Page 2 of Never Beguile a Duke (Wayward Dukes’ Alliance #30)
Grimacing, Winifred withdrew behind the linen.
“Perhaps the portrait is in the library.” The lie burned Winifred’s tongue.
“The library?” Nora’s shoes shuffled across the floor. “How would your father’s painting come to be in that room?”
“The night we transferred our belongings to the Duke of Lennox’s residence, I stopped there to return a book.
” Nausea flipped Winifred’s stomach, and she pressed a hand to her mouth, swallowing the bile that accompanied her second falsehood.
“I may have set down the portrait miniature when I was shelving the tome.”
“May have?” Nora groaned, the sheet rustling as she searched for an opening.
Winifred popped her head through the gap, startling her sister, who stepped back with a tiny scream. “I’ll investigate the library; you can continue searching this chamber.”
Before Nora protested, Winifred added, “It’s warmer up here, and we’ll cover more area quicker if we separate.”
“Swear,”—Nora shivered, her teeth knocking together—“that we’ll leave the moment we recover your father’s picture.”
“I have no desire to stay longer than we must,” Winifred said, collecting her reticule and backing into the hallway. “Yell if you find the painting.”
She turned and darted down the staircase. However, instead of turning right toward the library, she turned left and crept across the foyer. When she reached the outer door, she glanced over her shoulder, then depressed the handle.
Cringing when the hinges creaked, she slipped through the space and shut the door behind her.
A blast of icy wind struck her in the face, blinding her with sleet.
She yanked the fur-lined hood over her head, bent into the gust, and slogged through Miss Braddock’s frozen garden, aiming for the break in the iron boundary.
When Winifred reached the fence post, her gaze scanned the pavement for her mother; however, the bundle of rags no longer haunted the sidewalk. Her eyes flicked to the vacant driver’s bench atop their waiting coach.
Perhaps Mr. Dunn had taken pity on Mother and given her some money…
A twitch of the curtains drew Winifred’s attention to the carriage’s icy window, and the Duke of Roxburghe’s driver appeared in the glass. Gasping, she drew back, aligning herself with the brick column and hiding her body.
She counted to ten, edged forward, and craned around the fence post, exhaling a sigh of relief upon discovering Mr. Dunn’s round face had vanished, then darted forward, praying he wouldn’t catch her, and hurried around the horse, trailing her gloved fingers along the mare’s flank.
When she reached the driver’s bench, she ducked, zipped past the window, and dashed to the rear of the coach.
Stopping again, she peered around the carriage, ensuring Mr. Dunn’s absence from the window, then raced across the pavement toward the pathway leading to her mother’s house.
As she entered the property, Winifred’s stomach flipped, churning with indecision. A myriad of excuses accompanied each step toward the residence’s entrance. Still, despite her misgivings, she trekked to the door, raised her arm, and, after a moment of internal warring, knocked on a wooden panel.
No answer.
“Mother!” A frown pulling the corner of her mouth, she rapped again. “I’m not leaving until I speak with you.”
The door eased open a sliver. “Why are you here?”
“I want to give you something.” Winifred lifted her beaded reticule, swinging the purse in front of the small gap.
Her mother reached for the bag. However, Winifred, anticipating the move, yanked the purse away and shoved the door aside. Pushing past her mother, Winifred entered the residence and stalked toward the drawing room.
“I didn’t invite you inside,” her mother said, chasing after Winifred.
“I have no desire to converse in the cold…” Winifred froze in the doorway, her gaze sliding across a worn, light blue and white floral rug in the center of the bare room. “Where is all the furniture?”
“Sold to pay the creditors.” Her mother shuffled past Winifred, stopped in front of a dark fireplace, and held her bare fingers out to the invisible flames. “I had to release Mrs. Bexley from her position along with all the other servants.”
“Will you survive the winter?” Winifred asked, shoving her hands under her arms and shivering.
“I’m certain you’re hoping for my demise.” Her mother sniffed and rubbed her palms together. “Freezing to death; a fitting punishment for my crimes.”
Always the thespian.
Winifred rolled her eyes. “I don’t want you to die, Mother.”
Though I wouldn’t mind sending you to prison for a few months as retribution…
“Does Nora?” Her mother sniffed, peeking over her shoulder.
“Certainly not,”—at least, she assumed Nora wasn’t given to murderous tendencies—“and you shouldn’t believe such rubbish.”
“Am I invited to her wedding?” Her mother sidled closer.
Winifred shook her head. “Nora and I have unsettled grievances that must be resolved before we’ll allow you to rejoin our lives.”
Her mother’s eyebrows rose. “You expect to reside with Nora until your death?”
“Well… no.” Winifred swallowed, glancing at the falling snow gathering on the windowpane ledge.
She hadn’t considered her living situation following Nora’s wedding.
“Have you captured any gentleman’s interest?” Her mother's soft question brushed over Winifred’s shoulder.
“Since my history with Mr. Hollingsworth, and my recent incarceration, are both common knowledge,”—Winifred spun around—“we both know the chances of me receiving an offer are quite low.”
“Then you’ll soon need a place to reside.” Kneeling on the rug, her mother gestured to a chipped porcelain teapot resting atop a wooden serving tray. “Would you care for some refreshment? I have two cups.”
Winifred didn’t have much time remaining before Nora realized Winifred’s absence. However, she hadn’t completed her task, so she nodded and, hiking up her skirts, sat across from her mother on the thin rug.
How will Mother serve tea without a fire to heat it?
After accepting the offered cup, Winifred brought the rim to her lips and blew on the liquid, but no steam rose from the fluid. She hesitated, then tipped the vessel and choked on a mouthful of ice-cold tea.
“I thought it was hot!” Winifred sputtered.
Her mother laughed; the harsh, brittle cackle echoed in the parlor. “How would I heat the tea without fire?”
Winifred set down the cup, then opened her reticule and withdrew three gold sovereigns.
“This is everything I have,” she said, holding out the coins.
Leaning forward, her mother swiped the money from Winifred’s palm, raised one piece to her mouth, and bit down.
“Where did you get this?” her mother asked, tucking the sovereigns into her bodice as though she expected Winifred to change her mind and demand the money’s return.
“Their origin is unimportant.” Winifred lowered her eyes, fussing with her reticule.
Her mother reached out and lifted Winifred’s chin, studying Winifred’s eyes. “Nora gave the funds to you.”
“No,” Winifred snapped, rising and brushing off her skirt.
“Then her fiancé did.” Her mother, remaining seated, smirked and tilted her head. “After their wedding, do you believe he will want to continue to pay your expenses?”
Winifred frowned. “What are you suggesting?”
“Merely that Nora would possess more sway over her husband’s money—and its direction—if they were afforded the privacy a married couple desires.
” Lifting her teacup, her mother saluted Winifred.
“Consider this option… return to my house and allow the Duke of Roxburghe to show his gratitude by supporting his sister-in-law—and her mother—with his vast income.”
“Your offer of hospitality was never about my welfare.” Winifred jerked the hood of her pelisse over her head and stormed toward the foyer.
As she yanked open the door, her mother called from the parlor doorway, “Don’t expect me to forgive this slight without an apology, Winifred. When you’re expelled from the
Duke of Roxburghe’s residence and you have no place to go, after you beg my forgiveness, you may return to this house. And in time, we will find a man who will overlook your… deficiencies.”
Mashing her lips together, Winifred twisted away and stepped into the snow, banging the door closed behind her. She trudged toward Miss Braddock’s rented abode, the icy wind freezing tears to her eyelashes and blinding her.
Her mother hadn’t changed one whit.
Neglecting to follow the same path on her return, Winifred slogged past the coach, remembering too late the driver stationed inside. The carriage door popped open.
She pulled the hood closely around her face, grateful for the falling snow, and ignored Mr. Dunn calling her name. After a few moments, he retreated to the coach, slamming the door, and Winifred, assuming he believed the ruse, hastened around the fence post and ran toward the entrance.
As she placed her fingers on the handle, the door ripped open, and Nora, her face tinged red, stepped forward, blocking Winifred.
“Where have you been?” Eyes bulging, she advanced, forcing Winifred backward off the doorstep. “If I discover you visited that horrible woman, I’ll leave you here and attend my engagement party at the Duke of Beaufort’s residence alone!”