“The Duke of Rosenhill?” he asked the woman as he moved forward into the candlelight and placed a hand on Mr. White’s shoulder.
“Your Grace,” the butler murmured as he bowed out of the way.
“Yes, Your Grace,” the woman replied. “Please come quickly. He will die if we do not hurry.”
Duncan felt the blood drain from his face and his heart speed up in distress. Not Arthur!
Turning to Mr. White, he ordered, “Send a footman for the doctor immediately. I will need two grooms to follow us with the carriage now.” He exited the door and in one swift motion had mounted the waiting bay mare. He recognized the horse from Rosenhill and assumed it belonged to the dark-haired girl. He held his hand out for her to climb up behind him. “Show me where,” he commanded.
“Your coat, Your Grace,” his butler protested. Duncan ignored him and urged the mare into a gallop.
When he arrived at the site of the accident, Duncan could hardly believe the devastation of what he found there. He dismounted and went straight over to check the driver. As he approached the carriage, his boots became sodden in bloody mud. The smell of perforated bowel filled the air nearly making him gag. He knelt down and checked to make sure the man was dead and found that he was quite so. He could hear the horses in distress but ignored them in favor of finding Arthur.
He heard the girl come up behind him and wished to spare her the gory sight. He turned to block the body with his own. “He is dead,” he confirmed. She nodded her head as if she had already known. He wondered just how much she had seen before coming to find him for help. “Where is Arthur?”
“Follow me,” she answered. “I could not move him on my own.”
Duncan followed her down an embankment to the edge of the forest. “God in heaven!” he gasped when he saw his friend. “What has happened to you, my dear fellow?” The sight of his friend lying there, pale as death, with distorted limbs nearly caused him to lose his footing.
Somehow, he found the strength to move forward and examine Arthur’s injuries. “He has a head wound,” he informed the girl, feeling his friend’s scalp. His hand came away covered in blood.
Duncan swallowed hard at the sight. He was no stranger to blood, but it is different when it is someone you care about that is doing the bleeding.
He moved his hands down the length of Arthur’s body checking his neck, back, and torso for anything broken or out of place. “Dislocated shoulder, broken ribs.” He moved down to feel his friend’s legs, “Dislocated hip… I can’t tell if anything else is broken. I have seen accidents like this before. If his neck or back are broken, and we move him, we could kill him.”
“But if we don’t, he will surely die where he lays,” the girl argued.
“I am aware,” Duncan replied sharply. His friend was in agony, possibly dying, and Duncan’s fear was expressing itself as frustration. He attempted to gentle his voice knowing none of it was her fault. In fact, he was grateful that she had come along. “We have no choice, but we should proceed with caution.”
Duncan was interrupted by the sound of the carriage from Durton Manor. He shouted up for his men to descend the bank and to bring blankets. Two of his groomsmen came down and positioned themselves on either end of Arthur’s body. “Now listen carefully,” he commanded. “We are going to ever so gently roll this blanket up under Arthur’s body and carry him up out of here wrapped inside of it. You and you,” he pointed to his groomsmen, “are going to very carefully roll his body over just enough for me to tuck this blanket beneath him. Once I have done that, then you are going to roll him very carefully the opposite direction placing his body completely upon the blanket.”
The men proceeded to do as bidden and in no time at all they had the Duke’s unconscious body wrapped securely within the blanket. It took all four of them to get the body off of the rocks and up the embankment to the waiting carriage. The carriage driver awaited them on the road. He had cut the Rosenhill carriage horses loose and had calmed them down considerably. Duncan was pleased to see that his driver had taken care of the horse situation.
They placed Arthur inside the carriage and gently laid him down upon the floor. “What about the dead man, Your Grace?” his driver asked.
Duncan looked down at the disfigured corpse then back at his wounded friend. We cannot leave him, but we must hurry for Arthur’s sake. He moved toward the broken carriage and motioned for his men to assist him. Together they were able to free the dead body from the wreckage. Duncan ordered the body wrapped in a blanket and placed over the back of the bay mare he had ridden to get to Arthur.
Duncan helped the girl into his carriage, then sat down in the seat beside her. He yelled for the driver to go and the wheels started moving them back to Durton Manor. The carriage hit a bump in the road, and Arthur’s arm fell onto the girl’s feet. Duncan knew that Arthur would have been mortified at such a breach in etiquette were he conscious.
He reached down and wrapped his arm back in the blanket. The girl began to cry, and Duncan’s heart broke for her. He had never been very good with crying women. He always felt the need to comfort them and fix whatever had caused them to cry in the first place. He placed his hand on her shoulder and was surprised when she leaned against him and sobbed.
“Thank you,” the girl whispered after a few moments had passed and moved away from him. She had soaked his shirt through with her tears.
“Think nothing of it, Miss…” he inquired. It occurred to him that he had no idea what her name was. In fact, he had barely looked at her throughout the entire ordeal. He looked at her now taking in the long dark curls and deep brown eyes. She was quite lovely even when red and puffy from crying and covered in blood and dirt.
“Bolton, Eliza Bolton. I am the new governess at Rosenhill Manor.” She wiped her face and nose with the handkerchief he had pulled from a wooden box on the carriage floor. He was glad that his driver had the forethought of keeping such things around.
“Duncan Colborne, Duke of Durton,” he introduced himself.
Chapter 7
Eliza had not witnessed such death and destruction since the night her parents had died. The weight of what had transpired and the realization that had she not followed her instincts and gone out searching for him, the Duke of Rosenhill would have died painfully, just as his driver had, cold and alone.
No one should ever have to die that way.
The Duke of Durton’s strength and warmth helped to soothe her frayed nerves, and by the time they reached Durton Manor, she had managed to gather herself somewhat. “Thank you,” she whispered, sitting back up on her own leaving his protective warmth.
“Think nothing of it, Miss…” he inquired.
“Bolton, Eliza Bolton. I am the new governess at Rosenhill Manor,” she answered, wiping her face and nose with the handkerchief he had pulled from a wooden box on the carriage floor.
“Duncan Colborne, Duke of Durton,” he introduced himself even though it had been made quite obvious who he was. “Why would Rosenhill send a governess to search for Arthur? Would a groom or footman not have been more suitable?”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” she answered, extending the handkerchief back to him.
“Keep it,” he replied, shaking his head no and waving his hand back towards her.
“I was not sent. I acted on my own without anyone from Rosenhill’s knowledge. The children suspected that something was wrong and I could not rid myself of the feeling that they were right. The groom agreed to ride with me, in case there were any problems,” she explained.
“You are quite brave,” he began but was interrupted by the driver commanding the horses to stop.
“We have arrived.” The Duke opened the door and stepped out of the carriage. He offered his hand to Eliza and assisted her down from the carriage. The groomsmen came around to assist the Duke in carrying his friend’s body into the house and up to a suitable bed. “We will put him in the room next to mine,” he ordered.
The
groomsmen nodded and obeyed. “Yes, Your Grace.”
“Where is that bloody doctor?” he growled. Looking up at Eliza he sighed. “My apologies, Miss Bolton. I realize that the doctor could not possibly make it here in so short a time.”
“You are worried and scared, as am I. No apologies are necessary, Your Grace.” Eliza attempted to console him. She busied herself with making her employer as comfortable as she could. She removed his boots and blood-stained clothes as best she could without causing further damage. Some of his clothes had to be cut away, and the Duke of Durton assisted her with that by pulling a knife from his own boot.
A maid brought a pitcher of water and some clean cloths so that Eliza could begin to clean the external wounds. She and the Duke worked on the wounded man until the doctor arrived.
“Ah, ye have prepared the body for me. I thank ye, Yer Grace, lass. I am Dr. Burns. I was visiting my friend in the village when your man came in need of assistance. The village surgeon was out on another call.” The doctor had a Scottish brogue and a no-nonsense manner. He quickly inspected every inch of the Duke of Rosenhill’s body then stood back to assess his options.
“I will need tae set the shoulder an’ hip bones. The head wound will need tae be closed as will some o’ the other lacerations across the body. I will bind the ribs. Until he wakes, there is nae much else I can do. He will need tae remain verra still when he awakens. It will take some time for his wounds tae heal enough for him tae be moved. I will stay an’ keep an eye on him for internal damage.” The doctor set to work on fixing the dislocations.
The Duke of Durton assisted Dr. Burns in setting his friend’s limbs. When they were done, Eliza helped to bandage and sew his deeper, more severe cuts. “Verra nice work, lass,” the doctor praised her stitches. “Ye have experience.”
“Yes,” she confirmed.
“What is this cut here? It looks as if it has already been sewn once before?” Dr. Burns asked of the wound in the Duke’s side. The stitches had burst in the accident.
“A wound from a previous accident,” the Duke of Durton replied. From the look on his face, Eliza was fairly certain that he knew what had actually happened to cause the gash. Their eyes met over the Duke’s bandaged body, and Eliza moved around to sew the wound back together.
“You know?” he whispered.
“Yes,” she answered quietly giving a quick nod in confirmation. “Not everything, but some.” He nodded his head and assisted her in reclosing the wound. They bound bandages around the Duke of Rosenhill’s abdomen once for the open wounds and another layer to give the broken ribs support.
When they were done, the Duke looked as if he had been wrapped in a shroud. “I will take the first watch,” Dr. Burns stated. “These first hours will be critical.”
“Thank you, Dr. Burns,” the Duke of Durton stated.
“I will call if there is any change, Yer Grace,” the doctor promised.
Eliza followed the Duke out of the room and nearly collapsed from exhaustion as she leaned against the hall wall. “I will send word with your groom to Rosenhill that you and Arthur will remain here at Durton Manor. I will have the children brought here so they can be near their brother and remain under your care. Is there anything you wish to have brought from your things?”
“I will make a list,” Eliza answered.
“Come with me,” the Duke of Durton requested.
He led her down a flight of stairs and into a library. He walked over to his desk and pulled out a pen and paper. “You may use my desk.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” she replied.
“Forgive my lapse in decorum, but I believe, given the circumstances of what we have endured this night, you may call me Duncan when it is just you and I present. There is something about sewing a man’s flesh back together that makes one feel less inclined towards formality.”
“I would have to agree.” Eliza sighed in exhaustion as she lowered herself to sit in the desk chair. “What will you do with the dead driver?”
“I cannot in good conscience send him back to Rosenhill in such a state, but his people will want him back. I believe I will send a message for his family with the other notes to Rosenhill, inviting them to come here and tend to their dearly departed,” the Duke replied.
“A kind solution, Your Grace,” Eliza replied.
He looked at her with weary eyes. “Please, call me Duncan if you think you can stand the elapse in etiquette,” he reminded.
“Of course, Duncan,” she answered, correcting herself.
“Brandy?” he offered as he poured himself a snifter.
“Yes, please,” she gratefully accepted.
“Helps to steady the nerves,” he observed.
“Indeed,” she agreed.
The Duke poured them both a drink, then came over to sit on the edge of the desk. Handing her the drink, he took her completed list. “I will have this sent right away.” He took the pen from her hand, scribbled a few notes on paper, then rang for the butler.
“You rang, Your Grace?” The butler she had met before entered the room.
“Yes, Mr. White. Please see that these missives are sent to Rosenhill immediately and that the orders within them are carried out to the letter. Send one of our men with the groom that accompanied Miss Bolton. It is of great importance that all goes as I have instructed pertaining to the children in Miss Bolton’s care. Your messenger is not to return unless he has the children with him. Do I make myself clear?” Duncan commanded.
“Yes, Your Grace,” Mr. White answered, bowed, then left the room to do as bid.
“I will have the maids prepare the room next to mine and Arthur’s for you. The children can stay in the room next to yours. Is that satisfactory?” he asked. “I realize that etiquette might take issue with such an arrangement, but if we are to assist the doctor in his care of Arthur properly, I feel it would be best to have you near.”
“Yes. Thank you.” She rubbed her eyes, quite sore from lack of rest. She frowned in confusion. “Not to question your decision, but would it not be simpler for me to return to Rosenhill to care for the children there, as is customary?”
“I gave Arthur my word that were anything to happen to him, I would care for the children as their guardian,” he answered.
“Will their mother, the Dowager Duchess, not protest?” she asked.
“No, she will not,” he stated with an edge of disapproval in his voice.
The Duke rang the bell again, and a woman answered this time. “Your Grace?” she asked.
“Mrs. Morgan, please have your maids prepare rooms for Miss Bolton, Lord Gabriel Huntley, and Lady Charlotte next to the Duke of Rosenhill’s room,” he requested.
“Yes, Your Grace.” She curtsied and left the room.
Duncan drained his glass and pushed himself away from the desk to pour another. “More?” he inquired with a raised brow in her direction.
“I shouldn’t,” she answered. She was already feeling a bit warm from the glass she had just drunk.
“As you wish,” he replied and came to take her glass.
“How long have you and His Grace been friends?” She felt a need to remove the night’s blood stains from her mind via conversation.
“Since we were children,” Duncan answered. “Our grandfathers were friends.”
“It is good to have such friends,” Eliza remarked.
“Indeed, it is.” He sat down on a settee in front of the fire and motioned for her to join him.
Eliza arose from behind the desk and walked over to sit in the settee opposite him. “I have only just come to work for His Grace, but he seems to be a kind-hearted man.”
“That he is,” the Duke affirmed. “I would not know what to do without him. He is a stalwart friend in times of trouble and a pleasant companion in times of joyous plenty. He has endured more than his fair share of troubles.” Eliza wasn’t sure if he had meant to say the last sentence as he stared off into the fire. He looked as if he were searching fo
r answers within the orange glow of the coals.
They sat in silence for a time staring into the flames each with their own thoughts. I will keep my promise, Arthur. I swear it. The Duke of Durton’s whispered words drew Eliza out of her own reveries. She debated on whether to ask him what promise he referred to but decided against it. Some things were meant to be private among friends.
The maid returned to the library and reported that Eliza’s room was ready. “You should get some sleep. The children will most likely be here in the morning,” Duncan advised.
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