Emma gasped. “I haven’t a clue.” She reached for her husband’s hand, totally enthralled. “Let’s get a little closer.”
Trevor winked and smiled when he saw them moving through the crowd. Then the cowboy turned to the guests.
“May we please have your attention!” he called out in his deep voice. “As some of you already know, because your invitations arrived very late, my friend KT here and I promised you something special if you made an effort to attend this first ball of the Duke and Duchess of Brightshire . . .”
“Late arrival of the invitations?” Emma whispered. “What’re they talking about?”
“Don’t know. But I think we’re going to find out.”
“You’re about to experience a true Western show,” Trevor went on. “We hope you enjoy.”
With a few strums of the guitar, Trevor started singing in a clear, rich voice. He began with “The Yellow Rose of Texas,” accompanied by KT on the harmonica. The crowd was mesmerized, the sound so different from anything they were used to. From there, the two ranch hands segued into “Sweet Betsy from Pike” and “Home on the Range” and ended with “Shenandoah.”
As they ducked their heads in a brief bow, the crowd called for more.
KT put up a hand to quiet them.
Trevor began to softly strum.
The long and lyrical verse of cowboy poetry, recited by KT to the strumming background of the guitar, brought gooseflesh to Emma’s skin. Visions of the cattle asleep on the open range, guarded and loved by their human companions, skittered across her imagination, making her miss Eden with all her heart. The poem was beautiful, one she’d never heard before, and she wondered if KT was the author.
At the conclusion, the crowd was spellbound. Trevor traded the guitar for a violin from one of the musicians and stuck the instrument under his chin. At a fast clip, he seesawed the strings, trying to keep up with KT, who’d picked up a lariat they’d gotten from somewhere and began building a loop by twirling the rope in front of him. As the loop swooped larger and larger, the crowd backed up, giving them space. Soon the loop was twirled on the floor, and KT jumped in and out with ease. Next, he flipped the spinning loop over his head. It encircled his body like a waterfall, and he jumped out when the rope hit the floor. Poor man was working up a sweat.
“They’re a sight!” Emma gasped, clutching Beranger’s arm. “Oh my. What a gift!”
Finally, with a flick of his wrist, the loop flew through the air and landed gently around Jos, the tall footman, catching him around the middle. Stopped in his tracks, the tray of crystal glasses he carried never wobbled.
The crowd erupted in cheers and clapping.
Taking the trick in good stride, Jos smiled and untangled himself. He even took a bow.
But not quite finished with the show, Trevor slowed his fiddle playing and soon KT was back by his side, yodeling as if trying to settle a rambunctious herd. That lasted a good four or five minutes, but Emma wished it would go on all night.
With a deep breath and a bow, they accepted a hearty round of applause.
Amazed, Emma waved them over. “What in the world prompted you to do that? It was wonderful—just amazing! But such a surprise. You brought tears to my eyes. Thank you so very much!”
The men looked at each other and then smiled.
Trevor shrugged. “Yesterday, wanting to help, KT and I went in search of your father’s letter. We didn’t find that, but we did find a stack of fifteen invitations to the ball hidden away in the pigeon barn.”
“What?” Beranger barked. “Malicious trickery?”
“That’s what we figured,” KT said. “What else could it be? We didn’t want to tell you and spoil your party, and we didn’t want you to notice that no gentry had shown up. The missing invitations were to all the lords and ladies—the baroness and Dowager Countess of Sarre, you know, all them kind of folks. You might have wondered how we became such good friends.”
Beranger looked down at Emma and laughed. “Yes, we did. Exactly that.”
Emma forced herself to laugh. This time, she had little doubt about who had diverted the invitations. My sweet, darling stepmother-in-law has struck again. What else is she responsible for? Beranger’s attacks of vertigo? I don’t put that past her in the least.
Beranger squeezed her hand as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. “Now is not the time to confront her, Emma. She can see she was thwarted by the arrival of all her friends. She will be dealt with swiftly tonight, I promise. Right now, you’ll enjoy your first ball at Ashbury, and my first ball as well. I was never allowed before.”
“So,” Trevor said, going on with their story, “we rounded up Tristen and told him what we’d found and what we suspected. The three of us rode like the Pony Express to get the word out in time. Some of the people were hesitant, because the ball was the next day, so we promised ’em a special show they would never forget. One they’d not get a chance to see anywhere in England. A real Western shindig.”
“Amazing,” Emma gushed, throwing her arms around the two. “You saved the day. Thank you!”
“It was Tristen’s doing. We wouldn’t have known where to go if not for him. He drew maps and helped us get our gear for the show.” They looked around. “Where is he? We haven’t seen him tonight.”
The smile on Emma’s face disappeared. “That’s a good question. I haven’t either. But look for Charlotte. He can usually be found with her.”
KT shook his head. “Not so tonight. Winters hasn’t released her once. Looks like the writing is on the wall where they’re concerned.”
“I wouldn’t be so quick to judge,” Emma responded, the twinkle back in her eye. “Now tell me, how on earth did Tristen get you aboard a tall thoroughbred?”
The night was winding down, and Tristen had yet to show up, making Charlotte almost frantic. She’d been so caught up in the new life that might be ahead of her that she’d forgotten to cherish what was important to her in the life she already had. Wasn’t that really what Tristen had been telling her with his warnings about Mr. Winters? That she didn’t need the allure of wealth or fancy dresses when someone who loved her for her true self was in front of her the whole time?
“Excuse me, Mr. Winters,” she said softly, “but I’m going to catch my breath. I’ll speak with you later.”
His brows crashed and he loosened his hold while others danced on. “I’ve worn you out?”
“Yes.” But really, it’s not respectable for me to dance every dance with one man. People will wonder. Even I know that without help from Lady Audrey. She smiled brightly and made her way through the gathering. It was quite strange to see the mix of classes. They weren’t yet socializing with each other that much, but they did seem to be having a good time in their own groups. That was something. Small steps in the right direction.
The duke and duchess came into view. When Emma caught her eye, Charlotte smiled and waved. Emma hurried forward, her face glowing with happiness.
“Isn’t this wonderful?” she gushed. “I’m having a lovely time, and I hope you are as well. You’ve been dancing all evening with Justin. Do you have something to tell me?”
On her last sentence, Emma’s smile fell away, as if she hoped Charlotte would not have something to share.
“Just that I didn’t think one could dance so much in one night.” Charlotte laughed. “I need to pat this warmth off my face. Join me?”
“Absolutely. And I want to sit down for a few minutes and rest my feet. We’ve had scores and scores of people to speak with. Beranger is so diplomatic. I guess his difficult upbringing formed him into the intelligent, tactful man he is. I adore him so.”
The two smiled and nodded at the guests they passed on their way to the stairway.
“The pink parlor has been set aside as the ladies’ retiring room, but shall we go up to my room?” Emma asked. “No one will look for us there. The solitude is tempting.”
Charlotte nodded, but kept her gaze far from Emma�
�s as she searched every corner of the room. “Have you seen Tristen tonight? Did he tell you or the duke that he wasn’t coming?”
Emma stopped in the hallway. “I knew it!”
“Knew what?”
“That you’re in love with Tristen and not Justin. It’s so obvious to me. All the men keep asking about you and Beranger’s cousin, and I keep telling them the story isn’t over yet.”
“You didn’t.”
Emma’s smile was infectious. “I did. I’ve seen the signs for days. Ones even you’ve missed.” They continued walking. “Open your eyes, Charlotte, before he gets away.”
The gallery on the third floor was blessedly quiet. After Charlotte refused to comment, they went along in silence, both lost in their own thoughts. Once they slipped inside Emma’s room, Emma went to her dressing table, where she handed Charlotte a clean hanky and took one for herself before she went to the hearth and carefully lowered herself in a chair.
Studying her reflection, Charlotte blotted her forehead and around her cheeks. Besides the one and only kiss, she had no idea how Tristen felt about her. Perhaps he’d kissed her on a whim and she meant no more to him than a bird in the sky. Maybe she’d been reading more into his intentions than she should have.
A soft knock sounded on the door.
Startled, Emma sat straight and looked at her, then slowly rose to her feet. “That’s strange. Who could that be?”
Intrigued, Charlotte followed the duchess to the door. After the copious noise downstairs, the quiet up here felt a little eerie. For some strange reason, the crying baby popped into her head, and she became frightened. She hadn’t told anyone they were coming up here, and neither had Emma. What did that mean?
As Emma reached out, Charlotte caught her arm. “Wait,” she whispered next to her ear. “No one knows we came up. Do you think it’s safe?”
The knock came again. More persistent. Louder. “Duchess, are you there? I need to speak with you.”
Emma turned to Charlotte, questions and a little fear in her eyes.
CHAPTER FIFTY
Beranger approached the group of shopkeepers who seemed to want to stay in this corner all night. He’d been looking for Emma, since she’d been gone a good twenty minutes and he was becoming concerned. She wasn’t with Trevor and KT, who were being regaled by the elderly Dowager Countess of Sarre. She had them laughing and slapping their legs. She wasn’t in the kitchen, where he’d thought she’d gone to check on the kitchen staff to make sure they came up for the festivities now that the food had been served.
“Constable Kerrigan.” When Beranger approached, the townspeople made room. “Have you seen my wife? Somehow she’s slipped away and I can’t find her.” He looked around the tight-knit group, intending the open-ended question for anyone.
“I’m sorry, Your Grace, I haven’t. Not since I last saw her with you,” he replied, guzzling down the last of the wine in his glass. “You were speaking with your uncle, I believe.”
Some time ago.
“Yes, well, carry on.” He strode away feeling unsteady. Not from the vertigo, which had stayed blessedly at bay tonight, but from fear something had happened. But what could happen here? He knew Emma would not want him to cause a scene until he was sure of wrongdoing.
Before him, Tristen, dressed as nicely as Beranger had ever seen him, strode his way.
“Tristen,” Beranger said. “We’d given up on you. When did you arrive?”
“Just now.” His brows knitted together. “Have you seen Charlotte? I need to talk to her.”
It dawned on him that he hadn’t seen Charlotte in quite a while either. Beranger grasped his arm and pulled him aside. “No. I haven’t,” he said, worried. “I’m looking for Emma now. My insides tell me they might be together. Why they’d disappear out of sight is beyond me. They’re not in the kitchen. But I’ve just begun my search.”
“What about upstairs? Maybe they went up there.”
“That’s where I was headed next. Why don’t you go find Trevor and—”
“No, I’m coming with you. You may need help.”
The trip upstairs to their suite usually took five minutes, but tonight only took two. Beranger pushed through the partially opened door to find their bedroom not in disarray, but not quite right either. Something felt off, and even a bit evil.
“Look at this!” Tristen handed Beranger a sheet of wrinkled paper he’d lifted off the bed. It contained a poem, scrawled so horribly the content was almost unreadable. The last four lines jumped out at Beranger:
So now good fortune comes to me,
At long last, victory snatched from defeat,
Beranger, your pain I’ll see,
And my revenge will be complete . . .
Beranger crumpled the paper in his hand. “What in God’s name?”
“Do you know who it’s from? Surely you know if you have an enemy here.”
“I’d say more than one . . .”
A sound out in the hall made them turn.
The chambermaid who had taken over for Hyacinth stood there, looking dumbfounded and frightened. Her hands were clamped tightly together before her apron.
Beranger leaped toward her. “Have you seen the duchess?”
The maid looked from one to the other.
“Speak, woman! This is important!”
“I did, Your Grace. I saw her and Miss Charlotte climbing the stairs to this floor. Then a few minutes later, I was just about to go down when I heard a scream coming from this gallery and I thought the two had gotten into a fight with each other. I didn’t want to intrude. That’s all I know.”
Tristen rushed forward. “Did you see anything else or any other person up here before or after? Anything. Do you remember anything at all?”
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Charlotte strained against the ties binding her wrists. She was careful to keep her eyes squeezed tightly closed. She’d been hit on the head and must have passed out at some point, because she didn’t remember being moved. They weren’t in the duchess’s bedroom any longer. When the woman on the other side of the bedroom door had mentioned a hurt child, Emma had pulled the door open and been immediately struck on the head. Emma crumpling into Charlotte’s arms had left Charlotte vulnerable for the next strike. From there, the events leading to where she was now were blurry.
“Wake up, Your Grace,” a sickly-sweet voice sang softly. “I want you to feel the pain and fear I’ve had to endure for sixteen long years. Open those pretty eyes. I know you’re awake. No one will find you down here in the bowels of the earth.”
With one cheek resting on the cold stone floor, Charlotte carefully opened one eye. Only their assailant’s back was visible to Charlotte. Did she know the woman? Her voice seemed somewhat familiar despite the ringing in her head. If she knew her, perhaps Charlotte would be able to talk some sense into her. Get her to set them free.
Charlotte’s head ached horribly. A shooting pain ricocheted through her eyes, and she almost cried out. The smell of singed cotton or some other material caught her attention and brought moisture to her eyes.
Where was the duchess? Was she still alive? The room was dark and shadowy, but Charlotte thought they must still be in the castle, because how could one woman get them both away without being seen? Moist air clung to her skin. Maybe she’d had help. Why had she done these things?
Fear snaked up Charlotte’s spine. If she screamed, would anyone hear her with the musicians playing? Would this madwoman want to shut her up for good? She worked her wrists, rubbing them together as much as she could. The tie slackened. She was by the door. Perhaps she’d be able to get her hands free to untie her feet and go get help. The woman put more wood into the belly of an iron stove. No, I’ll not leave Emma here alone. Not with this monster!
The woman turned her way.
Phoebe Lewis!
Phoebe, from the livery in Brightshire! Whose daughter she’d given the extra biscuits to. What was happening?
Cha
rlotte looked around. Several irons sat on top of the hot stove. They must be in the laundry room. No one would find them here. Charlotte would have to take matters into her own hands. How badly was Emma hurt? She didn’t have a moment to waste.
Charlotte tried to move her tongue, but her mouth was dust dry. “Phoebe,” she croaked. “Phoebe, please let me go.”
Phoebe hurried over. “Charlotte, you awake? Good. Hope I didn’t hit ya too hard. I didn’t have a choice. This doesn’t have anythin’ to do with you, mind you. Just stay quiet and you’ll be fine.”
She must be out of her mind to speak to me in such an easy manner. “Untie me, Phoebe, and let me up. Let the duchess up as well. She’s never done anything to hurt you. Why would you do such a thing?”
Carrying on a conversation with someone standing over you when you were on the floor was not an easy feat. She wished she could see into Phoebe’s eyes.
“Hush, Charlotte! I won’t explain myself to you or no one. I’m done taking orders and keeping quiet. This has been a long time coming. I won’t stray from my path now.” She started toward the stove. In the darkness Charlotte could see a lump across the room. She thought it was the bound duchess, still unconscious.
Dear Lord, what path? What is she planning to do with Emma?
“Phoebe, please, listen to me! My head hurts. I think I’m bleeding. I need help. I’ve always been kind to you. I’ll tell them you’re sick, not in your right mind. You’re not yourself today.” Charlotte tried to raise her head. “They’ll understand. Trust me. Please untie my hands.”
Charlotte tried to think back through her words for some clue as to why this was happening. What had she said about sixteen years? What did that have to do with anything?
Phoebe whirled around. “Shut up, Charlotte! I don’t want to hurt you. But I will if I have to.”
An American Duchess Page 28
