Page 9 of Never Beguile a Duke (Wayward Dukes’ Alliance #30)
WINIFRED
W inifred hastened after the Duke of Beaufort, using his footprints instead of creating her own path through the snow, but as they neared Miss Juliette, the young girl’s crouched form melted into two, revealing a second, larger dark mass half-buried in the ice.
“Are you injured?” The Duke of Beaufort grabbed Miss Juliette, yanking her to her feet and spinning her in a circle as he inspected her slush-stained clothing.
“N-No,” she replied through chattering teeth. “However, she is.”
Winifred peered around Miss Juliette, her gaze sliding over the woman’s battered face, and gasped. “Mother!”
Diving forward, Winifred landed on the frozen ground with a grunt, leaned forward, ignoring the freezing water seeping into her dress, and clawed through the snow surrounding her mother’s head.
The Duke of Beaufort dropped beside Winifred and, without direction, shoved his bare fingers into the slush, scraping away chunks until they freed Winifred’s mother from her icy cocoon.
Before Winifred could make the request, the Duke of Beaufort thrust his arms beneath Mrs. Webb’s limp body and lifted, uncovering a slight indentation in the packed snow.
He grimaced as his gaze skated over the depression. “Your mother must have been unconscious for quite some time.”
“Do you think she walked the whole distance from her residence?” Winifred asked with a shiver.
“I doubt a hackney driver would leave her this far from the house.” The Duke of Beaufort turned and slogged across the frozen blanket coating the ground.
“If he discovered she had no money to compensate him…” Winifred’s chest tightened.
Had her mother been attacked by the coachman?
Glancing back at Winifred, the Duke of Beaufort locked his gaze on her, then firmly shook his head. “Knowing your mother’s destination was my residence, the driver would have requested payment from someone inside the house when he deposited her at the door. He loses time and money by harming her.”
The Duke of Beaufort’s green eyes flicked to the right. “Come along, Juliette.”
“Are you angry, Father?” Miss Juliette hurried forward, panting as she bounded through the thick snow.
“That you ran off, yes.” He shifted his attention to her when she reached his side. “That you discovered, Mrs. Webb, no.”
“Will she die?” Miss Juliette’s voice cracked.
“I’m going to do everything I can to prevent that,” the Duke of Beaufort replied, lifting his head and finding Winifred. “I swear.”
Winifred nodded, her throat closing and preventing her from verbally expressing her gratitude.
“Juliette,” the Duke of Beaufort said as he shifted his grip on Mrs. Webb, “run ahead, seek out Mr. Aylett, and inform him of what’s occurred.”
“Yes, Father.” Juliette curtsied, darted forward three steps, then paused and twisted around. “Where should he meet you?”
The Duke of Beaufort glanced at Winifred and lifted his eyebrows, asking the silent question.
“In my chamber,” Winifred replied, winding her arms around her waist and shivering. “Nora may request to transfer to another room. She hasn’t forgiven our mother for… interfering.”
A soft snort answered her.
“Have you?” the Duke of Beaufort asked, his face unreadable. “She sent you to prison.”
“I haven’t decided if I should.” Winifred chewed her lower lip. “If you were in my position, would you?”
The skin between his eyes pinched. Had she blinked, she would have missed the subtle reaction.
“I lost my mother at a young age,” he said, his eyes following Miss Juliette as she rounded the house’s far corner. “There isn’t anything I wouldn’t sacrifice for one more day with her… including three months in prison.”
He fell silent, trudging through the snow, and then, as if he recalled Winifred was beside him, he glanced over and forced a smile. “However, our situations are different.”
“Indeed, Your Grace.” Winifred’s gaze dropped to her mother’s discolored face. “As incarceration wouldn’t deem you unmarriageable.”
“Who called you unworthy?” the Duke of Beaufort growled. “I’ll expel him immediately.”
“No man,”—she took an unconscious step away from his sudden ire—“or woman would dare express that opinion in my presence, save my mother.”
“Hmm.”
He made no other comment, leaving Winifred twisting the noncommittal response over and over in her mind as they slogged around the side of the residence.
Did he think she’d lied about her damaged reputation? Surely, he’d heard the rumors.
Before Winifred could pose the question, Nora jerked open the front door, her face paling when she caught sight of her stepmother’s unconscious body.
Stepping aside, Nora asked, “Do you know what happened to her?”
“No,” Winifred replied, closing the door behind the Duke of Beaufort. “However, if Miss Juliette hadn’t discovered Mother, she would have died.”
“She may still,” the Duke of Beaufort said as he trudged toward the staircase. “We need to warm her body as quickly as possible.”
Nora wound a comforting arm around Winifred’s waist and strode across the foyer. “Put her in my bed.”
“And where do you intend to sleep?” Winifred’s mouth crooked.
“In your bed.” Nora tilted her head. “Does that amuse you?”
“I assumed you’d use the opportunity to secure yourself a private chamber,” Winifred said as they climbed the stairs.
A deep red blush coursed through Nora’s skin. “I doubt my sister would approve of that request.”
“She would not.” Winifred indicated the Duke of Beaufort. “However, if you wanted to enjoy the festivities without the responsibility of caring for Mother, I’d hold my opinion this one time and allow the modification to be made.”
Horror slid across Nora’s face. “I wouldn’t abandon you in favor of amusement.”
“You cannot forego the banquet!” Winifred grabbed Nora’s upper arm, preventing her from climbing to the next step. “This week is meant to celebrate your engagement.”
“His Grace would understand.” Nora pulled free.
“I. Do,” the Duke of Beaufort panted, stopping when he reached the second-floor landing to adjust his hold on Winifred’s mother. “Your fiancé may not.”
Nora growled.
“One hour,” she said, skirting around the Duke of Beaufort and hastening toward their chamber. “Then, we switch places.”
Winifred chased after her sister. “As much as I appreciate your fiancé’s humor, I have no desire to marry him.”
The Duke of Beaufort choked, swallowed his laughter, and, avoiding eye contact with her, strode into the chamber, where he gently deposited Winifred’s mother onto Nora’s bed. He kept his head bent, fussing over Mrs. Webb, which Winifred presumed meant he didn’t quite have control of his faculties.
“I’ve brought Mr. Aylett,” Miss Juliette, hands clasped in front of her waist, announced from the doorway.
Mr. Aylett bustled past her carrying a mound of blankets, on which he’d balanced a tray holding two bowls of water and a stack of cloth bandages. When his gaze fell on Mrs. Webb’s face, he paused for a fraction of a second, then continued toward the bed as though unbothered by her injuries.
“Mrs. Aylett agreed to care for Mrs. Webb this evening, Your Grace,” he said, placing the bundle on the floor and then moving the tray to a small table. “Your guests are hungry and waiting for their host to begin the banquet.”
Winifred lifted the top coverlet and shook out the soft material. “I’m certain Mrs. Aylett’s workload is quite heavy this evening. I can see to my mother.”
“You promised!” Miss Juliette’s outburst drew every eye to her tiny face; she flushed and glanced down.
Before the Duke of Beaufort intervened, Winifred set the blanket on the bed, glided over to Miss Juliette, and knelt. “I apologize for having to break my word. However, I’m certain you understand the direness of this situation.”
“And I,” she continued before Miss Juliette voiced a second protest, “hoped I could give you an important task.”
“Of course,” Miss Juliette replied, lifting her head and locking her solemn gaze on Winifred.
“Since I’ll be unable to attend the banquet, someone will need to sneak food from the dining hall and deliver the nourishment to me.” Winifred tilted her head. “Do you know anyone skillful enough to complete that errand?”
Miss Juliette’s hazel eyes brightened, and she nodded. “I can do it.”
The Duke of Beaufort appeared beside Winifred and took her hand, helping her rise. “You’ll let Mr. Aylett know if your mother’s condition worsens.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Winifred curtsied.
He departed without another word, followed by Miss Juliette, Mr. Aylett, and, after a long minute, Nora, who hovered in the doorway, her body locked halfway between the chamber and corridor.
“If anything happens to Amelia, will you advise me before you speak with Mr. Aylett?” she asked, her honey-hued eyes sliding to their mother.
“I swear.”
“I know.” Nora chuckled. “I do too, on occasion.”
Winifred burst out laughing. “Would you bring some negus when you return?”
“I’ll bring you two cups.” Holding up the matching number of fingers, Nora grinned, then disappeared into the corridor and closed the door behind her.
Lifting the crumpled blanket, Winifred spread the coverlet over her mother and tucked the edges around the older woman’s still form.
“Who did this to you?” Winifred asked, grabbing a second covering from the pile and laying the heavy blanket over the first. “I can’t imagine what danger would have driven you from Father’s house.”
Her mother didn’t respond, but her jaw unclenched, and Winifred took the unconscious action as an indication she should add two more coverlets to the growing mound of luxurious material.
“Is it truly that dangerous to live alone?” Winifred selected a cloth from the tray and dipped the material into a bowl of steaming water.
Dragging the fabric across her mother’s forehead, Winifred wiped away a layer of dried blood, then returned the rag to the bowl, staining the water crimson.
“If I had been present,” Winifred said, wringing out the cloth, “would we both have suffered this horrific fate? Or could I have prevented it?”