Page 38 of A Spinster’s Folly (Courting the Unconventional #2)

E ugenie had just finished the last line of her article, setting down her quill with a satisfied sigh, when a sudden, frantic pounding on the main door shattered the quiet. She stiffened, her pulse quickening at the urgency in the sound.

Curious, she rose from her writing desk, running her ink-stained fingers against her skirts as she hurried out into the entry hall. She arrived just as the butler swung open the door, revealing Phoebe standing on the threshold.

Phoebe was out of breath, her brows knitted together and her normally composed demeanor entirely absent. Strands of brown hair had come loose from her bonnet, her gloved hands clenching at her shawl.

Eugenie rushed forward, alarmed. “What is wrong?”

Phoebe’s eyes were unfocused for a moment before they landed sharply on her. “Where is your brother, Lord Westcott?”

“In his study,” Eugenie replied without hesitation. “May I ask why?”

“It is imperative that I speak with him at once,” Phoebe said breathlessly, striding forward without waiting for permission .

A knot of dread tightened in Eugenie’s stomach. Something was wrong—terribly wrong. And she had a sinking feeling that it had to do with Charles. Without a second thought, she followed closely behind.

Phoebe pushed open the study doors without a preamble and announced, “I need your help.”

Niles looked up from behind his desk, his brows drawing together as he quickly stood. “Mrs. Ellsworth, do come in.” He gestured towards a chair. “What can I do for you?”

Phoebe remained standing. “It’s Philip,” she blurted out. “He was foolish enough to agree to the duel, and Charles has gone to stop him.”

Eugenie sucked in a sharp breath. “Charles?”

Phoebe nodded, her expression grave. “Yes. The duel is set to take place at St. James’s Park at dusk.”

Niles’s frown deepened. He glanced at the window where the late afternoon sun hung low in the sky. “We don’t have much time. What do you need from me?”

“Charles asked me to seek you out,” Phoebe explained hurriedly. “He believes Warwicke will be of some use to him in stopping this.”

“I can send word to Warwicke at once, but I can’t promise he’ll arrive in time,” Niles responded.

Phoebe’s voice trembled as she pleaded, “Please. You must do something. I cannot imagine what I would do if something happened to Philip or Charles.”

Eugenie’s chest tightened, her world spinning for a moment. What if Charles was hurt trying to protect Philip? Or worse—what if he was killed? A cold wave of terror swept through her, but another, stronger feeling quickly followed it.

Determination.

She could not stand idly by while Charles threw himself into danger. She had to do something. She had to help him .

Niles turned to her. “Eugenie, will you inform Tanner that I must speak to him at once?”

Eugenie forced herself to nod, spinning on her heel without another word. But as she stepped into the hallway, a plan was already forming in her mind. It wasn’t a good plan. But it would do.

She reached the butler and made the necessary request, then rushed up the grand staircase, taking the steps two at a time.

Throwing open her bedchamber door, she marched straight to her wardrobe.

Alice, who had been tidying the room, looked up in confusion. “What are you doing?”

“I need to change,” Eugenie announced, pulling open the wardrobe doors. Her fingers skimmed past silks and muslins before settling on what she sought—men’s clothing.

Alice’s eyes widened. “Why are you changing into men’s clothing?”

Eugenie laid the garments on the bed, turning to face her maid with unwavering resolve. “I need to help Lord Bedford.”

“With what?”

“Stopping a duel.”

Alice’s eyebrows shot up. “I beg your pardon?”

Eugenie clenched her hands into fists to keep them from shaking. “His cousin is caught up in a duel, and Lord Bedford has gone to stop it.”

Alice folded her arms. “And why, exactly, do you need to be involved?”

Eugenie met her lady’s maid’s gaze. “Because I could never forgive myself if something happened to Lord Bedford.”

Silence hung between them.

Finally, Alice sighed. “Can I talk you out of this?”

“No. ”

With another heavy sigh, Alice stepped forward. “Fine. Turn around. I’ll start with the buttons.”

Eugenie turned, exhaling slowly as Alice’s fingers worked at the fastenings of her gown.

Her nerves were raw, but there was no time to dwell on them.

A sudden thought struck her. “I should take my muff pistol.”

Alice froze. “I do not think that is wise, my lady.” She resumed unfastening the buttons. “Besides, have you even thought this through? How do you plan to get to the duel?”

“I’m going to ride my horse.”

Alice’s fingers stilled once more. “But you haven’t ridden since your accident.”

“I know,” Eugenie admitted, swallowing her unease. “But it’s the only way. The traffic this time of day would make it impossible to get there in a carriage.”

Alice made a frustrated noise but continued helping her dress. “And what about your brother? He will be livid when he finds out.”

“I have no doubt, but I will deal with him later. First, I must ensure Charles is safe.”

Alice paused. “Charles?”

Eugenie winced, realizing her mistake. “I mean Lord Bedford.”

A knowing smile played at Alice’s lips. “You two are calling each other by your given names now?”

She didn’t reply, but the warmth rising in her cheeks was answer enough.

Alice shook her head. “It’s about time.” She finished adjusting the clothing and stepped back. “Since I can’t convince you to stay where it’s safe, I might as well help you.”

Eugenie moved to sit at her dressing table, and Alice reached for some pins, quickly twisting her hair back .

“Will you wear your wig?” Alice asked.

Eugenie considered it before shaking her head. “No. It might fly off while I’m riding.”

“Then at least wear a cap.”

“I can agree to that.”

“Good. Perhaps that way, you’ll go unnoticed.”

Rising, Eugenie crossed the room and pulled a pair of Hessian boots from her wardrobe. She slid them on, then retrieved her small muff pistol from her reticule.

Alice watched Eugenie, disapproval clear on her face.

“Wish me luck,” Eugenie said as she turned for the door.

“Do I have a choice?”

Eugenie stopped and turned back around. “Just promise me you won’t tell my brother where I’ve gone until I have ridden off.”

Alice pursed her lips but finally relented. “I can agree to that, but you must promise to be safe.”

“I will,” Eugenie promised before slipping out of her bedchamber.

Moving swiftly, she descended the servants’ stairwell, ignoring the curious glances from the household staff. She entered the kitchen, then slipped out the back door into the fading sunlight.

With purposeful strides, she approached the stables, her heart pounding. One of the older grooms, John, looked up in surprise.

“Ready my horse,” she ordered.

John stared at her in disbelief. “Your horse, my lady?”

“Yes. I wish to go for a ride.” She forced her voice to remain steady, though her nerves crackled beneath the surface.

John hesitated but, after a long pause, gave a small nod before disappearing to do her bidding.

Left alone in the stables, Eugenie stepped towards the first stall, where her horse, Sir Spotticus, lay dozing. “Sweet dreams. I shall be back shortly.”

After a few excruciatingly long moments, John finally returned, leading the brown gelding towards her. He held out the reins. “Are you sure, my lady?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.

Eugenie wrapped her fingers around the reins, her grip tightening with resolve. “I am. This is something I must do.”

“Would you like me to accompany you to…” He trailed off, clearly unsure of what exactly she was setting out to do. “… to wherever it is that you’re going?”

“No,” Eugenie said firmly. “I will be all right.”

John moved to place a mounting step by the horse’s side. He then extended his hand towards her. “Allow me to help you, at least.”

Eugenie inhaled deeply, steeling herself against the wave of trepidation that washed over her. It had been over three years since she had last ridden—a long three years filled with the memory of her fall and the pain that had followed. She had vowed never to mount a horse again.

But she had no choice now.

Charles needed her.

“My lady?” John prompted gently.

Eugenie opened her eyes, staring down at his outstretched hand. A simple gesture, one of assistance, but it felt like an admission of weakness.

“I do not need assistance,” she said. “I can do it on my own.”

John tipped his head in acknowledgment. “As you wish,” he murmured, stepping back, though she noticed he remained close, watchful.

Turning to the horse, Eugenie placed her foot in the stirrup and gripped the saddle horn. Her heart pounded. Would she fall again? Would this time be worse? Would she?—?

No .

With a firm breath, she hoisted herself up and settled herself into the saddle. The gelding shifted beneath her, but she quickly adjusted, gripping the reins and steadying herself.

She had done it.

“I will be back shortly,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt.

John merely gave a slow nod in response.

Taking another breath, Eugenie encouraged the gelding forward. As she moved towards the stable doors, her confidence grew with each step. The familiar rhythm of the horse’s gait, the feel of the reins in her hands—it all came back to her, piece by piece.

She could do this.

She had to do this.

Reaching the open air, she paused for only a moment before urging the horse into a run, wondering why it had taken her so long to return to the saddle.

Charles’s sharp gaze swept over the open expanse of St. James’s Park as he searched for his cousin. The park, usually bustling at this hour, was eerily quiet, the hush of impending violence hanging thick in the cool evening air. Then, in the distance, he spotted Philip.