Desmond’s closed bedchamber door. ’Twas what occurred immediately thereafter which alerted me to the seriousness of the dispute.”
“Which was?”
“Your brother stormed from the room, obviously greatly upset. A moment later, the late duke emerged and demanded that I summon Mr. Hendrick to Colverton for the explicit purpose of altering his will.”
Quentin’s eyes narrowed. “Father used that exact phrase?”
“Yes, sir. Precisely that phrase. He was distraught and agitated.”
“Clearly. Perhaps he calmed down and changed his mind.”
“No. The missive was delivered as per your father’s request; I myself sent it off. Mr. Hendrick arrived promptly the following day. He and your father were closeted in the library for long hours.”
“What did they discuss?”
“I haven’t a clue, sir. I wasn’t privy to their conversation and His Grace confided nothing further in me.”
“Damn it.” Quentin raked his fingers through his hair. “It doesn’t make sense. If Father revised his will, why wasn’t it reflected in yesterday’s reading? No mention was made of either a codicil or a recently amended clause to the existing will.”
“Why indeed, sir.”
“The only logical explanation is that between the time Ellard was summoned and the time he left Colverton, Father experienced a change of heart. But why? What—or who—convinced Father to alter his decision?”
A heavy silence settled over the room.
Roughly, Quentin cleared his throat. “From your description of the fierce argument between Desmond and Father, we can safely assume that whatever modifications Father intended were not in Desmond’s favor. Nothing short of his own interests would enrage my brother so vehemently.”
“I agree, sir. In fact, Master Desmond spouted something of the kind when he exploded from his bedchamber. I didn’t place much credence in it at the time.”
“Probably because he’s raved the same nonsensical doubts over Father’s allegiance a hundred times in the past. Nevertheless, that preoccupation is all the more reason why our first logical assumption must be that it was Desmond who persuaded Father to leave his will intact.”
“Only your brother can confirm or deny that premise. Will you probe the matter with him?”
“No.” Quentin shook his head adamantly. “He’ll only become defensive—just as he always has when faced with an issue concerning either of us and Father. He’s bloody irrational, intent on believing Father favored me over him—even though both you and I know that was never the case. No, Bentley, talking to Desmond would yield naught but trouble.
Moreover,” Quentin continued, exploring the situation aloud, “I’m certain Desmond never considered any ramifications other than those that would directly affect him. But you and I must. For example, we both know that Father and Desmond argued constantly over Desmond’s irresponsible business practices. Suppose Father’s contemplated will revision was triggered by something Desmond did—something that negatively impacted one or more of Father’s business associates or their employees.”
“I see where you’re headed, my lord. You’re supposing that a disgruntled—and unbalanced—colleague might have retaliated by tampering with the late duke’s carriage.”
“Indeed. After all, even if Desmond committed the indiscretion, it was Father who was the head of the Steel family, and thus the target.” Quentin rubbed his neck wearily. “I’m groping; I realize that. But someone killed my parents. And until I know who, I have to delve into every possibility—no matter how obscure.”
“Of course, sir. How, may I ask, do you plan to proceed? And in what manner can I be of assistance?”
“You can keep this discussion confidential—at least for the time being.”
“That goes without saying, my lord.”
“As for me, I think my ideal starting point would be to meet with Hendrick. He, better than anyone, will know what
“Which was?”
“Your brother stormed from the room, obviously greatly upset. A moment later, the late duke emerged and demanded that I summon Mr. Hendrick to Colverton for the explicit purpose of altering his will.”
Quentin’s eyes narrowed. “Father used that exact phrase?”
“Yes, sir. Precisely that phrase. He was distraught and agitated.”
“Clearly. Perhaps he calmed down and changed his mind.”
“No. The missive was delivered as per your father’s request; I myself sent it off. Mr. Hendrick arrived promptly the following day. He and your father were closeted in the library for long hours.”
“What did they discuss?”
“I haven’t a clue, sir. I wasn’t privy to their conversation and His Grace confided nothing further in me.”
“Damn it.” Quentin raked his fingers through his hair. “It doesn’t make sense. If Father revised his will, why wasn’t it reflected in yesterday’s reading? No mention was made of either a codicil or a recently amended clause to the existing will.”
“Why indeed, sir.”
“The only logical explanation is that between the time Ellard was summoned and the time he left Colverton, Father experienced a change of heart. But why? What—or who—convinced Father to alter his decision?”
A heavy silence settled over the room.
Roughly, Quentin cleared his throat. “From your description of the fierce argument between Desmond and Father, we can safely assume that whatever modifications Father intended were not in Desmond’s favor. Nothing short of his own interests would enrage my brother so vehemently.”
“I agree, sir. In fact, Master Desmond spouted something of the kind when he exploded from his bedchamber. I didn’t place much credence in it at the time.”
“Probably because he’s raved the same nonsensical doubts over Father’s allegiance a hundred times in the past. Nevertheless, that preoccupation is all the more reason why our first logical assumption must be that it was Desmond who persuaded Father to leave his will intact.”
“Only your brother can confirm or deny that premise. Will you probe the matter with him?”
“No.” Quentin shook his head adamantly. “He’ll only become defensive—just as he always has when faced with an issue concerning either of us and Father. He’s bloody irrational, intent on believing Father favored me over him—even though both you and I know that was never the case. No, Bentley, talking to Desmond would yield naught but trouble.
Moreover,” Quentin continued, exploring the situation aloud, “I’m certain Desmond never considered any ramifications other than those that would directly affect him. But you and I must. For example, we both know that Father and Desmond argued constantly over Desmond’s irresponsible business practices. Suppose Father’s contemplated will revision was triggered by something Desmond did—something that negatively impacted one or more of Father’s business associates or their employees.”
“I see where you’re headed, my lord. You’re supposing that a disgruntled—and unbalanced—colleague might have retaliated by tampering with the late duke’s carriage.”
“Indeed. After all, even if Desmond committed the indiscretion, it was Father who was the head of the Steel family, and thus the target.” Quentin rubbed his neck wearily. “I’m groping; I realize that. But someone killed my parents. And until I know who, I have to delve into every possibility—no matter how obscure.”
“Of course, sir. How, may I ask, do you plan to proceed? And in what manner can I be of assistance?”
“You can keep this discussion confidential—at least for the time being.”
“That goes without saying, my lord.”
“As for me, I think my ideal starting point would be to meet with Hendrick. He, better than anyone, will know what
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