“By the sheer number of attempts on your life,” Dentonshire said, gazing at the smoking ruins. “I would guess that this is personal. Quite personal.”
“As in revenge?”
“Perhaps.”
Maximilian paced, his head down. “But I cannot think of what I may have done to anyone that might result in a personal vendetta against me.”
“Perhaps it was not you, Your Grace,” Earl Whitington said. “Could your father have offended someone, then passed on before the other party’s revenge might be satisfied?”
“I refuse to believe that,” Maximilian replied, shaking his head. “My father was a kind and generous man. As far as I know, he had no enemies who would stoop to murdering me.”
“I concur,” Dentonshire added, smiling and nodding toward the Earl to indicate his words were not offensive. “The old Duke was a man of infinite honor and high morals. I cannot see him having an enemy who would be so very incensed that this other person would try to kill his son.”
“We are also forgetting that this villain is trying to kill a simple ladies’ maid,” Maximilian added. “Factor in that knowledge and what do we have?”
“Hatred.”
Dentonshire’s simple word jolted Maximilian. “Who could possibly hate Miss Betham that much?”
“Impossible,” snorted Whitington. “Our Eugenia is a kind and sweet young lady. Loved by everyone she meets.”
“It is clear she caught your eye, Bromenville,” the Duke said. “You are attracted to her, interested in her –”
“I love her.” Maximilian did not care that he just professed love for a low-born ladies’ maid in front of nine aristocrats who might easily condemn him for it.They will all know in time, anyway.
Dentonshire nodded, apparently finding that unremarkable. “As you say. So, who might find that love you have for Miss Betham offensive enough to want you both dead?”
Before he stopped himself, Maximilian glanced at Earl Whitington. He knew it instantly for a mistake. The stout Earl’s mouth dropped in shock and outrage.
“No,” he bellowed. “You cannotthinkthat my daughter could be involved in this.”
Maximilian raised his hands in a placating gesture. “No, no, of course not, Whitington. Lady Helena understands and supports our relationship, even if it meant that I refused to marry her. Please calm down, I would never, ever, believe or think she, or you, would try to harm us.”
“Good,” the Earl snapped, only partly mollified. “I will not stand to be insulted.”
“While I stand by the implications of my words, Whitington,” Dentonshire added, gazing at the outraged Earl, “I did not intend to imply your daughter was involved. There could be other interested parties who had hoped to marry the most eligible bachelor in the realm, and who now wants revenge for not obtaining him.”
Maximilian ran his hands through his hair. “If there are, I have no idea who she might be.”
* * *
He was exhausted and his head ached, but Maximilian sat through luncheon with his guests. A few more of his guests planned to depart afterward, and he was obligated as host to see them off. Yet, the Dentonshires and the Whitingtons had told him they would remain for a few more weeks. Though he wanted to see Eugenia for himself, he was forced to be content with Mr. Leary’s reports of her progress.
“She is regaining her strength rapidly, Your Grace,” Mr. Leary said. “She is talking better and drinking the beef broth I insist she ingest. Her throat is still too sore for solid food, however.”
“And her lungs?”
Mr. Leary offered him a shrug and a smile. “She may have some breathing difficulty at times, Your Grace, but she will recover fully in time.”
Maximilian took a deep breath of relief. “That is good news, indeed. Thank you.”
Feeling an urgent need to be alone for a short while, and slightly overwhelmed by everything that had happened recently, Maximilian headed up the stairs to the battlements. Up there, he could be free of the duties of being a host to his guests and think with the fresh, clean air of the moors on his face. Even if only a short while. But upon opening the door and stepping out onto the heights, he discovered someone was there before him.
Wilmot sat on the stone floor in a corner, his back to the wall. He wept and laughed, swallowing large gulps from a bottle of whiskey. He still wore his formal dining attire, which was now dirty and stained. Alarmed, Maximilian crossed the castle’s roof to him. “Willie?”
Wilmot glanced up at him through bleary, wet eyes. He grinned. “Ah, my brother. Sit an’ have a drink wi’ me.”
Wilmot hiccupped, giggling, then burst into tears. Maximilian sat beside him. “What is wrong, Willie?”
