The man didn’t dispute the Demerara part. Lord Liverpool’s one missive had said it was suspected. No confirmation, but it was no small task to get around the blockades.
“The painting—it’s Port Royal, the moment before it was destroyed like Sodom and Gomorrah.”
He smiled and seemed to hold in a cough. “Where is it?”
“In my carriage. It will return with me to Town.”
“You mean to torment me too. Well done, Gantry.”
“I meant it for a bribe. The painting for the truth.”
“My son, my legacy. You do have the heart to be the duke. Just missing the brains.”
Felton forced a swallow. “It never made sense to me why Cecilia disappeared so completely. I knew she needed help, but I assumed her late father’s trust fund, or his solicitors, had provided support. The War department kept me the dark.”
“Well, you know what happens when you assume. You’ll always be made the fool. And Liverpool has no more use for you. One wonders what would’ve happened if he’d thought you were expendable on any of your missions.”
Though his tone was raspy and dark, it was also steeped in the pride of knowing more than everyone. It was oddly something to admire, to be so confident in himself that all others be damned. “Tramel, I’m a fool. Warwick would be the only place I’d not look. The invitations to come here for Christmas must’ve tormented her.”
“Finally using your brain box. And she was welcome to continue with me for as long she wanted. She stayed until she returned to Demerara. I didn’t complain, not once, of buying her paint or listening to her talk. She does like cheese with or without a toga, as long as it is quiet and intimate.”
If Felton vomited right now, he’d miss the man’s confession. So he only gagged a little in his throat. “I’m not an ogre. I simply don’t understand art. I thought it a hobby, like embroidery.”
“Yes, with your plain attire, I can see you don’t understand embellishment either.”
“Tramel, I can learn about art if it is life to her. I’ll encourage her in it.”
The man clapped his hand, a slow, loud pound. “Been practicing that, my boy? You think you can convince her with your charm? You’re a handsome devil, but she has only two loves; one is family, the other, art.”
Felton remembered her speech about his and hers. That was part of her pain, something he’d have to unravel. He willed his brow to not show how hard his mind turned. “Did you confuse her and make her think you care?”
“I do care.” Tramel closed his eyes. “If I had more time, I’d win. She’s more confused now, but I do know what she wants more than anything.”
That was Cecilia’s question, but the man wouldn’t say. With a shake of his head, Felton started to the door. “Don’t need riddles, just Cecilia. She’ll tell me. Now that I know where she is.”
“Angered, Gantry? Angry enough to kill?”
With hands on the polished pull, he wanted to rip the door from its hinges.
This was Tramel’s game. He’d goad Felton into acting the fool. He stopped playing these torments when he’d left for the military. It wasn’t the time to return to bad habits. “Good day, Tramel.”
“Gantry, that’s what she wants. Someone to kill for her.”
“Now I know you’re insane. The palsy has addled you.”
The duke laughed. “If you think so, son. But I told you the truth. Now reward me.”
“Cecilia is the gentlest flower. She’d never kill. That’s you. You haven’t changed her.”
“And you haven’t listened to her. You closed your ears to her pain. Then you sided with her mortal enemy.”
This drew Felton back in the room, back to pound the footboard. “What are you talking about?”
“The day she left. You sided with your cousin when you accused her of infidelity, then you asked her to leave to compose herself, like she was some sort of wilting violet.”
“I had to get rid of you. I didn’t want her to see us arguing.”
“Did you wonder why she was so upset?”
