It sounded dangerously like a scheme, and Margaret worried Alexander would feel betrayed by his closest friend and his new wife collaborating to undermine him.
But perhaps there was no harm in trying. This was, after all, for Alexander’s own good.
“Alright, Mr. Hawthorne. We will not play games with them, but if you would like to spend time with Miss Bell, I will not attempt to stop you.”
“Wonderful.” Bastian grinned. “And another word of advice. We do not yet know the results of Alexander and Carlisle's fight, but I would wager that neither will want to admit wrongdoing in the face of the other. Alexander does not have the means to subdue his uncle. However, I believe that if you tried, you might be successful. Speak with Lord Somerton in the morning, Your Grace. He may reveal more than you expect.”
Bastian glanced over his shoulder at the study door. There was movement inside.
“But come,” he said, already hurrying away with a laugh. “We should make ourselves scarce before we find ourselves in the Langley line of fire.”
Margaret gazed into Carlisle’s study, pausing in the open doorway. The room was half the size of the official library, butit shared a similar style, featuring floor-to-ceiling bookcases and ample seating areas for reading. A staircase by the door led to a walkway up above. The dark wooden parquet was covered with fine Persian rugs—different in style, more exotic than the decor elsewhere in the manor—a veritable glimpse into Lord Somerton’s mind.
Carlisle looked up over his spectacles when he noticed her, removing them and leaning back in his chair. “You honor me with your visit this morning,” Carlisle said, sounding wearier than he let on. “What can I do for you, Duchess?”
“We did not see you at the breakfast table,” Margaret replied, crossing the room. She stood before his desk. The top was littered with trinkets and books: journals with crinkled pages, a small globe, coins from another world, pressed herbs... A small stone caught her eye, engraved with a bird. Eliza would have liked it. “I wondered whether you wished some tea brought to your chamber.”
“It is not within your responsibilities to wait on me, Your Grace.” Carlisle smiled. “I broke my fast alone. You needn’t concern yourself on my account.”
Margaret nodded. She examined the notebook he had been writing in. The pages were thick and cockled. She could only imagine how many places that book had been.
“Might I ask what you are working on, My Lord?”
“Oh...” Carlisle looked flustered. He half-covered the open page with his hand before allowing Margaret to see. “I suppose there is no harm in showing you. I am working on a book.”
“A book?”
“Yes.” He cleared his throat, then pointed at a painting hanging nearby. “That painting over there... Do you recognize that chalk form in the distance? Do you see it? That shape carved into the hillside?”
“Why, I believe so.” Margaret took a few paces toward the painting, wanting to be sure. “That is the Westbury White Horse.”
“Indeed. One of several such hill figures scattered across this fair county. My book, currently titledAntiquities and Observations from Wiltshire for the World,focuses on the unique characteristics of the area. I am attempting to draw comparisons across civilizations. But naturally, the focus remains on Wiltshire.”
“That sounds fascinating... An ambitious undertaking, to say the least.”
“Well, ambitious though it may be, I doubt it will find much readership outside of antiquarians and those fellows at The Royal Society. But it gives me great pleasure to compose it, nonetheless. I’ve begun to speculate whether Wiltshire was, in its own way, a center of culture as impressive as Delphi or Ephesus.”
Margaret smiled. “And here I thought you only had opinions on Somerstead Hall and poetry.”
“Shows how little you know me, Duchess.” He chuckled, scribbling a final note. “Though Somerstead Hall and Wiltshire poetry will each receive a chapter, of course. But I must return to my work now. Unless there is anything more you require from me, besides tea and White Horses?”
Margaret hesitated, but Carlisle had not been the only one missing from breakfast, and she wanted answers. “Have you, perchance, encountered His Grace this morning?”
The scratching of Carlisle’s quill promptly stopped.
“I know that it is uncouth to pry, but I must admit some concern over your... disagreement last night. I heard the two of you arguing quite fervently before I retired to bed. And if there is trouble between you?—”
“Such concern is also not within your responsibilities, Margaret.”
Margaret pressed her lips together. She heard Carlisle sigh softly, then rise fully out of his chair. Like Alexander, he was half a foot taller than her, cutting an impressive figure despite his age.
“But I see that it does concern you, and that you have already developed a deep consideration for my family, which is now yourfamily.” He glanced down and closed his notebook once the ink had dried. “I shall not reward your empathy with anger. Ask whichever questions plague you.”
“They are not so numerous as to compose a plague, but I appreciate your invitation all the same. Why does Miss Bell’s presence disturb you so much?”
“Would that I could offer you a simple answer.” Carlisle brushed the cover of his notebook, clearly thinking. “If I were to attempt one, I would say that His Grace’s predispositions have compromised his judgement of the situation. And such partiality can only lead to disaster.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
