Page 34 of Never Beguile a Duke (Wayward Dukes’ Alliance #30)
“And second?” Arching her eyebrows, her mother folded her hands and set them on her lap.
Damn .
“Should anything unfortunate occur, the gentleman under discussion has enough funds to shelter me from the issue.” Crumpling the missive, Winifred strode past her mother and dropped the note into the fireplace.
“Are you certain?” Her mother’s gaze locked on the burning paper. “You believed Mr. Hollingsworth’s lies.”
“This man is different.”
Her mother snorted. “No man is different.”
“A titled one is.” The words were out before she could stop them.
Eyes glowing, her mother rose and embraced Winifred, crushing the oxygen from her lungs. “The only men of title present this weekend are dukes, and with three of them spoken for—one by your sister—it shouldn’t be too difficult for me to determine the man.”
“Urgh!” Winifred broke free of her mother’s arms. “If I reveal the name, you are not to utter one word about the connection. One whisper regarding my indiscretion and I will ensure no one offers you a shred of kindness for the remainder of your years.”
Silence stretched between them, then her mother nodded. “I’ll agree to your terms.”
Winifred exhaled a slow breath, attempting to calm her racing heart, which sped up at the thought of mentioning his name. “The Duke of Beaufort.”
“Our host?” Her mother’s eyes bulged. “You managed to secure the interest of the elusive Duke of Beaufort!”
“I’ve secured nothing but a few stolen moments,” Winifred corrected, pinning her mother with a stern glower, “and a promise that nothing negative will come from our interactions.”
“Nothing more?” Striding to Winifred’s open trunk, her mother crouched and, hand hovering over a chemise, glanced back. “Surely, he must harbor some concern regarding Mr. Curtis’ nefarious focus on our family.”
“He’s taken every precaution to ensure Mr. Curtis is not a guest.”
“And when this week is concluded,”—she held the chemise out to Winifred—“is there a scheme in place to protect you?”
“I’m to reside with Nora and the Duke of Roxburghe,” Winifred replied, tugging the delicate material from her mother’s grip.
“Until their wedding, after which I’m assuming you’ll reside somewhere else while they are traveling.”
Pursuing her lips, Winifred turned away, pulled her nightdress over her head, then yanked the chemise into place.
A petticoat floated into view. “Who volunteered to safeguard you?”
Winifred sighed, her shoulders sagging forward. “If Mr. Curtis is still a threat after the Duke of Roxburghe and Nora wed, the Duke of Beaufort offered to house us until their return.”
“I knew Nora wouldn’t turn her back on me!” Unmistakable glee exploded from her mother. “Why didn’t you inform me thus?”
“This is the first moment I’ve had to discuss the proposal with you.” Winifred tugged the petticoat up her legs and turned around. “You were feigning sleep when I returned last evening.”
The corners of her mother’s eyes crinkled, the only indication that Winifred’s accusation was correct.
“Why are you standing here conversing with me while the Duke of Beaufort is awaiting you in the stables?” Her mother twisted away, hurried across the room, and retrieved a corset from the trunk. “We can speak later.”
The glow in her mother’s eyes sent a shudder rippling down Winifred’s spine.
“Mother,”—Winifred drew herself to full height—“you are forbidden from meddling. You have no cause to seek an audience with the Duke of Beaufort on my behalf… or yours.”
Her mother waved off Winifred’s warning and held out the corset. “If he singles me out, may I then converse with him?”
“Yes,” Winifred replied, biting back the disparaging comment she wished to add. “However, you may only discuss the subjects he mentions.”
“I have no desire to ruin this connection for you,” her mother said, pulling the corset over Winifred’s head. “If both my girls married men of title, I would consider my duties as a mother a great success.”
Winifred bit her tongue until the taste of blood spread through her mouth.
“You’ll need an excuse for why you’ve missed the morning meal,” her mother said, oblivious to Winifred’s struggle to remain silent.
Humming, she glided back across the room to collect a floral-print, muslin gown.
“I suppose I could claim you’re feeling unwell after last night’s excitement,” she said, shaking out the dress. “And with the expulsion of Mr. Hollingsworth, no one would question the excuse.”
“Except for Nora,” Winifred replied as her mother handed over the frock. “She’ll sacrifice the day to stay with me.”
“Then, I shall have to distract her.” Her mother collected several articles of clothing from Nora’s trunk, and by the time Winifred was dressed, her mother was as well. “I expect you to remember this kindness when you are a duchess like your sister.”
Before Winifred could counter that the outcome wasn’t guaranteed, her mother yanked open the door, floated into the hallway, and closed the door.
“Nora!” The hissed word slithered into the bedchamber. “Why are you creeping down the corridor?”
“I woke early,” came Nora’s whispered response, “and didn’t want to disturb anyone.”
“As did I,” her mother replied. “Come, you can accompany me on a short stroll. Winifred requested rest after her unfortunate encounter with Mr. Hollingsworth last night and this morning.”
“This morning?” Nora’s voice faded as they walked toward the main staircase. “What else could Mr. Hollingsworth have done?”
“You must have heard him,” her mother said, the squeak of the staircase overpowering her words. “He attempted to wake the whole house in a desperate attempt to woo your sister.”
Winifred opened the door a sliver and peeked into the corridor.
Nora’s soft question floated up from the first floor. “What happened to Mr. Hollingsworth?”
“I believe he was asked to leave.” Her mother’s voice cut out as they crossed the foyer.
Glancing to the left and right, Winifred darted out of the chamber and hastened toward the main staircase. As she ran, a door creaked open behind her.
“Miss Fernsby-Webb!” The unmistakable voice of Miss Juliette whipped down the corridor.
Ducking her head, Winifred raced down the steps, hoping the young girl would believe she’d incorrectly identified Winifred, rushed across the floor, and, after ripping a greatcoat from the coat rack, yanked open the front door and hurried outside.
Guilt plaguing her, she shoved her arms into the sleeves and wrapped the edges of the large coat around her torso. Her nose wrinkled at the scent, a heady combination of spice and cedar that reminded her of the Duke of Roxburghe.
Hopefully, breakfast and Nora’s company would keep him occupied long enough that he wouldn’t notice his missing greatcoat until Winifred had a chance to return the warm covering to the coat rack.
And then she would specifically seek out Miss Juliette and spend the day with the young girl.
One set of footprints, recently made, judging by the indentations in the snowpack, disappeared around the side of the house. Stepping inside the imprints, Winifred hopped from one foot to the other, clutching her skirt to keep the ice from soaking into the hem.
She rounded the corner and paused, her gaze following the footprints across the tundra to the wide-open stable door…
which seemed a bit peculiar. She didn’t know much about raising animals but was quite certain they didn’t enjoy the cold any more than a human, and she couldn’t imagine what would cause the Duke of Beaufort to put his livestock at risk.
“Perhaps something dreadful occurred,” she murmured, increasing her speed until she was running across the frozen ground.
Lungs burning, she burst into the stables, her gaze flying around the dim building.
“Your Grace!” she said, leaning over and placing her hands on her knees as she sucked in a chilly breath.
No answer.
“Your Grace!” Her voice echoed around the stables, met only by a handful of soft whinnies.
To her left, a plume of dust exploded into the air. Straightening, she tucked the coat around her body, then edged down the walkway between the stalls, her head swiveling back and forth.
“Are you here?” she asked, her eyes sliding over the stables’ dark corners.
A shadow moved along the wall, catching Winifred’s attention. However, before she could turn around, a heavy object struck her in the back of the head, and she collapsed in the straw, unconscious.