Page 67 of The Odyssean Duke

“None that I can see,” Mr. Black said. “The contract is frustratingly clear in that regard.”

Evelina frowned and glanced out the window, her gaze sweeping over the gardens. Her husband would be home in a few hours. Tonight, they had to consummate the marriage. If there was no chance for a reprieve or recourse, they must try to produce an heir and soon. And often. Evelina bit the inside of her cheek. Her body warmed when she thought of being in bed with her husband. She was half anticipation and half panic, uncertain if she would manage to do what must be done.

Mr. Black made an odd sound, as though he was stifling a laugh. Evelina raised a brow. “Is something amusing to you?”

“No. I apologize, Your Grace,” he said. “It is only that—well—it occurred to me that—if the signatures were forged, you could challenge it. I am sorry. It was a jest, which I found mildly amusing.”

Evelina frowned. “A jest,” she mused.

Evelina did not know much about the late Duke of Rothbury, but if Mrs. Newbury was correct, he was a decent man who loved his son. He was a man who had no motivation that she could see for adding such a strict stipulation to the contract. However, Evelina could think of someone who would benefit greatly from watching Stephan fail in his efforts to become a proper Duke of Rothbury.

“I apologize,” Mr. Black said. “Again, I?—”

Evelina waved a dismissive hand. “No, do not apologize. On the contrary, I wonder…if it is possible that…”

Mr. Black tilted his head, looking rather like a cat that had discovered something interesting. “That the signatures really might be forged?” he asked.

“Her Grace is a cunning woman,” Evelina offered. “She also seems convinced that the dukedom ought to be hers. When facedwith the threat of a new duke, I find it likely that such a woman would do anything to maintain her position.”

Mr. Black mulled the idea over for a moment. “I do not wish to mislead you,” he said, “so I will speak frankly.”

“Please do.”

“You are right to be suspicious. Her Grace has not maintained her position and power by being a fool. However, you are speculating about something which cannot be proven. Even if Her Grace forged the signatures, it would be enormously difficult to prove.”

“So you mean to say that the truth matters little,” Evelina said. “Because even if the signatures are forged, we likely cannot prove it.”

“Regrettably, no.”

Evelina hummed. She resisted the impulse to fidget with her hands. Did she truly believe that the Dowager Duchess of Rothbury might have forged those signatures, or was she making too much of a solicitor’s jest? She shook her head. “I suppose that this situation is making me a little…” Evelina trailed off. “A little overly suspicious.”

“Given what I have heard of Her Grace, I do not think one can be too suspicious,” Mr. Black said. “Should any legal matter arisewhich might benefit from my consideration, I am at your service, Your Grace.”

“Thank you,” Evelina said.

She bid the solicitor farewell, and after he departed, she returned to the drawing room. For a while, Evelina simplythought. Mr. Black had spoken in jest. Most likely, Evelina was imagining something that had never happened. She had seized on the possibility that the signatures were forged and the contract invalid because she did not wish to accept that a father could be so needlessly unkind to his son.

Evelina sighed and tossed her head back, gazing at the ceiling. Even if Her Grace had done something deceptive, Mr. Black was right. It would be nearly impossible to prove that the signatures on that contract were forged, and there was no need to give time considering something that was impossible.

She needed a distraction. Evelina’s lips curled into a small smile as she realized exactly what that distraction would be. Something small and scandalous and startling.

When Stephan returned for the evening, he would be in for a surprise.

CHAPTER 29

Stephan went to Evelina’s bedchamber first. It was a habit that he had developed over the past week. His wife had been sick, so he had taken to joining Evelina at her bedside every evening. It was not because he cared for her; Stephan was not some gallant man burning from lovesickness for his wife. He was simply a decent man. A husband had a duty to care for his wife, after all.

Evelina was not in her bedchamber, though. Nor was she in the gardens or the drawing room. Stephan supposed that meant his wife was well again. At last, he conceded defeat. He spied Nathanial near the drawing room. Seeing him, the butler bowed. “Your Grace,” he said.

“Have you seen the duchess?” Stephan asked without preamble.

Nathanial chuckled. “Ah, yes. She is in the kitchens, Your Grace. I must say that, er, it is not my business, of course, but Jeremiah?—”

“Who?”

Nathanial cleared his throat. “Your cook,” he said. “He is rather vexed at being forced from his kitchens.”

“Forced from them?” asked Stephan, lifting a brow. “For what purpose?”