by Quinn, Ella
From behind a hand grabbed Euphrosyne, pulling her back. “You are not allowed to go out, my lady. The duke’s orders.”
She stared at Charles. He and his men were fighting the duke’s thugs. Then the drawbridge was raised, and she lost sight of him. Why had she and her brothers and sisters thought it was such a wonderful thing that the old defenses still worked? They should have sabotaged them years ago.
She began walking the ramparts. Charles returned every day for a week, but the drawbridge remained closed, and all they could do was stare at each other until she was not even allowed that. The next time she went to climb the stairs, the door was locked.
Somehow she had to get out of this castle, but every time she tried to sneak into the muniment room to look at the old castle plans, hoping to find a secret tunnel—there had to be at least one—the door was locked. She attempted to climb the high walls, which had for hundreds of years protected the castle and its gardens, and that had not been at all easy in a gown. It became impossible after her father assigned another footman to guard her door when Sittle was taking his rest. A rest she ensured was much deserved. Even though she was confined to the buildings and grounds, they were extensive. She rode and walked for hours, many times eschewing luncheon. Each night, she dropped into bed exhausted from trying to tire her keepers.
The only bright spot was that Charles was persistent in trying to gain access to see her and talk to her father.
One day after Charles had left, her maid entered her chamber. “My lady, I received a letter that had a missive for you enclosed.”
Euphrosyne scrambled off the window seat. “How? I mean, who do we both know who would write you?”
“Lady Hawksworth’s maid has asked that I pass notes to you.” Shaking her head, Turner shrugged. “I will, of course.”
“Letters from my sister-in-law?” Meg must know that all her correspondence, even from Laia, was read before Euphrosyne received it.
“Yes. They are about”—her maid lowered her voice to a whisper—“Lord Markville.”
Oh, God, how she wanted to involve Turner further in this, but she could not put the maid at risk. “Write her back telling her you cannot deceive the duke. If anyone reads your letters, they will believe you to be loyal to him.”
Relief showed on the woman’s face. “I would do anything for you, but thank you, my lady.”
“I shall find a way out of this difficulty without harming anyone.” Except, perhaps, Sittle. Euphrosyne went back to the window seat, pulling a warm woolen shawl around her shoulders. Advent was just a week away. “You may go.”
If only she’d had the foresight to train pigeons to carry messages.
Once the door closed, she placed her hand on her stomach. It wouldn’t be long before the world—or at least everyone in the castle—knew she was carrying Charles’s child. Perhaps then her father would allow her to marry him.
A few days later, Euphrosyne received a summons to attend the duke. After making her way to his study, a room that seemed as cold as the man himself and had never boded well for her, she waited until she was announced, but refused to wait submissively further for him to notice her.
Taking one of the dark leather chairs in front of his desk, she gave him to the count of thirty before saying, “I was given to understand you wished to speak with me. If you are not prepared to do so, I shall return later.”
The duke’s head jerked up like a puppet’s on a string. “Impertinent miss. Of all my children, you are the most impudent.” Her father waved his hand as if he was warding away something distasteful. "Fortunately, you will not be my problem much longer. I am arranging a match for you.”
Her breath caught, and before she could stop herself, she said, “Markville?”
“No.” Somerset glared at her. “Absolutely not! The two of you make me sick with your maudlin sentimentality. I suppose I should be glad he doesn’t have an army at his command, or he’d be laying siege. One would think he had better things to do than moon after you.” For a moment, she thought he’d spit. Which was a ridiculous notion. He’d never do anything so human. “I am in negotiations with three dukes. You will wed one of them.”
She would not. “No.” Euphrosyne clenched her hands into fists. “I am carrying Markville’s child, and I shall wed him.”
The duke’s eyes grew colder, if that was even possible. “Pregnant. You’ve hidden it well.” Without taking his gaze off her, he drew out a paper. “That, however, makes my choice easier. You will have the honor of marrying the Duke of Ross. He’s riddled with the French pox, and detests the cousin who would inherit. Therefore he requires an heir. Don’t worry, he won’t touch you until you give birth. Now leave me.”
Biting her cheek, Euphrosyne rose and left the room, her spine straighter than it had ever been, as if nothing were amiss. It was time to take drastic measures.
Hawksworth handed Markville a glass of wine while Meg shook out a letter. “You’d better sit.”
He didn’t know why he’d been summoned, but they’d better get to the point fast. The message to come here had arrived as he was setting out for Somerset, again. Somehow he had to make the duke allow his marriage to Euphrosyne.
Meg’s lips flattened. “Euphrosyne is with child.”
Good God! He’d never even considered, or thought . . . That, of course, was stupid. He should have known it would happen. He did know it might happen. Truthfully, he’d wanted Euphrosyne to bear his child. Hawksworth snatched the wine out of Markville’s suddenly slack fingers. “I have to go to her. Somerset must be made to see reason.”
“You won’t get within five miles of her before he slams that blasted drawbridge shut on you again.” Hawksworth raised one black brow. “Not after the commotion you caused the last time. Though, I must admit hiring a band of traveling actors to make as much noise as possible all night and day long was a brilliant idea.
Markville had been shocked to discover that Somerset Castle still had both inner and an outer walls set with spikes, not to mention a functioning drawbridge. The damn place was impregnable. “I don’t suppose you know of any secret entrances.”
“I do,” Hawksworth said. “But he knows about them as well.”
Meg poured a glass of wine for herself. “The one thing you are doing is costing Somerset a great deal of money.”
What did any of that matter? Nothing had worked! “She is pregnant with my child! I must get to her.”
“Speaking of that, the only thing stopping me from breaking your nose”—Hawksworth glowered—“is that I know you love her and want to marry her. And”—he glanced at his wife—“I know that you were not given much choice. If it were my wife, I’d not be able to resist.”
“I will wed her.” Markville grabbed the glass back from Hawksworth and swallowed half of it. “He will have to allow the wedding now.”
Lady Hawksworth shook her head, her expression bleaker than Markville had ever seen it. “He plans to marry her off to Ross.”
“Ross! He can’t. That old goat is full of the French pox.”
“And doesn’t want his cousin to inherit the dukedom. Euphrosyne is his one chance to change his heir.” She glanced at the letter again. “They are leaving in two weeks for the duke’s estate outside of Edinburgh. The wedding is planned for Twelfth Night.”
The idea that that old roué would even lay a finger on her arm made Markville want to commit murder. Preferably on the Duke of Somerset. “If she is carrying anyone’s heir, it’s mine.”
“I think we all agree on what should happen.” Lady Hawksworth head swiveled toward the door. “Oh, good. They have arrived.”
Markville felt as if he were going mad. Dealing with Somerset was like dealing with some medieval war lord. “Who has arrived?”
Hawksworth re-filled his and Markville’s goblets then lifted his glass. “The cavalry.”
His butler opened the door, then stepped aside as two older ladies swept into the study. “The Duchess of Bridgewater and Viscountess Feather
ton.”
“Thank you, Saunders.” Lady Hawksworth’s visage lightened. “Grandmamma, Duchess”—she held out her hands—“I am so glad you could come.”
“Of course we would be here for you.” The smaller lady with silver hair kissed Lady Hawksworth’s cheeks. “Now, pour us some wine and we shall discuss how we can assist you.”
“First, allow me to present Lord Markville. It is he and Hawksworth’s sister Lady Euphrosyne who require your help. Markville, my grandmother Lady Featherton and her good friend the Duchess of Bridgewater.”
The duchess inclined her head. “Pleased to meet you, Markville.”
“I as well.” Lady Featherton said. “You poor dear. I hear Somerset is involved.”
“We’re glad you agreed that Meg should ask for our aid,” the duchess said.
He hadn’t, but there was no point in mentioning it. He had no other ideas.
“Yes, indeed.” Lady Featherton nodded. “We have been giving your difficulties some thought.”
They repaired to a long table set off to one side of the room, and Lady Hawksworth explained that, although he was perfectly eligible and he and Euphrosyne were in love, and she was now in a delicate condition, her father was determined to marry her to Ross.
“I always knew Somerset was a cur.” The duchess scowled before taking a sip of wine.
“He was never pleasant, even as a young man,” Lady Featherton agreed. “But that is neither here nor there. Now that this has become urgent, we must come up with a plan that will enable Lord Markville to wed Lady Euphrosyne.” Lady Featherton and the duchess exchanged a glance and a nod, then her ladyship smiled brightly at all of them. “Fortunately, we know just the woman who can help. Lady Theodora Grantham.”
Lady Hawksworth tilted her head then nodded. “Didn’t she arrange Kit and Mary’s wedding?”
“She did, indeed,” the duchess said. “She and her husband have a town house in Charlotte Square in Edinburgh’s New City. Although she is English, she has been there for years and is very well connected. Her father is the Duke of Gordon.”
That sounded good. But how the lady could help was beyond Markville’s understanding. He needed to hire a troop of former soldiers and save Euphrosyne.
“I shall write to her explaining the problem,” Lady Featherton said. “And have it sent tonight with the mail coach. It is faster than a private messenger would be.” She looked at him. “You must be prepared to travel north as soon as we hear from Lady Theo.”
The duchess focused on him as well. “I suggest you position your horses along the route to Edinburgh.”
“Oh, yes!” Lady Featherton smiled at him. “You will not want to waste time waiting for teams. I do not suppose you have an unmarked traveling coach?”
“Er, no.” He’d never needed one.
She nodded knowingly, “In that event, you may borrow ours.”
Surely once they were married there would be no need for subterfuge. Markville shook his head.
“My dear man, you will want to be far away from Somerset’s reach before he knows who exactly was involved in spiriting his daughter away. I would wager my diamonds you are being watched.”
“Watched?” The words came out sounding like he was choking. “There has been no indication.”
“You have shown you will not willingly give up Euphrosyne,” Hawksworth said. “Somerset probably started having you followed after the first incident.” He took a sip of wine. “That’s the reason I instructed you to leave from the back of your club and come here via the mews.” Again a brow was raised. “You did do that, did you not?”
It had never occurred to Markville that the duke would have him followed, and he’d been strongly tempted to ignore the instructions. Thank God he had not. “Yes, but if I am being watched, he’ll know I’m going somewhere. My carriage is being readied to depart in the morning.”
“Do you have a property between London and Scotland?” the duchess asked.
He did. “Yes, and it is fairly close to the Duke of Gordon’s main estate in Hull.”
“Perfect.” The viscountess clapped her hands. “We will send our coach to you there. That way when you leave from there, no one will know it is you.”
“Just a moment,” Hawksworth said frowning. “Which estate is that?”
Had the man had Markville’s holdings investigated? Hawksworth must have done. Then again, it was his sister Markville was going to marry. Come to think of it, Somerset had probably done the same thing. “It’s a new property. I bought it from a gentleman who wished to move to Italy and had no heirs.”
“In that event”—Lady Hawksworth said—“do not go there. Keep it a secret for now. You will most likely have need of it after you wed Euphrosyne.”
“Then where—”
“Your holding near Peterborough.” Hawksworth nodded as if reassuring himself it was the right decision. “You can just as easily switch coaches there.”
“It also has the benefit of being in the opposite direction of Somerset,” the duchess said.
Markville felt as if he’d lost control over his life. It was becoming as lurid as one of those novels his sister liked to read. Still . . . “Is all this subterfuge really necessary?”
Four sets of brows rose, followed by incredulous looks.
“You poor boy,” the duchess said. “Do you still have no idea of what Somerset is willing to do?”
“Remind me to tell you the stratagems involved to ensure my marriage as well as those of my brothers.” Hawksworth took a drink of wine. “My father is ruthless. In order to win, you must be able to fool the fox.”
“Laia’s wedding was easier only because Bolton attempted to harm her, and Hawksworth was forced to kill him,” Meg reminded Markville.
He drained his glass of wine. Whatever it took to make Euphrosyne his wife, he’d do. Including murder her father if necessary.
Chapter 10
Euphrosyne and her mother had no sooner arrived at the Duke of Ross’s house than his sister Lady Emily Stewart insisted on taking them on morning visits. “My brother will understand.” The soft burr underlying Lady Emily’s tone was almost imperceptible. “You must come to know our society here in Edinburgh. Even though he has a vote in the Lords, he prefers Edinburgh society and rarely attends.” The lady’s amber eyes seemed to estimate Euphrosyne. “I trust you will not miss English society.”
Euphrosyne was glad she could answer truthfully. “Not at all.”
Sittle handed her into the coach after her mother and Lady Emily. They had left Somerset so quickly that Euphrosyne did not know how Charles was to find her. Once she settled her skirts, she asked, “Where are we going?”
“We have been invited to Lady Theodora Grantham’s tea.” Lady Emily’s lips formed a moue. “She is English, but has been with us for so long we barely remember it.”
Deciding to ignore the not so veiled insult to her countrywoman, Euphrosyne smiled brightly. “How lovely. I am sure she will be helpful in showing me how to go on.”
“I am sure she will be happy to aid you in any way possible.” The other woman’s lips relaxed so that she no longer looked as if she’d been sucking a lemon.
As her mother took up the conversation with Lady Emily, Euphrosyne applied herself to attempting to memorize the route from the Ross estate to Edinburgh. It was fairly straightforward until they turned at a crossroad with a tavern by the name of the Sheep Heid Inn and the route became much more complicated. Her ladyship helpfully pointed out Holyrood Palace and Cannongate hill before they emerged into what was the New City.
Fortunately, the Duke of Ross did not own a castle. And, other than a wall bordering the front of the property, there did not seem to be one enclosing the estate. Good. It would be easier for her to escape when the time came.
“I will take you to visit the old town later.” Lady Emily straightened her bonnet as they pulled up in front of a large corner town house.
It had taken less than an hour to make the
drive, but Euphrosyne knew that attempting the distance on foot would take much longer. Resisting the urge to touch her gently swelling stomach, she was determined to make her escape as soon as possible.
“Euphrosyne.” Her mother’s voice reminded her of her duty.
“Coming.” They climbed shallow steps to an open door. The house was much larger and more ornate than the town house in Bath.
A butler bowed and footmen stepped quickly over to collect their cloaks and gloves. “If you will please follow me?” the butler said.
She took in the ornate plaster picked in pale blue paint and the small paintings with gilded frames. Even with the formal decoration, the house seemed more like a home than her own did. They entered a drawing room situated half-way down the corridor. The butler intoned, “Her Grace the Duchess of Somerset, Lady Euphrosyne Trevor, and Lady Emily Stewart.”
A tall, elegant lady near Mama’s age glanced up sharply. Her gray eyes met Euphrosyne’s, and the lady moved toward them. “Welcome.” Taking Lady Emily’s hands, the lady bussed her cheek. “Emily, it is so good to see you. Please introduce me.”
“Your grace, Lady Euphrosyne, this is our hostess Lady Theodore Grantham. Theo, the Duchess of Somerset and her daughter, my brother’s betrothed.”
Lady Theo smiled as she greeted them. “I am so happy you have joined us. Emily, if you will introduce her grace to our friends, I shall make Lady Euphrosyne known to the younger set.” Lady Emily opened her mouth, but Lady Theo continued, “You cannot expect her to have no friends her age.”
Euphrosyne hid her smile as Lady Theo drew her away toward a group of younger matrons.
“I must be quick. Keep a pleasant smile on your face. You must in no way let anyone know what I am about to tell you. There is a gentleman here who is very anxious to see you again. I believe you know of whom I speak.”
For a bare second, Euphrosyne lost her breath. Charles. He’d found her. “He’s here? In the house?”
“Indeed. You will not see him today. Perhaps not for a few days, but all will be well.”
