the back of the shop. When he approached, Charlotte noted that he seemed very pale. And as he looked at her, she found that the very confident and smarmy expression he had shown her the previous day seemed gone. He appeared anxious as he moved to the counter.
“Lady Portsmith,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “You’ve come for your item, I assume.”
She nodded. “I have, Mr. Griffin. I’m sorry it could not be delivered as we originally discussed.”
He shifted his weight. “Er, yes. I am sorry about that, myself. My normal boy refused to work on the holiday, and some things came up that could not be foreseen.”
“Well, it matters not,” she said, trying to keep the conversation light. “I didn’t mind the ride to town and my mother wished to peruse your merchandise.”
Griffin jerked his gaze in the duchess’s direction and paled even more. “Oh, I did not realize you came with another person. Of course you are welcome here, my lady.”
“Your Grace,” Charlotte corrected, taking a high and mighty tone she very rarely employed. No one deserved it more than this snake. “My mother is the Duchess of Sheffield.”
Griffin seemed to sway on his feet ever so slightly and he muttered something beneath his breath, but then he steadied himself. “You are most welcome, Your Grace,” he called out.
Her mother waved a hand in acknowledgment from across the store and Charlotte cleared her throat. “Now, about my item?”
