Page 23 of Never Beguile a Duke (Wayward Dukes’ Alliance #30)
SILAS MORTON, DUKE OF BEAUFORT
A s the coach rolled to a stop, Mr. Aylett yanked open the door and said, “Your Grace, there’s been an incident involving Miss Juliette.”
“Another one?” Silas dragged his hand down his face. “What has she done this time?”
“She almost died.” Mr. Aylett stepped aside as Silas, his foot slipping off the metal coach step, fell out of the cabin.
Grabbing hold of the open door, Silas regained his balance, then turned to Mr. Aylett. “How did Juliette endanger herself while locked in her chamber?”
“Miss Fernsby-Webb coaxed your daughter out.” Mr. Aylett closed the coach door after Roxburghe exited and signaled to Mr. Dunn that he should return the horses to the stables.
Silas’ stomach flipped over.
“Was Miss Fernsby-Webb injured?” he asked, swallowing.
Roxburghe and Miss Webb will never forgive me if I persuaded Miss Fernsby-Webb to come to any harm. And neither will I.
“It’s my understanding that both ladies were shaken by the experience, but no treatment was required.”
He didn’t wait to hear the remainder of Mr. Aylett’s statement and hurried across the snowy grounds. Bursting into his house, he ignored the startled glares from several guests milling outside the parlor and raced up the staircase, taking the steps two at a time.
“Juliette!” His desperation echoed down the second-floor corridor.
Running toward her chamber, he bypassed Miss Webb, who’d popped her head out of her room when he yelled, her face pinched in concern. He shoved open Juliette’s door, mildly registering that the lock wasn’t fastened, and stumbled into the chamber, his wild eyes locking on his daughter.
“Father!” Juliette, clad in her underclothes, ran toward him and flung her arms around his waist.
He returned her exuberant embrace, smiling down at the top of her head. “I’m pleased to see you as well, but why are you in such a state of undress?”
“We went sledding,” Miss Fernsby-Webb replied, rising from the floor and curtsying. “Since Miss Juliette has no other appropriate garments for dinner, we’re drying her dress.”
Silas hit the heel of his palm against his forehead. “I forgot to contact the modiste. Tomorrow, I shall send for Mrs. Talbot as well as a governess.”
“A governess?” Juliette and Miss Fernsby-Webb spoke simultaneously, their faces melting into mirroring expressions of disappointment.
“Certainly.” Silas released Juliette. “I cannot task a guest with your care, and Miss Fernsby-Webb will be returning to her own home after the week is out.”
“It really is no trouble, Your Grace,” Miss Fernsby-Webb said, gliding toward the fireplace and running her fingers over Juliette’s dress. “Unless you’re concerned about my abilities to care for your daughter. In which you should know that I’d never allow any harm to come to her.”
Juliette grabbed his hand and squeezed. “It’s the truth, Father. This very morning, Miss Fernsby-Webb flung herself off the sled to protect me as you had done for her when your sleigh flipped over.”
He didn’t recall sinking into the plush wingback chair near the fire, only that Juliette’s words knocked the breath from his lungs. He wasn’t certain if he was more worried for his daughter or Miss Fernsby-Webb.
Miss Fernsby-Webb knelt beside him. “It’s less worrisome than it sounds, Your Grace. The Duke of Mansfield fell off his sled as well.”
Silas snorted, lowering his hand from his forehead and catching a silent exchange between his daughter and Miss Fernsby-Webb.
“After which,” she continued, her eyes glowing fierce, “we slid down the hill again with no issue.”
“We even won!” Juliette clapped her hands together, then gasped as the realization of her admission crossed her face.
“Racing, Miss Fernsby-Webb?” Silas raised his eyebrows. “Was there a wager as well?”
She licked her lips. “For hair ribbons.”
His gaze flicked to the adornments tied at the bottom of Juliette’s plaits. “I find it difficult to believe the Duke of Mansfield possesses hair ribbons.”
Chewing her lower lip, Juliette inched over to Miss Fernsby-Webb.
“You’re correct,” Miss Fernsby-Webb said, patting Juliette’s shoulder and standing. “He does not, nor does the Duke of Lennox, who also participated. Each man gave a farthing with the explicit instruction that the coins would only be spent on ribbons.”
Tucking Juliette behind her body, Miss Fernsby-Webb lifted her chin as though daring him to argue. “And if you have a grievance regarding today’s activity, discuss it with me.”
“I have none,” he replied, raising his hands to defuse the hostility flowing toward him. “I would appreciate if you would answer my next question with the same candor.”
She swallowed, then nodded.
“Aside from dark hair and eyes, did your mother provide any additional details regarding Mr. Curtis?” Silas leaned forward, fixing her with a probing stare. “Was he a large man? A tall man? Did he stutter?”
“Unfortunately, Mother revealed nothing further regarding her attack.” Miss Fernsby-Webb gestured toward the corridor. “However, if you’d like to speak with her again, I’m certain Nora would approve of the distraction.”
Silas inclined his head. “Thank you for the suggestion and your assistance with Juliette today. I will see you both at dinner.”
He exited the chamber, closing the door behind him, took two steps, and froze when the door creaked open again. The scent of lemons crept into the corridor, and he knew, without turning, Miss Fernsby-Webb had followed him.
“Your Grace,” her tentative voice crawled over his shoulders. “I was hoping to speak with you privately for a moment.”
He spun, keeping a chaste distance between them. “Regarding?”
“Mr. Black.” She glanced back at the closed door, then strode down the hallway toward the servants’ staircase and waved her hand, calling him closer. “When I share this information with you, I expect you to answer a question of mine in return.”
That may not be the best idea…
“Agreed.”
“When speaking about the death of her mother with Miss Juliette, she revealed the reason no other person can recall meeting Mr. Black.” Miss Fernsby-Webb exhaled a deep breath. “Black was a moniker bestowed by Miss Juliette; she never learned his true name.”
It was as if his body had plunged into an icy lake.
“He could be a guest at this very moment!” Silas’ head twisted toward the main staircase at the opposite end of the house.
How would he protect Juliette from a nameless killer?
“If Mr. Black were here,” Miss Fernsby-Webb said, drawing Silas’ attention, “he would have had several opportunities to harm Juliette without anyone realizing.”
Her logic eased the iron vest crushing his lungs.
“What question did you have for me?” he asked, glancing down the servants’ staircase as Mrs. Aylett shuffled past the bottom step carrying a bundle of linens.
The corner of Miss Fernsby-Webb’s mouth pulled up, and she strode to a small table with a vase of snowdrops.
Tracing her fingertips across the delicate white petals, she said, “You appeared quite perturbed when you burst into Miss Juliette’s chamber, so much so that you forgot to remove your greatcoat, and I believe the reason lies deeper than your concern over an exaggerated sledding mishap.”
“Can a father not be concerned for his daughter?” Silas asked, striding toward Miss Fernsby-Webb.
“He can.” She lifted a flower from the vase. “However, he wouldn’t bring up the subject of another man while ascertaining his daughter’s health.”
He’d underestimated Miss Fernsby-Webb’s intelligence.
“Roxburghe and I stopped at your mother’s residence to investigate her claim.” He yanked off his gloves and stuffed them into the greatcoat’s pocket. “And the evidence confirms her story.”
“Nothing more?”
“Nothing to note.”
As he turned away, Miss Fernsby-Webb flung the stem back in the vase. “If you won’t tell me, then I’ll learn the truth from Nora.”
Eyes narrowing, he spun back. “And how will your sister glean any further information from me?”
Miss Fernsby-Webb shook her head, a tiny grin appearing on her lips. “Not from you, Your Grace… from the Duke of Roxburghe.”
“Roxburghe holds a great deal of secrets. I’m not concerned about him withstanding his fiancée’s curious mind.”
“It’s not her mind he must withstand.” Miss Fernsby-Webb’s grin widened. “It’s her feminine nature.”
“She’ll seduce the information from him?” Silas’ eyebrows shot up. “That’s quite presumptuous to assume Roxburghe will fall for the scheme.”
“Don’t underestimate a determined woman, Your Grace,” Miss Fernsby-Webb replied, adding an elegant curtsey. “Especially not one instructed by me.”
“Then why don’t you perform the action yourself?” he asked.
“I would never seduce my sister’s fiancé!” Miss Fernsby-Webb’s words echoed down the hallway.
“I’m not suggesting that you do.” He glided nearer and lowered his voice. “I’m curious why you wouldn’t attempt to pull the truth directly from me.”
A tiny pucker formed between her eyes. “I hadn’t agreed to your clandestine proposal.”
“And if I dared you?” He closed the distance between them, encouraging the citrusy scent that clung to her skin to waft over him.
He was courting danger with this line of questioning.
“I would refuse.”
“Due to your attraction to another?” The sentence came out with more force than he intended.
She recoiled, bumped into the small table, and winced. “It is due to your title, Your Grace.”
“That didn’t deter your sister.”
Miss Fernsby-Webb’s face darkened.
Stepping forward, she stabbed Silas in the chest with her finger. “Nora didn’t set out to capture a duke, and she certainly didn’t employ any method of seduction to do so. The Duke of Roxburghe pursued her.”
A fact Silas knew to be true, having heard Roxburghe’s confession to the same that morning.
“I retract my statement.” Silas glanced down at her hand, then returned his eyes to hers. “What about my title concerns you?”
“You’ve a great many responsibilities, Your Grace,” she replied, lowering her arm. “I’d loathe to distract you from them.”