* * *
Patrick blamed himself for Melissa’s disappearance.
I should have gone with her!
Bitter regret curdled his belly and he swallowed down bile as he rode up and down, calling her name. Stenwick appeared out of the blue and shook his head. “She’s not here. We have to go back. Perhaps, Nordam found her.”
“If he did, why didn’t he call for us?”
“I don’t know. But what I do know is, she’s not here. Let us go back to the hall and organize a proper search party. We can cover the whole property more efficiently.”
Patrick acknowledged the truth of Stenwick’s words but he still didn’t want to go back without Melissa. He counted it an awful failure on his part. Stenwick reached out and took hold of his reins, pulling him along and making him move. Patrick traveled with his head hanging down in defeat.
* * *
Brynn was standing on the verandah, eyes on the road, waiting anxiously for some sign of the horsemen. Pellets of hail bounced off the floor and pinged against her ankles but she paid them no mind. The Duke of Greyfield would occasionally wander outside to ask if there was any sign of anyone and she would shake her head miserably. Lady Rose and the Duchess sat in the parlor, awaiting news while the rest of the party tried to reassure them as to Melissa’s likely safety.
Brynn was sure that the Duchess was merely putting on a show for sympathy. There was no way she was really worried about Melissa. Brynn suspected that she might be quite relieved if something actually happened to her daughter.
A lone rider emerged from the hailstorm and Brynn hurried forward, an umbrella at the ready, before any of the footmen could move. He had someone wrapped in his greatcoat, laying against his chest and Brynn heaved a sigh of relief.
“Lady Melissa!” she called but the burden did not move. Her heart dropped. Was her mistress well?
Lord Nordam alighted smoothly from his horse, sliding Melissa down with him, her body listless and unmoving.
“What’s the matter with her?” Brynn knew her tone was too shrill for someone of her station but she could not help herself. Melissa looked pale as death, her lips blue and she was generally unresponsive. Two footmen arrived, reaching to relieve the lord of his burden but he ushered them away.
“It’s fine. I’ve got her,” he said leading the way as fast as he could to the house. He made straight for the stairs, glancing briefly back at Brynn. “Where is her room? Get some steaming water, she needs to warm up.”
Brynn rounded on the footmen, “You heard the Lord, get her some hot, steaming water!” she said before hurrying up the stairs to show the Earl where Melissa’s temporary room was. He placed her gently on the bed before turning to Brynn. “Strip her of her remaining clothes and cover her with as many blankets as you can find. Build up the fire. As soon as the water is here, lower her into it and keep her there until her skin is flushed pink and healthy again. You understand me?”
Brynn nodded vigorously.
“I am off to find a physician.” He said with a nod and then marched out of the room. Brynn spared a moment to gawk at him before getting down to the business of shedding Melissa’s clothes. She wrapped her up in all the blankets on the bed before letting in the servants bringing in a large claw foot tub and buckets of hot water. One of the servants hastened to build up the fire without being told, as the others left the room to give them some privacy. As soon as they were alone, Brynn quickly unwrapped her from the blanket and half-carried, half-dragged her over to the tub.
“Come on, that’s it. You can do it. One leg at a time.” Eventually, she got Melissa into the tub. She opened her eyes into slits and stared at Brynn, lips moving, she wanted to say something.
“Don’t speak you, hear me? You need to get warm first,” Brynn poured some water over Melissa’s hair to warm her head. Melissa slowly shook her head from side to side, swallowing audibly as she tried to get some words out.
Brynn leaned closer to hear. “I beg your pardon?”
“…tried…kill…me.”
Chapter 30
Chickens Coming Home
Nordam found quite the crowd gathered at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for him. “We need to send for a sawbones,” he said at once.
“Already on his way,” The Duchess of Cheshmill said.
Nordam nodded curtly. “Good.”
He strode forward, grasping The Duchess of Greyfield by the arm and dragging her along behind him, heading toward the study.
“Excuse me!” she cried as she stumbled, trying to keep up with him. “What are you doing?”
He said nothing, just kept walking.
“I say!” The Duke of Greyfield said, lifting a hand to stop them, “What…?”
“Excuse me, sir, I need to speak with your wife urgently,” Nordam said, shooting a hand out to stop the Duke from impeding his way.
“Well, this is most irregular. Is it something to do with my daughter?”
Nordam opened his mouth, closed it and then opened it again. “Yes.”
“Well then, I am coming too.”
Nordam hid his frustration and simply nodded impatiently. “Very well. If you must.”
The Duke replied by falling into step with them, before reaching out to remove Nordam’s hand from his wife’s arm. The Duchess was quivering repeatedly.
“Are you quite well, my dear?” the Duke asked.
“I…am simply…my nerves. It has been a trying day.”
“Yes, indeed it has. Thank goodness it did not end in tragedy.”
Thalia did not deign to answer.
Nordam ushered them both into the study and made to close the door behind him. He was impeded by The Duke of Cheshmill, who had his hand on the door, and was stopping him from closing it.
“Don’t you think I should be here for this?” he asked.
“Not particularly,” Nordam said, tried beyond his ability to pretend politeness.
“Indeed, well, too bad, you shall have to endure me.” The Duke pushed past Nordam without another word. The Duchess’ hands were shaking.
Nordam turned to face her, taking a deep breath. “Twenty years ago…” he began.
“I’ll stop you there,” Thalia said holding up a quelling hand, “the answer is yes. She is yours.”
“But…you must have known when you told me…” Nordam gaped at her in disbelief.
Thalia nodded, then looked down at her hands which were moving restlessly against each other in her lap. “I did know. That is why I did it.”
Nordam shook his head, gaping at her, his incredulity apparent. Greyfield looked from one to the other. “Just what is going on here?” he demanded, getting to his feet.
Cheshmill smiled in malevolent amusement. “Shall you tell him, or shall I?” he asked Thalia.
Greyfield looked around at them all, wondering they had taken leave of their senses. Nordam didn’t blame him. He felt he had lost his marbles.
Thalia took a deep steadying breath and turned to face her husband. “Twenty years ago, I did a very foolish thing that I have regretted ever since,” she looked him straight in the eye as she said it. Nordam winced at her words.
“Go on,” Greyfield said.
Cheshmill crossed to his desk, seating himself in the high back leather armchair and regarding them all as if they were his subjects.
Thalia sighed. “I committed an…indiscretion with the Earl and…Melissa was the result.”
“An indiscretion?” Nordam broke in, “Is that what you call six months of hot, torrid, desperate sex?”
Thalia flinched as he’d meant her to do. Her husband paled. Cheshmill was supremely amused. “Facilitated by that Lord over there.” Nordam pointed and then turned to face the Duke. “I fancied myself in love. I thought your wife felt the same for me. I had visions of divorce and elopement. Perhaps a chateau in France…” he laughed bitterly. “Little did I know I was nothing but a plaything to her. She ended our affair at the Leighton Christmas Ball. The next thing
I knew, the both of you were announcing her pregnancy to the world.”
The Duke was staring at him as if he did not comprehend any of the words Nordam had just said. The Earl did not blame him. It wasn’t every day that you heard your wife was a faithless adulteress who had tried to pass off the child of her dalliance of as yours.
“And how long have you known of this?” the Duke said very slowly.
“I just found out about my daughter when I rescued her from certain death. She has a very distinct birthmark upon her ribs.”
If it was at all possible, the Duke became even paler. “Is that the only proof you have?” he said in any case.
Nordam studied him grimly. “Your family is generally pale, blue-eyed, blond-haired…did you not wonder where Melissa came from?”
“We all have a little bit of Spanish in our blood.”
“Perhaps. So you assumed she was a throwback. I can understand that. But I tell you true. She has my mother’s eyes, her cheekbones, and her birthmark is the very twin of mine. In any case, if there was a chance she was yours; Thalia would have been shouting it from the roof tops by now.”
Thalia opened her mouth and then closed it again. Her fingers twisted together as she kept her eyes downcast. “I…” she began and stopped.
The Duke took a deep breath. “Don’t even bother, Thalia. I think we have lived with more than enough lies for the last twenty years.”
The Duke of Cheshmill cleared his throat. “Well…this is certainly an awkward situation but there is no reason it cannot be salvaged. Nobody need know about this…little revelation…but us.”
“Little revelation? I have just been informed that a lady I regarded as my flesh and blood is not, in fact, that. And you expect me to keep it to myself? To just go on as if everything is normal? I’m afraid you mistake me mightily, Cheshmill!” Greyfield said.
Cheshmill got to his feet. “And what will Prinny think of all this were he to hear of it? You are his foremost advisor. What would he think of you being so easily bamboozled for so long?”
“With your help apparently. Is that why my wife is so hell bent on my daughter marrying your son? Did you strong arm her with threats?”
Cheshmill’s smile became arctic. “My son has nothing to do with this.”
“Has he not? It was terribly convenient that he came into our lives just in time to save my–to save Melissa from that brigand. Was he one of yours? I expect the rumors swirling around about you might be truer than you are willing to admit!” Greyfield lifted his chin proudly, glaring pointedly at Cheshmill.
“My son is a brave and selfless boy and you shall not disparage him in my presence,” Cheshmill growled. “What happened with your daughter was terribly convenient, but if it was my doing, I would have had him go for Lady Rose. After all, I was aware the entire time that the other was but a cuckoo in the wrong nest!”
Greyfield took a step toward Cheshmill, his hands fisted. Nordam stepped neatly between them. “Gentlemen. This is not helping.”
“Oh, I think you have helped quite enough!” Greyfield cried pushing Nordam to the side. The Earl stumbled and almost fell giving Greyfield sufficient time to reach Cheshmill, wrap his hands around his neck and squeeze.
Thalia let out a scream of terror and Nordam leaped forward even as the door was thrust open and the butler together with Lord Addison burst in just in time to see Nordam attempting to separate Greyfield from Cheshmill.
“Your Grace…?” the butler said uncertainly, not knowing how to proceed when two Dukes were fighting.
Lord Addison walked more confidently into the room. “The physician has completed his examination. Perhaps we ought to go and hear the verdict,” he said with aplomb.
The Duke of Greyfield straightened up and pulled himself together before lifting his chin and marching out of the room. The Duchess followed meekly behind, closely followed by Nordam. Cheshmill stayed where he was, breathing hard.
The butler looked to Lord Addison for direction and the Baron waved him out of the room. He took a moment to look Cheshmill up and down. “Are you fine?” he asked.
Cheshmill nodded jerkily and Lord Addison nodded once, retreating from the room and shutting the door behind him. He found the butler hovering outside looking uncertain.
“We’ll give His Grace a minute. Go and make sure all the guests are well supplied with drinks.”
The butler nodded with relief, glad to have a specific task to do and hurried away.
* * *
“Lady Melissa has severe hypothermia and there is some bruising around her neck that seems to indicate strangulation. She still cannot articulate very well but she seems to think somebody tried to kill her.” The physician looked from one parent to the other and then to Nordam, waiting for one of them to give him an answer.
“What do you mean by that?” Thalia asked, stepping forward, a frown marring her forehead.
“She says the fall into the river was not an accident.”
Thalia paled considerably as the Duke rounded on her. “Did you know about this?”
Thalia gaped at him in disbelief. “Know about what? Surely you don’t believe that…”
“Melissa is an excellent rider,” Greyfield said, “There is no way she would have fallen into the creek without some outside impetus.”
“I agree that she’s a good rider, but what has that to do with me knowing anything?”
“You have wanted to keep her identity a secret.”
“Not to the extent of killing her! Have you taken leave of your senses? If I wanted to kill her, I would have done it when she was a baby.”
The physician cleared his throat loudly to remind them that they were not alone. Not just him but the rest of the hunting party, save The Duke of Cheshmill, were listening avidly. Thalia paled as she looked around the room before scurrying out of the room, skirts billowing around her. The Duke went to the window breathing hard.
Nordam turned to the physician. “Is she well enough for visitors? I should like to see her.”
The physician nodded awkwardly. “Yes, well, she’s resting comfortably. Try not to tire her out.”
“Of course. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Nordam walked out, leaving the rest to decipher for themselves what could possibly have transpired between him and the Alfords. He walked slowly up the stairs, trying to assimilate the knowledge that his own flesh and blood lay injured upstairs. It was simultaneously the best and worst news he’d ever had. He had just reached the top of the stairs when the front door burst open and the Duke’s son came rushing in. He caught sight of the Earl and stopped short; his eyes wild.
“Did you find her?”
* * *
Patrick caught sight of the Earl of Nordam at the top of the stairs, looking extremely solemn and his stomach dropped.
Has the worst happened? He wondered. At that moment he did not know how he would go on if Melissa had run afoul of something and shuffled off the mortal coil.
“Did you find her?” he asked the Earl, his voice trembling. Behind him, Stenwick clutched his arm hard.
Nordam nodded slowly, painfully and Patrick felt his chest constrict. “And? Where is she?”
“She’s resting. I am just on my way to see her.”
Patrick was taking the stairs two at a time even before Nordam was done with his words. “Is she in her room?”
Nordam frowned. “Yes, she is. You cannot go in there. It is not seemly.”
Patrick regarded him in disbelief. “But you can?”
“I am her father,” Nordam said his tone very matter of fact for someone who had clearly lost his mind.
Patrick gawked. “I beg your pardon?”
Nordam gave him a tired smile. “You missed all the theatrics but bottom line, Lady Melissa is my child, and not The Duke of Greyfield’s.”
Patrick just continued to gawk.
“Now if you’ll excuse me, I am going to see my daughter.” Nordam made to push past
Patrick but the latter stopped him.
“Does she know?”
“No.” Nordam shook his head, looking sad.
“You’re not going to tell her, are you? If she is injured, perhaps you should wait for her to be better.”
Nordam sighed tiredly. “I merely want to see my daughter. I do not intend to drop any surprises in her lap at this time.”
Bewitching the Forbidden Duke: A Steamy Regency Romance Page 26
