“It was a hired coach. He didn’t know who you were. His instructions were only to deliver you to the door.”

“Did he say who had arranged for my travel?”

“You did, my lord. The coachman was an irritable sort, being as it was the middle of the night, and he insisted on being paid his fee immediately.”

Obviously, this chain of questions was going nowhere. “What belongings did I have with me?”

“Nothing. Only the clothes on your back, such as they were.”

“What do you mean?”

“They were in tatters, my lord. Simply ghastly. They smelled of rotting fish, and I had them burned.”

Had he been taken aboard a ship? He might have learned more if the butler hadn’t incinerated his belongings.

Stephen controlled his temper and asked softly, “Did you check the pockets before you destroyed the garments?”

“No, my lord. I didn’t think of that.”

Stephen ground his teeth and said, “Thank you, Farnsworth. That will be all.”

The butler cleared his throat and hesitated. “My lord, about Lady Whitmore?”

“What is it?”

“Well, sir, the staff and I were wondering…” Farnsworth coughed, delaying his statement once more. Apparently, there was some other detail the butler intended to share. Either that, or he was in dire need of some medicinal tea to treat the irritating cough.

Stephen struggled to suppress his frustration. “Yes?”

“To put it bluntly, my lord, your wife has been making several…changes.”

“What kind of changes?”

The agitated Farnsworth fidgeted with his hands. “I have been a loyal servant to your household for over thirty years, my lord. I would never speak ill of the Chesterfields. But I fear she may have gone too far.”

Stephen wondered if Emily had moved a vase in the front hall six inches to the left. Or perhaps she’d poisoned the cat in a fit of vengeance.

Farnsworth’s paranoia seemed ridiculous under the circumstances. He couldn’t recall the past three months of his life, and the butler worried that his wife had gone too far?

“What. Has. She. Done?” he gritted out.

“She’s sacked Cook. And—“ he lowered his voice to a whisper ”—she says she won’t hire another. She’s planning to do all the cooking herself.”

Bloody hell. The woman really did mean to poison him.

Chapter Two

Later that night, his intense headache deepened into a dull throbbing. Sleep would not come. Eyes dry and nerves raw, Stephen pushed back the coverlet. His bare feet padded across the Aubusson rug before his knee slammed into a mahogany blanket chest at the foot of the bed. Cursing, he fumbled his way toward the fireplace.