Page 20 of Never Beguile a Duke (Wayward Dukes’ Alliance #30)
“Doctor Barnes is heading to my estate,” Silas murmured, gesturing toward the foreboding prison towers looming in the distance. “Wouldn’t it be better to have him?—”
Mr. Hollingsworth’s body buckled, and Silas darted forward, ducking under Mr. Hollingsworth’s free arm to support his weight.
“He may not survive the journey to your residence,” Roxburghe replied, glancing at Silas over the top of Mr. Hollingsworth’s filthy golden-brown hair.
“If he wakes in the prison again, the shock might kill him,” Silas said as they half-carried, half-dragged Mr. Hollingsworth down the street, the tips of his shoes scraping the cobblestones.
“Aside from Doctor Barnes, there are no other physicians residing in Wiltshire.” Roxburghe maneuvered them around a trio of men arguing about the cost of a chicken. “If you have a better suggestion, this would be the moment to share it.”
He didn’t.
With the dissipation of the throng previously clogging the prison, Silas and Roxburghe moved quickly toward the iron gate.
“Your Grace!” Mr. Dunn, Roxburghe’s driver, rushed forward and relieved his master of Mr. Hollingsworth’s weight. “By the time I reached the prison, you’d vanished. What occurred before I arrived?”
Roxburghe grimaced. “We may have terrified Mr. Hollingsworth on our last visit. He didn’t realize our intentions until the unfortunate incident that caused his current loss of consciousness.”
“When you paid,” Mr. Younge’s deep voice crawled out of the shadows, “I never suspected you intended to beat him to death yourself.”
“We didn’t do this,” Roxburghe said, striding toward Mr. Younge. “By the time we caught up to him, he’d managed to anger an elbow crooker.”
“It would have been kinder to let him hang.” Mr. Younge’s dark blue eyes slid over Mr. Hollingsworth. “What do you expect me to do?”
“You employ a physician, do you not?” Roxburghe asked, slashing his arm toward the prison.
“A surgeon.” Mr. Younge shrugged. “He learned the trade from a prisoner.”
Silas leaned around Mr. Hollingsworth. “As long as he can prevent a man from dying, we’d like to speak with him.”
Mr. Younge shifted his attention to Silas. “You are, Your Grace.”
“Can you save him?”
Pressing his lips together, Mr. Younge ambled over to Mr. Hollingsworth, pushed the man’s head back, and peeled open Mr. Hollingsworth’s right eyelid. Then, he bent and pressed his ear against Mr. Hollingsworth’s chest.
“Possibly,” Mr. Younge replied, stepping back. “However, there’s a small cost associated with my services; ten pounds.”
“We’ll pay the fee,” Roxburghe growled, his face darkening, “if Mr. Hollingsworth survives.”
“Agreed.” Mr. Younge shook Roxburghe’s hand. “His chances will increase if he’s housed in a different locale from the prison.”
“What do you suggest?” Silas asked, his gaze skating over the seedy buildings surrounding the prison.
“There’s a tavern with rooms not far from here.” Mr. Younge pointed toward the opening of an obscured alleyway entrance. “Inform Mrs. Voss that I directed you to secure lodging for Mr. Hollingsworth, and I’ll ensure he survives.”
“Your Grace,” Mr. Dunn said, tightening his hold on Mr. Hollingsworth, “if I may suggest… allow me to see to Mr. Hollingsworth while you and His Grace continue on to Mrs. Webb’s residence.
I’m concerned if we linger too long, those dark clouds will transform into another storm, trapping us in town. ”
Roxburghe glanced at Silas, who nodded his accord and transferred Mr. Hollingsworth’s bulk onto Mr. Dunn.
“Advise me of the expense,” Roxburghe said as Mr. Dunn turned away.
Mr. Younge cleared his throat. “When should I expect my payment?”
“Two days.” Silas raised one finger. “If Mr. Hollingsworth appears at my house in a recovered state. Otherwise, you receive nothing.”
“I understand,” Mr. Younge said, adding a bow, as though he’d just remembered he’d been conversing with men of title. “Good day, Your Graces.”
Without waiting for Silas, Roxburghe strode down the street and passed his vehicle.
Silas hurried to catch him and grabbed Roxburghe’s arm, stopping him. “I refuse to walk the full distance.”
“We’re renting a hackney,” Roxburghe said, pulling his arm free. “Mr. Dunn won’t be pleased to discover we’ve stolen the coach.”
They flagged down a driver, and, after Silas paid the fare, climbed into the carriage.
“You’re amassing quite a debt, Roxburghe,” he said as he took a seat. “Between your loss of our wager and today’s adventure, are you certain you can afford to marry Miss Webb?”
“I haven’t lost our wager yet.” Roxburghe dropped onto the opposite bench and winked. “There are only three bettors remaining, and one is in grave danger of giving away his heart.”
“Mansfield?” Silas asked, enunciating the word as he leaned forward.
They both knew to whom Roxburghe was referring, and it wasn’t the Duke of Mansfield.
“You’re still a fool.” Roxburghe leaned back and closed his eyes.
“Nothing is occurring between Miss Fernsby-Webb and me,” Silas ground out, the falsehood carving up his tongue.
“Because you refuse to allow it.” Roxburghe opened his eyes and glared at Silas. “Which is why you invited a rival to vie for her attention.”
“Only one man requested Miss Fernsby-Webb’s hand, and after all the suffering he’s endured, he deserves love.”
“At your expense?” Roxburghe’s eyebrows hovered near his hairline. “I’ve never known you to be so noble.”
Expelling a heavy sigh, Silas slumped forward. “I’ve a daughter, Roxburghe.”
“Who needs a mother.”
“A governess will do,” Silas replied, lifting his head and fixing Roxburghe with a hard stare. “It is egregious to expect Miss Fernsby-Webb, or any lady, to take on Juliette.”
Roxburghe's mouth settled into a thin line. “I wish to correct my earlier statement. You are not a fool, you’re a c?—”
“Call me a coward, and Mr. Hollingsworth’s injuries will pale in comparison to what I’ll do to you,” Silas growled, his hand tightening into a trembling fist.
“You’re not a fighter,” Roxburghe replied, drawing his legs closer as he shifted into an offensive position. “Punching damages your knuckles and makes playing instruments quite painful while your hands heal.”
“I’ll risk it.”
“Before you cause our friends to choose sides, consider the reason that moniker angers you.” Roxburghe tilted his head. “Do you think it’s true?”
Yes.
Roxburghe didn’t press Silas for an answer, an act that earned Silas’ gratitude, and they rode in silence until they reached Mrs. Webb’s residence. However, as he climbed from the coach, Roxburghe paused in the doorway.
“Two days may not be enough time to sway the lady’s mind in your favor, but consider if you’re willing to live the remainder of your life seeing her and never touching her again.”
I should have struck Roxburghe in the center of his smug face.
Silas chased after his friend. “What would you do in my position? I can’t uninvite Mr. Hollingsworth.”
Chuckling, Roxburghe turned around. “You didn’t attend Lennox’s Christmas ball, yet I know you’ve heard the bourdaloue story.”
“Miss Webb struck Mr. Philbert with the item after he coerced her into accepting his proposal.” Silas shrugged. “Are you saying I should copy her action?”
“My point,” Roxburghe said, rolling his eyes, “was that Miss Webb was engaged, and I still pursued and professed my affection for her. You don’t have the obstacle… yet.”
The retort Silas intended to fling transformed to a curse when his gaze landed on the Webb residence’s wide-open door. He issued a worse word and rushed up the snow-covered walk to the entrance, Roxburghe one step behind.
“Do you think anyone is inside?” Silas asked, his shoes grinding bits of broken glass into the stoop as he peeked into the house.
Scattered across the entranceway were jagged pieces of a smashed ebony entryway table mixed with porcelain vase shards and purple hyacinth petals.
The wallpaper nearest the door, stained with large crimson splotches, dangled from the wall as though ripped off in a desperate attempt to escape the house.
If Miss Fernsby-Webb had been here visiting her mother instead of at his residence… His heart stopped.
“This should be reported to the parish constable,” Silas said, unable to tear his eyes from the disturbing remnants of Mrs. Webb’s harrowing attack. “Mr. Curtis cannot be allowed to escape punishment.”
“We’ll summon Mr. Hughes from your home,” Roxburghe replied, his voice unrecognizable as he took a step backward. “We need to leave. Immediately. Nora… the Webbs are in grave danger.”
“We’ve another problem,” Silas said as they sprinted through the snow-covered garden toward the street. “Your coach is still missing.”