Were Arthur to die, Gabriel would become Duke of Rosenhill, but he was too young to actually run a grand estate. He would need a guiding hand, and Arthur wished to extract Duncan’s promise that he would be that guardian.
His siblings would also need protection from their mother’s constant displeasure and the ever-present influence of the Marquess of Denlington. Arthur did not want Gabriel forced into a situation that he could not extricate himself from.
Entering the nursery, Arthur was greeted with enthusiasm by his brother and sister. He was reluctant to disappoint them but knew that his visit to Durton would serve them better than an outing. “We are ready to go riding!” Gabriel informed him, his face beaming with anticipatory glee.
“I am afraid I must postpone our ride today. My attentions are needed elsewhere, and I will be gone for most of the day. I give you my word that we will go riding another day to see the animals.”
Gabriel’s crestfallen expression was difficult to ignore. Arthur knelt to meet his eyes attempting not to wince at the pain in his side as he did so. “I promise.”
Gabriel nodded and wrapped his arms around Arthur’s neck. “Hurry back.”
“I will.” Arthur looked up and stretched his arms out to Charlotte, and the three of them shared a familial embrace. Arthur met Miss Bolton’s eyes and saw her worried expression.
“Travel safe, Your Grace,” she quietly admonished. Arthur could not help but feel as if she knew something more than he wished her to.
“I will see you all upon my return.” Arthur released his siblings and turned to leave. He paused in the doorway, looked back over his shoulder, and found Miss Bolton studying him, a concerned frown marring her features.
Does she know? Shaking his head, he departed the house, entered the waiting carriage, and headed for Durton.
* * *
Eliza awoke panting, drenched in sweat from yet another nightmare. Her hopes of improving due to her new surroundings had been dashed the first night, but at least she had managed not to scream this time. Rising to get a drink of water, she found her pitcher to be empty. She donned her robe and descended the stairs to the kitchen.
She walked over to the water pump and placed her pitcher beneath it. An agonizing groan from the next room caused her to pause and turn to investigate. Whoever it was sounded as though they were in a great deal of pain. As she moved toward the sound, she was stopped in her tracks by the feel of something wet beneath her bare feet.
Eliza lifted her foot to inspect what she had stepped in.
Blood! Her mind froze in fear taking her back into the world of her nightmares. Another groan from Mrs. Philips’ office broke through the panicked haze and propelled her forward. She peeked around the doorframe to find the Duke naked to the waist tending a wound in his side.
Eliza’s initial instinct was to enter the room and assist him, but she stopped herself. The Duke could have called for a surgeon or any number of servants to attend him and yet he had not. A man only sews himself up alone for one of two reasons: he has no one to assist him, which was not the case here, or he was hiding something and did not want to explain himself. The latter appeared to be true of the Duke.
She watched in silence as he bore the pain with hardly a sound. He is strong. What has he been doing to accrue such a wound? If it were honest labor, then would he have cause to hide, tending his wounds alone?
A flash of memory back to the night she was attacked came to her mind, and she examined the Duke more closely. A knife such as was wielded by those scoundrels could have caused such a wound, but her savior had not appeared to be wounded. Had he returned and been attacked? Was the Duke her savior or was he a criminal himself?
The brilliant blue eyes she had witnessed that night, and again during her interview with the Duke, were so similar in color and shape that it was not beyond the realm of possibility that they were the same person. She had thought as much the day she met him. His voice had also been familiar to her. These facts, combined with the sight before her, caused her to make the final connection.
Why had he been out that night? Where had he been this night? Her mind swam with questions.
When the Duke finished tending his wound, he arose and staggered across the room. Eliza slipped back down the hall to the kitchen. She heard him stumble up the stairs and then everything was quiet once more. She stepped out of her hiding place and entered Mrs. Philips’ office. The Duke had left a lamp burning. There was blood smeared everywhere from the floor to the lamp to the sewing basket.
Eliza returned to the kitchen to fetch a bucket of water and some cleaning cloths. She returned to the office and scrubbed everything she could see with blood on it. I hate the sight of blood. It was too real a reminder of her parents. Scrubbing away the Duke’s was like scrubbing away theirs and scrubbing away the nightmares.
She moved down the hall following the trail of crimson droplets to the pantry, across the kitchen, and out the back entrance. Once she had completed mopping up below stairs, she followed the path to the Duke’s room to check for any further evidence of his misfortune. She remembered him clutching a fist full of bloody clothing as he had left the office and wondered what he had done with them. He had seemed a bit intoxicated at the time, no doubt from the bottle of brandy she had noted by his side.
When she reached his bedchamber, she found the door hanging wide open. He must not have had the presence of mind to close it upon entry.
Eliza hesitated to enter for fear of being caught and punished, but she could not live with herself if she did not verify that he still breathed. She crept quietly across the floor to the side of the bed to assure herself that he lived. She watched as his bare, muscular chest rose and fell with each breath.
Thank heaven!
Sighing in relief, she moved to leave and almost fell over something laying on the floor.
She looked down and found a pile of blood-stained clothes. The Duke had apparently dropped them there upon retiring. She picked them up and left the room and gently closed the door behind her. She took in the stained, ripped condition of the clothing and knew there would be no salvaging them. They will have to be thrown out.
Eliza went to her own room and shut the door. She contemplated how best to discard the garments and decided on burning them. The thought occurred to her that she was interfering in another person’s life without their permission, but the Duke had helped her, and she wished to return the favor. She walked over to the fireplace and tossed the ruined clothing into the flames. She stood, leaned against the mantle, poker in hand and made sure every piece burned away, leaving no evidence.
She contemplated whether to confront the Duke about their shared secret, but felt it might risk her position as a governess. Instead, she decided to wait and see what events transpired. She would keep an eye on the Duke to ensure his wound healed adequately, but that was all.
* * *
“Good God, Arthur!” Duncan exclaimed upon hearing Arthur’s tale. “Will you heal?”
“I believe so,” Arthur answered.
“Let me take a look at it,” Duncan moved to stand by his friend’s side. “I warned you that your attempts at redemption were too dangerous.”
“Yes, you did,” Arthur admitted.
“Perhaps now you will see sense and cease this madness,” Duncan admonished as he lifted his friend’s shirt to inspect the wound. He unwound the bandage and sucked air in through his teeth in sympathy as he gazed upon the jagged red line beneath. “Well, I will say this for you, you can sew a pretty stitch. Mayhap you should take up embroidery.”
“Most amusing, Duncan.” Arthur swatted his friend’s hand away and rebandaged his wound.
“I have said it before, and I will say it again. Your father’s sins are not your own. You have no need to go about putting yourself in harm’s way to rectify a dead man’s past actions. What would become of your family were you to die?” Duncan sat back down across from his friend.
“That is what I wishe
d to speak with you about,” Arthur began. “I came to ask if you would be Gabriel and Charlotte’s guardian if anything were to befall me while they are still in their minority.”
“Of course, I would be honored, but you are missing the point, Arthur…”
Arthur interrupted Duncan before he could begin another lecture concerning his nocturnal activities. “I understand your point, Duncan. I simply disagree.”
“That is painfully obvious,” Duncan retorted with a frown. “Why will you not listen to reason?”
“I do not expect you to understand. Your father was an upstanding man in every respect who helped people. Mine hurt them indiscriminately without remorse. You are secure in the honor of your legacy. I am not,” Arthur replied. “Swear to me you will be there for the children, Duncan. I need to be assured that you will be their friend.”
“I swear it, Arthur. Fear not. They will be well cared for,” Duncan promised. “Now rest. Take repast. I fear you will be your own undoing at the pace you are keeping.”
Arthur stayed and visited for a time at Durton before heading back to Rosenhill. The journey had been difficult on his wounded body, but he had promised he would return before nightfall. He made sure to leave Durton in plenty of time to keep his word.
As the carriage bumped along the road towards Rosenhill, Arthur attempted to close his eyes in rest. With every bump, he felt searing pain stab through his side. His brow broke out in a sweat and he clenched his teeth in an effort not to cry out.
The carriage is riding particularly rough today. Perhaps I should have the stableman inspect it upon our return.
The carriage hit a particularly deep hole in the road, and Arthur heard a splintering sound before his body was flung from the carriage. He flew through the air and landed in a heap upon a pile of jagged rocks. He felt a black fog closing in as the pain coursed through him. His senses became blurred, and he struggled to breathe. His last thought before darkness overtook him was for his friend.
Keep your promise.
Chapter 6
Eliza was worried. The Duke had promised to return before nightfall and that time had passed several hours ago. She expressed her concerns to Mrs. Philips, who brushed them aside stating, “He has probably decided to stay the night at Durton. It is not unusual for him to do so.”
“But he promised the children. Is he prone to going back on his word?” Eliza argued.
“No,” Mrs. Philips replied. Eliza watched as the older woman considered her words. “Perhaps he forgot.”
Eliza debated on whether to tell the housekeeper what she had witnessed the night before but was concerned that it was not her story to tell. “Should we not send someone to verify his state of wellbeing?”
“I see no reason why we should,” Mrs. Philips declined.
Frustrated that she was not going to get anywhere with the housekeeper, Eliza returned to the nursery. She read to the twins and tucked them into bed, but the entire time her mind was on the Duke. The children had been so certain he would keep his word and return as promised. They had even grown angry with her for suggesting the very same thing that Mrs. Philips had. The twins had vehemently argued that their brother never broke a promise, never.
Retiring to her room, Eliza considered her options. She could accept Mrs. Philips’ idea that he had stayed over at Durton and wait until the morning for his return or she could take the children at their word and go out and search for him herself. After all, she was no stranger to the night.
Eliza waited until the house grew quiet before she slipped out of the back entrance and went to the stables to saddle the old bay mare. It was the first time she had ever saddled a horse, and she did her best to remember what the groom had done the day of their outing. When she felt reasonably confident that she had secured the saddle to the animal’s back, she mounted and urged the bay into a trot.
“Halt! Who goes there?” a voice stopped her. A groom exited the stables and grabbed the horse’s reins. “You are the new governess,” he noted in surprise.
“Yes, I fear the Duke may be in danger. I did not wish to alarm the household until I could verify for myself. The children are frightfully worried as they expected him hours ago. They do not believe he would break his promise to return before dark and it is long past,” Eliza explained not wishing for him to sound the alarm. “He was visiting the Duke of Durton.”
“It is unfitting for a young lady to ride alone at night unattended. I shall go with you and see to the matter myself,” The groom went to saddle his own horse. She was glad the groom had decided to join her as he was far more familiar with the road to Durton than she.
Eliza had never been much farther than the town boundaries, but she had a general idea of where Durton lay and what road the Duke might have taken. She prayed she was wrong and that the Duke had stayed with his friend, but she feared in her heart that she was right.
Something had befallen him. She thought of the sweet faces of the twins sleeping inside the manor house, and her heart broke at the idea of them being left alone in the world without the loving kindness of their brother. Such a thing was too bleak to consider. Eliza urged her horse to go a bit faster.
She rode for some time using the light of the moon to illuminate the road ahead. She was near to Durton and had begun to think that perhaps she had been mistaken in her worries when she rounded a bend in the road and came across a gruesome scene. “Oh, no!” she gasped, bile rising in her throat.
The Duke’s carriage lay upside down upon the ground broken and mangled. The driver’s body had been crushed beneath the weight of the carriage staining the ground with his blood. The horses were tangled in the debris and looked as if they had been fighting one another to get free for several hours if the cuts, bruises, and frothy sweat covering them were any indication.
Eliza dismounted and ran to the carriage looking for the Duke. It was empty. She circled the carriage casting her eyes along the road to see if he had crawled free or been thrown but found nothing. Eliza widened her circle and searched the embankment on either side of the path. It was on a pile of rocks near the forest’s edge that she found his limp, motionless body. No! Is he dead? Am I too late?
Eliza scampered down the embankment and raced to his side, the groom not far behind. The Duke was covered in cuts and bruises. Blood had soaked through his clothes and matted his hair, turning him red. From the way he lay upon the rocks, Eliza was fairly certain that he had multiple broken bones. She scrambled over the rocks and put her head upon his chest searching for the sound of his heartbeat. She breathed easier when she heard it thumping beneath her cheek. He was unconscious but alive.
She looked around her searching for a way to safely remove him from the rocks. He was too injured for her and the groom to move him on their own without damaging him further. As much as she hated to leave him to go and get help, she had no choice.
“Stay with the Duke. I will return with someone to assist us,” she commanded the groom. Eliza mounted her horse and urged the mare into a gallop. She knew it wasn’t safe to gallop down a dark, unfamiliar road at night, but she also knew that if she did not risk it, the Duke might not make it to sunrise.
The moment that Durton Manor came into view, Eliza nearly cried in a mixture of relief and desperation. When she reached the front door, she slid off of the back of the horse and frantically banged the door knocker yelling for anyone who would listen to help her. A man whom she assumed was the butler opened the door lifting a candle up to see her face.
“What cause do you have to be disturbing His Grace’s household at this hour, young lady?” the butler chastised.
“Please, sir. I am in desperate need of help. There has been a terrible accident just down the road. A man is dead, and the Duke of Rosenhill is badly hurt. Please!” Eliza begged for assistance clutching the butler’s lapels in her intensity.
“The Duke of Rosenhill?” a masculine voice asked from within. A half-dressed man emerged from the shadows placing a hand on the
butler’s shoulder.
“Your Grace,” the butler murmured as he bowed out of the man’s way.
“Yes, Your Grace,” Eliza replied. “Please come quickly. He will die if we do not hurry.”
The Duke of Durton’s blue-green eyes widened in concern as he raked a hand through his unruly brown hair. Turning to the butler, he commanded, “Send a footman for the doctor immediately. I will need two grooms to follow us with the carriage now.” The Duke exited the door and in one swift motion had mounted Eliza’s bay mare. He held his hand out for her to climb up behind him. “Show me where.”
* * *
Duncan Colborne, the Duke of Durton, awoke from sleep with a jolt. Someone was making a great deal of noise below stairs. He pulled on his trousers and carelessly shoved one side of his shirts into his pants. He slipped on his boots and descended the stairs. He could make out a female voice frantically begging his butler, Mr. White, for help. He heard Arthur’s title mentioned and the word accident.
The Defiant Governess of Rosenhill Manor: A Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 7
