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Chester stalked down the corridor, Wynby and Neville marching behind him. He held a purple velvet bag, jingling with jewels and small pieces of silver Neville was to have hidden in Eden and Miss Haverden’s chambers.
He’d gone to Wynby instead.
Father had gone too far, conspiring to incriminate Eden and her mother. By God, Chester would find out why.
He loosened the bag’s tie, then lifted a handful of the gems.
Mother’s.
A sapphire and diamond ring glittered atop the pile, the square cut gem nearly the same unusual pale blue as Eden’s eyes.
A smile teasing the corners of his mouth, he pocketed the ring before returning the other jewels to the pouch.
At the foot of the stairs, he lifted his hand.
“I’ll continue to the library alone. I cannot express my gratitude to either of you. Your loyalty is commendable, and rest assured, Neville, you will always have a position in this house. You’ll find my temperament much more moderate than my sire’s.”
“Thank you, sir.” Tangible relief relaxed Neville’s plain features. He’d risked much betraying the duke.
“Go below stairs, and keep the other staff there as well,” Chester said, balancing the bag on his palm. “I’ll summon you when I need you.”
The servants exchanged a knowing look as they continued down the corridor.
Once Chester had wrangled his ire under control, he proceeded to the library, treading on silent feet. He’d truly wanted to attempt a reconciliation with the duke, but this latest stunt revealed the futility of any such effort.
“I shall not accept a pence from you, sir. And if you think your offer of money will keep me silent while you manipulate your son, you’ve made a strategic miscalculation. Not only will my mother and I leave this house at once, I believe Lord Sterling will thwart any attempt you make to frame us for theft.”
“Indeed, I certainly shall.”
Chester entered the library.
As he closed the door, a guilty flush tinged his sire’s cheeks. Chester crossed to the duke and dropped the bag into his lap, relishing his flabbergasted expression.
“Why is it I’m not surprised you’d stoop to such depths, Father? What I don’t know is why you want to frame Eden?”
“Because he wants to force you to marry Miss Bickford.” Eden’s contempt was palpable as she clasped her hands.
Chester rubbed his nose when what he wanted to do was sweep her into his arms and march out the door, through the foyer, and straight to the stables, where they’d bundle into a coach and make straight for Gretna Green.
“I fail to see what one has to do with the other.” He touched the hard-little lump in his pocket instead.
Soon.
“Stop being obtuse, Manchester,” the duke snapped. He scowled at the bag. “I knew you’d never allow the chit or her mother to go to prison. I was simply insuring you’d propose. I want to see my grandson before I die. I’m not a well man.”
“You’re also not dying as you led me to believe, are you, Father?” Chester had learned that tidbit his first day home. “In fact, Dr. Chamberlain says you don’t need that invalid chair at all, and liberally applied rice powder can be credited for your sickly pallor.”
That rendered the duke blessedly mute.
“Please excuse me, I need to pack.”
Eden squared her shoulders and lifted her chin with a duchess’s aplomb. She was as angry as he’d ever seen her.
“Can I impose upon you to wait a few moments more?” Chester smiled at the haphazardly arranged books. Decorating was not Eden’s forte. “I have something to say you should hear.”
She scrunched her nose in that adorable way she had when puzzled, then after searching his face in the assessing manner he’d become accustomed to, gave a short nod.
“All right.”
