Page 28 of Never Beguile a Duke

Silas shook his head. “There’s a matter of some urgency that must be attended to.”

“That is a shame.” Mr. Venning clucked his tongue. “However, I understand there are many details to be seen for this week to be a success. May I offer my assistance?”

“Not unless you possess some medical training,” Silas replied, his mouth pulling into a grimace.

“My daughter does.” Mr. Venning wrapped an arm around Miss Venning’s waist, drawing her attention. “She’s cared for me on several occasions when I developed grippe.”

Blushing under Silas’ inspection, Miss Venning dropped her unusual violet eyes. “I merely prepared the medicine according to the instructions sent by the Royal Society.”

“It helped immensely,” Mr. Venning said, patting her hand. “Laudanum is too strong for me, so Arabella prepared tea from white willow bark.”

“Blech!” Warwick, standing in front of them, twisted around. “Miss Ollerton attempted to force that concoction into me.”

Silas’ gaze skated to Warwick. “What is your assessment?”

“I sacked her,” Warwick replied, stabbing the floor with his cane.

“Due to her,”—tilting his head, Silas tapped a finger on his lips as though trying to recall Warwick’s exact words—“incessant whistling, was it not?”

Warwick folded his arms and scowled.

Miss Venning giggled, clamped her hand over her mouth, then turned away and bent forward, her shoulders shaking. The struggle to regain her composure appeared too much, and she fled the drawing room for the corridor.

Red-faced, Mr. Venning bowed low. “Please accept my apologies for my daughter’s disrespectful behavior, Your Grace.”

“Accepted.” Silas waved his hand. “I quite enjoy her personality.”

“I meant the Duke of Warwick,” Mr. Venning said, his face deepening to scarlet.

“I’m aware, Mr. Venning,” Silas replied before Warwick could speak. “However, if he doesn’t see the humor in terminating a woman for being happy?—”

“She. Whistled,” Warwick hissed. “I would have been more forgiving had she hummed.”

Mr. Venning had to abandon the drawing room as well.

“Warwick, are you amenable to a distraction?” Silas indicated the corridor. “I’d come to rescue Mansfield… however, you may know more about these particular subjects.”

“And what topics are those?”

“Hypothermia and a severe beating.”

Warwick’s eyebrows raised. “Did you assault someone?”

“No!” Several heads glanced in their direction. Silas grimaced, waved an apology, and pushed Warwick into the hallway, disturbing a low conversation between Mr. Venning and his daughter.

“Please excuse us,” Mr. Venning said, bowing and dragging his daughter toward the staircase.

“Wait a moment, Mr. Venning,” Silas called, dragging Warwick with him as he hurried across the foyer. “I could use both of your assistance as well.”

Mr. Venning paused and spun around. “How can we help, Your Grace?”

“Mrs. Webb was discovered battered and unconscious outside in the snow.” Silas felt Warwick stiffen beside him. “She regained consciousness. However, she’s still quite ill and vomiting blood. The storm is too bad to summon a physician, and I fear she may not survive the night.”

Miss Venning’s eyes softened. “Her daughters must be frantic. I will do whatever I can to ease Mrs. Webb’s suffering. Would you escort me to her chamber?”

Releasing his grip on Warwick, Silas nodded. “Please follow me.”

He didn’t expect the dull thud of Warwick’s cane to accompany them upstairs. Silas glanced over his shoulder, finding Mr. Venning and Warwick moving at a glacial pace as they climbed the staircase.