Page 5 of Never Beguile a Duke (Wayward Dukes’ Alliance #30)
WINIFRED
“I suspected”— Nora will never forgive me if she discovers I deceived her —“that my father’s portrait may have fallen on the pathway when my trunk was carted to the coach.”
Skepticism passed through Nora’s eyes as her gaze slid across the icy landscape behind Winifred. “Did you discover the painting?”
“Near the stone bench.” Winfred twisted away and stuck her fingers into her bodice, fishing for an edge of the brass frame. “Thankfully, the inclement weather hadn’t ruined the image.”
As Nora secured the front door, Winifred swore.
The portrait miniature had vanished!
“That language seems a bit strong for the short stroll to our coach,” Nora said, returning the key to her reticule. “There are plenty of furs to keep us warm during the journey to the Duke of Beaufort’s residence.”
“It’s not the temperature.” Digging her teeth into her lower lip, Winifred glanced at her sister. “I’ve misplaced my father’s picture.”
There were no words to describe the pained expression that torqued Nora’s face into a half-grimace. She lifted her eyes to the gray sky, exhaled a heavy sigh—which crystalized instantly—then lowered her gaze, pinning Winifred.
“Somewhere between the garden and the entrance to Miss Braddock’s residence, you lost the portrait… again?”
In truth, it’s probably in Mother’s house, but I’m not going to admit that.
Winifred nodded.
“We’ll retrace your path,” Nora said through chattering teeth.
She took Winifred’s arm, and, eyes sweeping back and forth, slogged toward the stone bench.
A flash, half-buried in the snow, caught Winifred’s attention. She pulled free of Nora and crouched. Shoving her gloved fingers into the fluffy ice, she uncovered the item.
“Is that the portrait?” Nora asked, bending over Winifred’s shoulder.
“No.” She jerked away, closing her fingers around the saturated piece.
“Winifred.” Nora swiped at Winifred’s hand, catching the pelisse’s sleeve instead. “What are you hiding?”
“It’s nothing of import.”
“Then you can show me.”
“It belongs to Miss Braddock,” Winifred said, hoping the clarification would dissuade her sister’s curiosity.
“And I currently possess the key to Miss Braddock’s residence; I doubt the revelation of this particular item will offend her.” Nora grabbed Winifred’s wrist with one hand.
Before she could react, Nora slipped under Winifred’s arm and pried Winifred’s fingers open.
“What is this?” Nora frowned as she plucked a piece of torn cloth from Winifred’s palm. “I don’t understand why you would hide a scrap of fabric from me.”
Winifred sighed and gestured to the material. “Do you recognize the color?”
“You said it belonged to Miss Braddock.” Nora rubbed the lace-trimmed section between her gloved fingers. “I assume the piece came from a gown.”
“It did.” Winifred’s eyes widened as she willed her sister to comprehend the significance of the damaged material.
Shrugging, Nora held out the cloth. “Miss Braddock accidentally ripped her dress.”
“She didn’t tear this particular dress... someone else did.”
“Oh!” Nora paled. “It occurred the night her previous fiancé attacked her.”
Winifred nodded and shoved the torn section of cloth into her reticule.
“You’re not going to return that to her?” Nora’s gaze followed the delicate fabric.
“I’m going to burn it,” Winifred replied, leaning down and sifting through the snow. “Along with any other piece I find. With her recent engagement to the Duke of Lennox, the past shouldn’t continue to torment her.”
Nora squatted and cleared a section of fluffy white from beneath a bare rose bush.
“One day,” she said, her gaze scanning the ground, “you’ll meet a gentleman who’ll overlook your history in favor of your heart as well.”
Mouth crooking, Winifred glanced at her sister. “Miss Braddock traveled to a different town to accomplish that feat. Are you suggesting I do the same?”
Nora’s head whipped up. “I didn’t need to.”
“You possess no scandals from which to hide.”
“I bet a duke!”
“A duke who is currently your fiancé.” Winifred held up her hand, stopping Nora’s retort. “Every gentleman residing in this town is aware of my failed relationship with Mr. Hollingsworth and my extended visit to prison.”
“Then we shall introduce you to a newcomer.” Nora passed another portion of Miss Braddock’s ripped bodice to Winifred. “Not every man in England knows of your past.”
It certainly seemed as though they did.
“I do not want any assistance. No meddling, Nora,” Winifred replied, stuffing the second section of cloth into her reticule. “Focus on helping the Duke of Roxburghe find matches for the three remaining dukes participating in his ridiculous wager.”
“If you?—”
“A woman with my past isn’t rewarded with a title.” Winifred brushed away a layer of snow, exposing the cold, hard earth beneath. “Even if I were intrigued by one of his friends?—”
“Who?” A glimmer exploded in Nora’s honey-hued eyes. “What’s his name?”
“I’ve just explained,” Winifred ground the words through clenched teeth, “that I have no intention of wedding a duke.”
“But no objection?”
The muted crunch of snow rolled toward them, and they jerked their heads around, Winifred half-fearing their mother had come to return the missing portrait miniature.
“Miss Webb,” Mr. Dunn called from the edge of the garden, “if we don’t leave soon, the approaching storm will prevent us from journeying to the Duke of Beaufort’s residence today.”
“We’ve lost a small painting,” Nora said, rising. “We were hoping to recover the portrait before we departed. Would you assist us?”
He nodded and glanced down at the base of the fence post, his gaze sliding along the walkway leading toward Miss Braddock’s house. He took one step, bent forward, and shoved his hand into a small mound of snow.
“Is this what you’re seeking?” he asked, holding up the brass-framed oval.
“It is!” Winifred leaped to her feet, rushed across the garden, and snatched the painting from the driver’s extended hand. “How can I repay you for finding such a valuable heirloom?”
His eyes widened, as though he found the prospect of additional compensation to be horrific. “Your gratitude is sufficient, Miss Fernsby-Webb.”
“How,” Nora asked, joining them on the pavement, “did your father’s picture end up over here? You said you dropped the portrait near the stone bench in the garden.”
Winifred shrugged. “I must have been mistaken.”
She strode to the coach, hoping her nonchalant response wouldn’t lead to more questions, took Mr. Dunn’s offered hand, and climbed into the cabin.
Blocking the carriage’s entrance with his body, he leaned forward and retrieved a heavy fur coverlet.
“I apologize,” Mr. Dunn murmured, spreading the blanket over Winifred’s lap, “if I’ve caused you any trouble. Had I known Miss Webb wasn’t aware of your excursion, I’d have claimed I’d found the portrait closer to the house.”
Winifred’s gaze jumped to the space behind him, confirming her sister wasn’t near enough to overhear Mr. Dunn, then returned to his strained face.
“Don’t think on it,” she replied, adding a reassuring smile. “Finding my father’s picture was most important.”
Nora’s faint voice meandered around Mr. Dunn, creeping into the cabin. “How does one confuse a stone bench and a fence post?”
Her sister wasn’t going to drop the issue until she pried the truth from Winifred.
Mr. Dunn grimaced and mouthed a second apology, then turned, stepped aside, and held out his arm to assist Nora into the coach.
Scooting beneath the fur blanket, Nora claimed the seat beside Winifred, shoved her hands under the coverlet, and twisted around, an expectant glow lighting her eyes.
Again, Winifred shrugged. “I don’t have an explanation. However, I am grateful to Mr. Dunn—and you should be, too—for discovering the portrait miniature so quickly. Otherwise, we may have spent the remainder of our afternoon shivering as we searched through Miss Braddock’s snowy garden.”
Nora rouged. “Of course, I’m thankful for Mr. Dunn’s assistance.”
“Have you expressed those sentiments to him?” Winifred arched her eyebrows, indicating the driver with her chin.
Nora’s blush deepened to scarlet, and she turned her head toward the door. “Mr. Dunn, I do appreciate all the assistance you’ve provided today. I’ll be certain to advise the Duke of Roxburghe of your worth.”
“Thank you for that kindness, Miss Webb.” Mr. Dunn bowed low.
As he closed the coach’s door, he winked at Winifred.
Before Nora returned to the subject of the portrait’s unusual location, Winifred, forcing a bright tone into her voice, asked, “Do you know which activities the Duke of Beaufort has planned for this week?”
“I’ve been informed about a banquet this evening, but the remaining details of his schemes weren’t shared with me.” Nora’s mouth folded into a thin line. “And, before you ask, he didn’t divulge the particulars to the Duke of Roxburghe, either.”
“Why would the Duke of Beaufort keep the information from his friend?”
“Friends.” Nora's gaze flicked to the frosted window, then returned to Winifred. “According to the Duke of Roxburghe, none of the guests know what’s to occur this week.”
“That’s peculiar.” Winifred kneaded the edge of the fur.
She knew little about the Duke of Beaufort, except that he played several instruments, he lacked the serious manner that accompanied most men of his status, and he risked his own life to protect her when their sleigh flipped.
And he agreed to participate in the ridiculous wager to remain unattached.
“He’s the host, and we’re subject to his… unique whims.” Nora stilled Winifred’s fingers. “However, he is a duke and therefore understands the responsibility of maintaining respect for the title.”
Nora shivered and scrunched down under the thick coverlet. “Is there a particular activity in which you wish to participate? Perhaps a sleigh ride…”
“My last experience nearly killed me.” Winifred leaned forward and snatched a second blanket from the opposite bench.