“We were both soldiers, after Eton,” Justin answered. “It is an old song they teach the young cadets.”
“Well, that makes perfect sense!” Portia exclaimed, clapping her hands together. She promptly fled the room.
“Should we…” Justin started, but Lady Cordelia was already up and following her younger sister.
Justin deposited the crystal glass on a nearby table and signaled for Peverill to join. Together they followed the black skirts into the main hallway and through a corridor until they reached the former duke’s office. Justin had been working here for the past week and a half. The great oak desk was still a mess, covered in papers and ledger books.
A huge portrait of the duke was hung up behind the desk, dressed in a full, high-ranking officer’s uniform. Justin hadn’t really given much thought to the painting. He assumed the man held a position similar to the other toffs that made it into the military with their father’s money, purely ceremonial.
“When are you going to be sitting for your portrait?” Peverill asked. “Or does Kitty Jarvis still have that miniature of you in uniform? Maybe you can put that up instead.”
“Still jealous that she never asked you for one?” Justin replied, under his breath.
Peverill smiled. “She asked different things of me.”
“Look here!” Portia exclaimed, moving the leather chair so it was under the portrait. “I think I see something underneath it.”
“Let one of the gentlemen do it, my dear,” Cordelia said. Justin sensed an edge in her voice, but Portia ignored her. Hiking up her skirts, the young woman clambered up the wingback chair until she was straddling it.
“Dear God,” Peverill said. “If you weren’t effectively her guardian, I’d have some very choice things to say about her right now.”
“Go ahead. Then you’d be able to take her off my hands,” he replied.
“Then again… the other one is also quite nice. Pretty shape. Knows how to hold her tongue a little better,” Peverill countered.
Justin felt his hand twitch, having the sudden urge to knock Peverill to the ground. Though Peverill and Justin were quite similar in term of values, their tastes diverged dramatically when it came to women. Peverill typically preferred aristocratic and extravagant mistresses that he could spoil with his obscene amount of wealth and in turn, enraged the men of the ton.
Justin had not taken many lovers in his life, but when he had they were practical arrangements with independent women. Certainly not a simpering, swooning girl who was better suited to a Botticelli painting than a drawing room.
“Unless… you’ve formed some sort of attachment?” Peverill tried.
“Of course not!” Justin said, perhaps a little too quickly, because Peverill raised a suspecting eyebrow.
“Here!” Portia said, another letter clutched in her hand. She sneezed loudly as she climbed down off the leather chair, fanning a cloud of dust away from her face. She handed it to Cordelia as the company drew together again.
Cordelia’s hands were shaking as she broke the red wax seal. Taking a deep breath, she read:
“You will find me among friends hiding in plain sight/ a glorious future I portend but found only in the night/ seek me where think last to look or elude you I will continue/ to reveal my treasure you must touch my spine and pry open my sinew.”
There was a long silence that followed.
“That seems to be a great deal more difficult,” Portia said, rubbing her temples. “I can’t rightly think of what that might be.”
“Might I suggest we take a respite?” Justin offered.
Cordelia looked up at him through her long lashes. Her brown eyes were grateful. She held out the piece of paper for him to take. “Yes, Your Grace. I think that would be best for everyone. I did promise our younger sisters that we would provide them with an update as soon as possible.”
Portia opened her mouth to protest, but Justin cut her off. “Excellent plan. We can discuss the riddle later.”
Cordelia curtsied prettily and then looped her arm through her sister’s, dragging her out of the office.
“See? They’re becoming more biddable as we speak,” Justin said, when they were a safe distance away.
Peverill was hunting the room, no doubt looking for more brandy. “Whatever you say, Wright. I’m not as inclined to think so.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that, as stipulated in their father’s will, whoever solves the riddle and finds the treasure first gets to keep it. I’d rather think they’re plotting your demise as we speak.”
