“Yes, Your Grace.”
Theodore turned to oblige his request and Nicholas was left to consider what he had learned. The children were young and apt to fanciful ideas. They had also been sick and could not be certain what they knew. Yet Nicholas could not shake the sense that something was amiss with only half the household being incapacitated while the captain and servants had no issues. It did seem rather suspect.
Nicholas tried his legs again, the wobbling seeming to subside somewhat and he took a few cautious steps toward the window. The sun had broken through the horizon and it was already becoming a glorious day. Nicholas wondered how long it had been since the sun’s rays had touched his skin.
Today, I will leave this room. Rose and I will inhale fresh air and overcome whatever is this plague.
“Nicholas!”
He turned his head as his mother entered his quarters, a worried smile on her face.
“Mother, what in God’s name has happened? How could I be ill for almost one week?”
“I cannot say for certain,” she replied, drawing closer to stare at his face with relief. “Captain Balfour and I have been beside ourselves.”
Nicholas found it difficult to believe that the captain had cared in the least about his well-being but that was a matter for another time.
“Where is Miss Rose?”
“She is still unwell, Nicholas.”
“That does not answer my question, mother.”
“She should not be disturbed, just as you should not be exposing yourself to whatever it is plaguing you.”
“Yet you and the servants are immune to this mysterious illness? I wish to see Miss Rose at once.”
“You cannot,” Captain Balfour announced from the doorway. “She may be catching.”
“I did not send for him,” Nicholas growled, eyeing his mother with annoyance. “And I will not have this discussion again, particularly not with an underling.”
The duke watched as Balfour’s jaw tightened and he was satisfied.
“Nicholas do not be crass. It has been a harrowing week. The captain only wishes to ensure you are well again,” Duchess Buford sighed. “You need not make it more difficult.”
“Where is she?” Nicholas demanded, ignoring Balfour and addressing his mother. “I demand to see Miss Rose.”
Trudy arrived, gently rapping against the ajar door.
“You wished an audience, Your Grace?” she asked timidly.
“Not now, Trudy,” the duchess called but Nicholas waved her inside.
“Yes. I wish to know about Miss Rose. How does she fare?”
Trudy glanced at the duchess and captain uncertainly but neither met her eye.
“I am waiting on a response!” Nicholas boomed, a peculiar feeling stabbing through him. “Where is she? Why is my inquiry met with silence?”
He hobbled around the side of the room, his concern overriding his weakness.
“If you will not answer, I will find her myself.”
“You cannot,” Balfour sighed, shaking his head in pity. It was only then that Nicholas realized the man was wearing one of his father’s suits. A wave of sweat washed over him simultaneously as he took in the dapper waist coat and cravat, his breeches too large about his sinewy hips.
He is quite literally half the man my father was. How dare he wear his attire? How could mother permit such a display?
Nicholas wondered what else had happened while he slept the days away.
The captain seemed to notice his brazen, awed stare and met Nicholas’ eyes with a certain smugness which chilled the duke.
“I will not ask again,” Nicholas hissed. “Where is Miss Rose?”
“Nicholas, you must rest – “his mother began but he held up his hand, loathing the mere word “rest.”
“I have rested enough,” he snapped. “And I will not rest again until I have seen her.”
“You cannot,” the duchess insisted. “It is not possible.”
“Ballocks!” Nicholas roared, pushing past them. His eyes fell on Trudy as he started for the hallway but the Betty lowered her gaze. Balfour reached out to stop him.
“I fear you are too late,” Balfour sighed. “She is gone.”
Nicholas’ mouth parted, shock flooding his body as he tried to make sense of his meaning.
“Gone?” he choked. “How do you mean, gone?”
Balfour and the duchess sighed together.
“You must not tell the children, Nicholas. They have dealt with enough loss for one lifetime,” the duchess implored him but Nicholas could barely understand her words. The expression on her face told him that the worst had occurred while he had slumbered, oblivious to the fact that the woman he had learned to cautiously love had been taken from him as abruptly as his father.
“No…” he choked, shaking his head. “No…”
Yet it did not matter how many times he uttered the denial; the truth remained the same. Rose had slipped away before he had a chance to have her.
Or save her.
Chapter 33
Rose did not recognize the room where she had been moved but she was certain that she was still inside Rosecliff. It was a windowless, empty space with only a mattress on the floor and chamber pot. No one had bothered to leave her with a drop of water and as the hours ticked by, Rose grew increasingly thirsty and hungered.
Without the outside light to gage time, she hadn’t a notion how much time had passed nor if it was day or night. Her mind was not sharp enough to render sound theories about where she was or when it was but the panic she felt was keeping her alive for the moment.
She could not be certain who had moved her, having woken in the dismal cupboard but as she paced about the locked, cramped quarters like a caged wildcat, she knew it had to be Balfour. Who else could smuggle her so effortlessly from one part of the manor to another, especially without rousing her from sleep? Rose had no recollection of being drugged again but a fresh prick on her arm indicated that she had been laced with laudanum once more and the realization filled her with anger.
Why does he not simply murder me as he has the others? She wondered hatefully. Why would he stop now?
It occurred to her that she would never see Nicholas again, not alive in any case. Perhaps Balfour was merely waiting for an opportunity to kill her. She recalled the conversation she had with Duchess Buford. The gala for Nicholas’ birthday was to commence soon. Guests would be flocking the grounds. Balfour could not dispose of a corpse with ease in the wake of such an event. He would need to bide his time.
Does Nicholas not wonder where I am? Or have they concocted a tale about my whereabouts?
Of course, Rose could know nothing for certain. Only that she needed to free herself of the suffocating prison in which she had been placed.
Have they left me here to die?
The notion filled Rose with terror as she imagined the agony which would ensue should she be abandoned in the room to perish. She was already in a much-weakened state but Rose knew she must not succumb to her state.
I have endured worse than this in the orphanage, she told herself. I have overcome pain and loss. I will not permit Balfour to defeat me, not when Nicholas and the children are at stake.
She was still uncertain what role, if any, that the duchess played in this twisted game. Rose prayed that Nicholas’ mother was simply taken by Balfour’s wicked charms but that thought only increased her anxiety. If Her Grace was an unwitting accomplice, that could only mean she was yet another victim of the captain.
She peered around the black room, the only light from an almost burnt candle flickering in a dish. Rose knew that once the final drip of wax had fallen, she would be plunged into total darkness and in even more trouble than she already faced.
I must fashion a way out of here, she thought, gritting her teeth as she willed her tired mind to function. Futilely, she tried the doorknob again, knowing it remained locked and for a fleeting moment, she considered banging on it, but she reconsidered as
she thought of who might respond. She could not say who was loyal to the crooked captain, but she was certain he had at least one accomplice inside the estate.
Sorrow flooded her as she thought of Nicholas and how he would react to more devastation. Could he be in a room of his own, hidden away as Balfour concluded his plan? Or was he in an even worse state? Rose shuddered, forcing herself not to allow her emotions to cloud her already impaired judgement.
I will find a way out, she told herself with determination. And I will stop Balfour.
Her initial bravado had diminished and when the light of the flame extinguished, Rose was enveloped in darkness. Her hands were raw and bleeding from trying to pull the pegs from the hinges but without lubrication, the task was impossible.
She was parched and starved, her head light and eyes heavy. The hope she had clung to was slipping away like icicles in the springtime, dripping harmlessly into a puddle which would evaporate into nothingness in time.
Rose did not need to be told she was losing her grip on her fragile sanity; it was clear in each agonizing second which passed.
I will rest for a moment, she thought to herself, curling onto her side against the straw mattress. As she moved, she heard the gentle squeak of a mouse and Rose desperately looked to see where it had gone, thinking perhaps there was an opening she had not noticed.
You are not thinking soundly. You are not a mouse. You are a confined governess who is wasting away with each passing second.
Rose closed her gritty eyes, relishing the temporary relief that her lids seemed to provide but she knew she could not remain in that spot, not if she wished to survive.
She pushed her thoughts to the days she had spent with Nicholas and the children, hiking through Buford Woods, before the late duke’s passing. She put herself in the schoolroom with Harry, laughing with the boy as he struggled to pronounce Greek words.
She replayed the kiss over again in her mind, grateful that she had experienced it before meeting her fate.
Does he think about it or did it mean more to me than it did him?
Rose realized it did not matter; it would never happen again, not when she was likely never going to see him again.
Loss. My entire life has been about great loss. I was never meant to have a happiness for very long. It was not God’s plan.
The sadness which should have filled her disappeared and she fell asleep, knowing there was nothing else she could do but wait for the end to come. She was in that delicate place between wakefulness and sleep, her mind already developing a dream as she remained vaguely aware of her surroundings.
Even if she was to succumb to her fate, she wanted to ensure she knew who was responsible. She wished to look at Balfour one last time before she perished, to ask him how he had become such a monster. In her mind’s ear, she could hear Betsey’s voice, scolding her brother angrily.
“…everywhere, Harry. She is not here. I think she has died.”
“Do not say that!” Harry cried, the anguish in his voice gut-wrenching. “Take it back!”
“Where else could she be? Have you noticed how quiet and withdrawn Nicholas has become? He knows something has happened to her but he will not tell us!”
“Are you certain she is not in her room?”
“I stole Trudy’s key and checked it myself. She is nowhere in the west wing nor the east wing. Miss Rose is gone. You must learn to accept that she is just one more person we must live without.”
A shiver ran through Rose’s body.
“I am not gone!” she murmured. “I am here.”
Their voices faded out of her head and it took Rose a moment to understand that she was not dreaming, that the Arlington children were just outside the room where she was being held. It took every measure of energy for Rose to raise her body.
“Wait!” she cried. “Betsey! Harry!”
Her voice was barely louder than a strangled whisper as she crawled toward the door but she could no longer hear them speaking. Without considering the danger, she began to pound on the heavy door, separating her from the children.
“Harry! Betsey!” she gasped. “Help me!”
She dropped her head against the door, her heart sick as she realized that she had missed the opportunity for rescue but it did not stop her from continuing to bang upon the wood.
Rose wanted to cry but she could not muster tears in her dehydration, her head throbbing as she slapped her open palms over the door in frustration. Yet only silence met her desperate pleas and once more, Rose was consumed by devastation.
Oh! They were so close, so close! If I had only waited one more moment before closing my eyes. If I had –
“Miss Rose?”
The unmistakable chirp of Harry’s voice piped through the barrier between them.
“Harry! Harry, oh good heavens! Please, will you free me from here?”
“Is that truly you?” Harry squealed. “Betsey! Betsey! She is not gone! I told you!”
“Miss Rose are you injured?” Betsey called, concern laced in her tone. “The door is locked but I will find a key from Trudy.”
“I am unhurt,” Rose fibbed, ignoring the taste of cotton in her mouth as she struggled to remain conscious. “You must tell no one that you have found me, children. No one at all!”
“Harry, stay here,” Betsey instructed her brother. “I shall return with the key.”
Rose listened at the sound of retreating footsteps, exhaling in deep relief but she could not feel any true sense of ease, not yet. If Betsey was caught or if Balfour returned…
“Harry, you should not sit out there,” Rose realized. “If he comes back…”
“I do not care!” Harry declared and Rose could see he was sincere. “I am unafraid of Captain Balfour.”
“Harry, he is a highly dangerous man. You must steer clear of him.”
“We cannot run from him,” Harry whispered, the sorrow in his voice evident. “He must be stopped. I thought…we thought he had hurt you.”
“I am well,” Rose assured him, hoping that conviction edged her words. “We shall all be well soon, I swear it, Harry.”
“Tis Nicholas’ surprise birthday gala tonight,” Harry explained after a long silence. “Balfour has taken Nicholas hunting for the day as the duchess prepares for the guests.”
Rose felt her head grow light.
“Hunting?” she gasped. “They are going hunting?”
“They have already gone,” Harry replied.
“No!” she howled, banging a fist across the door in horror. “No, it cannot be!”
“Why? Miss Rose, what is the matter?”
Rose caught herself from openly screaming her concerns, gnashing down on her lower lip to stop herself.
“Where is Betsey?” she moaned.
“She is here,” Harry said, surprised and Rose ambled to her feet, her filthy nightgown clinging to her emaciated body as the key met the lock. A quick click sounded, and she stepped back as the door swung inward. Her breath caught in her throat and she gaped at the faces on the other side.
“Miss Rose!” Betsey choked when she saw the bedraggled body of the governess, but Rose only had eyes for the man who stood between the siblings.
Their eyes locked and Rose was overcome with emotion as she stared at the duke. Never in her life had she been happier to see another person, not when she had been certain that she would not lay eyes upon Nicholas again.
“Children, go,” Nicholas ordered them, his voice gruff with upset. “And tell no one what you saw here.”
“But Nicholas – “
“Harry, you must trust in me,” the duke told his cousin kindly. “Miss Rose will be cared for, I assure you.”
“Thank you, Harry, Betsey,” she murmured, her dried eyes burning with gratitude. “I will be fine now, I swear it.”
“Nicholas, I must tell you something,” Harry said urgently, casting Rose a nervous look. “I should have told you long ago…”
“Harry, it can wait,” N
icholas insisted, extending his arm for Rose to take but the boy did not move.
“It is about Captain Balfour.”
The concern and anger on Nicholas’ face seemed to emanate from him in waves.
“Whatever it is, Harry, cannot make me despise the man more than I do in this moment,” the duke explained, helping Rose down the servant’s corridor and away from the tiny room where she had been held.
“Harry,” Rose told the boy kindly. “I will tell him but you and Betsey must go now. You have already risked a great deal for me and I will never forgive myself if you are caught. Go now and speak to no one about this – no one at all.”
The Enigmatic Governess of Buford Manor_A Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 26
