Page 9 of The Duke’s Lance (The Duke’s Guard #12)
H elen was exhausted by the third time they stopped to change horses. Not that it took long. The hostlers at the inns were adept at hitching up the fresh teams in mere minutes. It was the tediousness of traveling that was a bit numbing and drained her of her enthusiasm for the journey. That and the unknown that lay ahead of her.
A future without the man who turned your head, her heart reminded her.
He deserves far better than me, her head insisted.
Her stomach rumbled, interrupting her thoughts. It was just after six o’clock, and she was looking forward to a hot meal, and beyond desperate for a pot of tea all to herself. She did not have to worry about navigating the inn yard, or the inn itself. It had both surprised and gratified her to discover at the first stop that the duke had made arrangements for the care and keeping of not only his team of horses but Helen, too. It was a heady feeling to discover that the cachet that accompanied the duke’s name would be extended to her at his request.
She had given her circumstances a lot of thought as the miles passed. At each stop along the way, she had been treated as if she were a family member. Although the duke’s carriage did not have his crest on the side, the footman, as well as the coachman he sat beside, wore the duke’s livery.
Helen had remarked on the deep sapphire blue with thin, braided silver trim when she and Emily had first arrived. The duchess had smiled and remarked that the duke had given her carte blanche to select new colors for the servants’ garments when they married. She’d chosen the deep sapphire blue to match her husband’s eyes. It was a nice contrast to the unrelieved black the men of the duke’s guard wore—from their cravats to their boots. The only hint of color was the embroidered golden Celtic harp over their hearts, and the emerald-green Eire embroidered beneath it.
She shifted her thoughts away from the duke’s guard, and the man she’d left behind. She needed to think of something else—anything but brilliant green eyes and broad shoulders…
Horses! She tucked thoughts of O’Malley away and concentrated on the efficiency of the hostler and his men taking care of the teams of horses at the inns on the journey. It was a surprise at first that the duke kept horses stabled at a number of inns between the Lake District and London, the Borderlands, and Cornwall. Though it should not have been, given that he was rumored to have not only refilled his family’s coffers, but amassed a fortune before taking on the mantle of duke after the shocking death of his elder brother.
Judging from the animals in his stables, he had a keen eye for horseflesh—further evidenced by the matched set of grays waiting to replace each team of horses along the way to the Borderlands. It was as if each successive inn along the road north expected her to arrive on a schedule. Had the duke gone to that much trouble on her behalf? Why would he? Was something less innocuous behind the royal treatment? Did it have to do with O’Malley’s proposal?
She yawned, no longer thinking travel via coach was exciting. Hours on end spent in the carriage with only herself for company had cured her of that notion. As the coachman called to his team, and the carriage slowed to a stop, she tucked a few stray curls into place and smoothed the wrinkles from her gown. She was ready to disembark.
The duke’s footman opened the door and held out his hand to help her step down from the carriage. She was a bit stiff from sitting, and smiled. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure, Miss Langley.” Though she recognized him as the footman she’d bumped into, Helen wished she could remember his name, but she had not been introduced to all of the duke’s staff in her short time at Wyndmere Hall.
The hostler shouted to his stable hands as a trio of coaches rolled into the yard. No longer a novice regarding etiquette while traveling via carriage, she felt comfortable with the footman escorting her to the inn, where she was immediately greeted by the innkeeper. “Ah, Miss Langley. We have been expecting you. His Grace has arranged for your room tonight, and the choice of either having your meal in one of our private dining rooms, or in your bedchamber.”
Unused to being fawned over, she hesitated a moment, then relaxed when the innkeeper smiled at her. No one was going to question why she was traveling in one of the duke’s carriages, nor would they be questioning her ancestry, or ask what page her family occupied in Debrett’s Peerage to see if she deserved such preferential treatment. She owed Their Graces for their kindness. Helen planned to pen a note of thanks to them after she settled into her new position. “Thank you. His Grace is so thoughtful.”
“Would you care to go to your room first, or have tea?”
“I would love to freshen up, thank you, Mr.…?”
“Edwards.”
Helen liked the way the man’s eyes crinkled at the corners, indicating he smiled often. “Thank you, Mr. Edwards.”
He motioned for her to follow him. “This way.”
Following in his wake, she wondered why he did not question why she was traveling unaccompanied. She’d thought of it because she had been Emily’s companion, traveling with her whenever she left Montrose House. But she hesitated at the notion that her speaking up may negate the duke’s instructions. Though she was not related to His Grace, and did not work for him any longer, it was best not to speak out of turn. It would be far worse to gainsay the duke than to hold her tongue. Wouldn’t it?
“Here we are.” The innkeeper unlocked the door to her bedchamber, then handed her the key. “Hot water should be arriving any—Ah, here it is now.” He smiled. “There you are, Sally. Set the hot water over on the washstand.”
When the servant did as he instructed, he turned back to Helen. “The duke advised that you would not be traveling with your maid, knowing that our inn would be more than happy to have one of our servants stand in. Sally will be serving you from now until tomorrow morning, when you are ready to leave.” He bowed. “Whatever you need, His Grace wants you to have it.”
“You have been so kind, Mr. Edwards. Thank you.”
He nodded and left as Sally finished pouring hot water into the washbowl. “Do you need assistance washing?”
“Er… No thank you, Sally. It won’t take me more than a few moments to wash my face and hands.”
Soon, Helen was ready and descending the staircase to find the promised pot of tea and hot meal. She hoped the rest of her journey would be as pleasant as this.
Hours later, she lay in bed wide-eyed and worried. Why had no one questioned her closely? And why in Heaven’s name was she concerned? She should be pleased that everyone seemed delighted to wait on her, instead of digging deep to discover her past and talent for lifting coin from the deep pockets of the ton . Would Sally mention how awkward Helen had been while attending to her? Did the young woman suspect that Helen was little more than a servant herself?
“If you don’t shut your eyes now,” she chided herself, “you’ll arrive with bags under them instead of appearing fresh and eager to speak to the dowager.”
Her thoughts awhirl, it was finally the deep, lilting voice of a certain Irishman telling her that he’d be waiting for her to return that lulled her to sleep.
*
Garahan grabbed O’Malley by the shoulder and spun him around. “Out with it! Ye are no good to us if yer head is up yer arse !”
O’Malley’s fist connected with Garahan’s jaw, snapping his head back. “Last time I checked, ye weren’t the bloody boss of me!”
A deep voice from behind them rumbled, “That would be me.”
O’Malley groaned. “’Tisn’t what ye think, Patrick.”
“I’m thinking ye’re acting like a horse’s arse. The lass has only been gone for a day.” Patrick’s eyes burned like hellfire. “Have ye forgotten that every last one of us is needed to guard the duke?”
O’Malley shook his head. “I haven’t.”
“Ye were just in the meeting where we received confirmation that one of Hardwell’s lackeys was paid—and paid well—to make it look like an accident when he shoved Lord Montrose into the path of that carriage. Hardwell’s man could be on his way here right now!”
O’Malley struggled to gain control of his anger. He’d taken an oath, the same as his brothers and cousins. “Ye’re right, but ye don’t understand—”
“ I bloody well do! If Finn were here, he’d swear to the fact that I made an arse of meself. First by lettin’ Gwendolyn leave after I’d been shot, then makin’ a fool of meself shoutin’ her name in the taproom, shaming her in front of everyone gathered at the inn in the village.”
O’Malley had been patrolling the perimeter at the time, not there to witness Patrick’s victorious return with the woman he loved enough to chase. Should O’Malley have done the same as his cousin? But what possible reason could he have had for going after Helen? What could he say to the duke in order to receive his blessing to do so now?
O’Malley asked Patrick, “What happened?”
“She agreed to return to Wyndmere Hall, but then gave me a piece of her mind. The lass couldn’t help herself, proclaimin’ her love for me. Finn bought a round for everyone in the common room, and that’s when I tossed Gwendolyn over me shoulder, mounted me horse, and carried her back to Wyndmere Hall.”
“I heard a slightly different tale,” Garahan said.
“Ye weren’t at the inn,” Patrick grumbled. “Me brother was.”
“And now Finn is married to Mollie with a babe of their own, living in Cornwall, protecting the duke’s manor house and Penwith Tower.”
“Aye. It has been too long since all of us have served under one roof,” Patrick murmured.
“Do ye think there will ever be an occasion when we will all be together again?” O’Malley asked.
“Not without our wives and babes,” Patrick replied. “Not a one of us would willingly be separated from them for long.”
“I wonder what kind of occasion would warrant that?” Garahan mused.
O’Malley glanced from Garahan to Patrick and back. “A very special one.” He waited a beat. “Garahan?”
“What the feck do ye want?”
O’Malley fought the urge to smile. “I’d like to tell ye that I’m sorry I tapped ye on the jaw.”
Garahan snorted. “Ah, but ye aren’t. I wouldn’t be either. ’Twas a solid blow. Sneaky. Something I’d have done meself.”
“Faith, I know it. Ye can owe me.”
“Well now, O’Malley, that’s an offer I cannot refuse: one free clip to your jaw.”
O’Malley was wondering when his cousin would be taking him up on it when a short, sharp whistle had the three of them rushing to where Flaherty stood in front of the stables.
Patrick was the first to speak. “Trouble?”
“The duke just received an urgent missive from Baron Summerfield, regarding the Dowager Duchess Flemington. Anyone familiar with her?”
O’Malley’s heart clenched in his chest. Patrick and Garahan weren’t familiar with the name, but he was. Emily had given him the information hoping he’d follow after Helen. He rubbed at the pain in his heart. “’Tis the position Helen left me for.”
Patrick stared at O’Malley for a moment. “Head inside, and see if we’re needed. The rest of us will head to our posts.”
“But it’s yer job to be there with the duke—”
“And I’m sending ye in me place. His Grace knows ye asked Helen to marry ye. We all know.” When O’Malley shook his head, Patrick gave him a shove. “That’s an order. Move yer arse !”
O’Malley turned around and sprinted toward the back entrance. He strode down the hallway past the room where Merry and Constance kept their healing supplies, past the pantry, and in through the kitchen. He greeted Constance, but kept going. He had to find out if the missive from the dowager duchess had anything to do with Helen.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as he approached the library. The duke was leaving it. “Ah, O’Malley. Just the man I need.”
“Patrick will be along shortly, he’s—”
“Summerfield sent word that it is urgent that I send someone to collect Miss Helen from Flemington Gatehouse.”
“She was not hired?”
The duke’s eyes blazed with anger. “Apparently the dowager has taken it upon herself to warn any and all of her acquaintances within the ton against hiring Miss Helen Langley. Adding the caveat that her reputation has been damaged due to her former post at Montrose House—which has been tainted because of Lord Montrose’s murder. She is insisting Miss Langley is unfit to darken her doorstep—or that of anyone within her circle.”
O’Malley let his confusion show. “The lass had nothing to do with the murder. Why would the dowager say such a thing?”
“I have no idea. I must speak with Persephone. She’ll need to create the list of those within our circle of acquaintances—whether they are titled or not—so that we can stem this disastrous slander of Miss Langley. Lord Montrose trusted me as Emily’s guardian and, by default, her maid Helen’s guardian. Montrose took in young men and women—most times as children—to save them from the streets. Employing them gave them a sense of pride. Protecting them with his name gave them the sense of family. I will honor Montrose’s request to continue to protect all those under his care. I will not let someone censure Miss Langley’s good name because of some bacon-brained dowager’s idea that it is her duty! I will not have it!”
The duke’s words felt like a direct hit to O’Malley’s heart. “I’m sensing there is more that I need to know.”
“Miss Langley has no idea that the dowager sent out these missives days ago via special messenger, before she was to meet with Miss Langley.” O’Malley swore beneath his breath, but the duke heard. “I could not have said it better. We cannot let the woman you plan to marry, become a victim of the dowager’s slander.”
O’Malley could not think of any response other than to nod his agreement.
The duke pinched the bridge of his nose. “My father never liked Flemington, or his duchess, for that matter.”
“I’m not as familiar with the hierarchy of the ton . But I have to ask, is the duchess in the dower house because she did something to upset the duke who sent her there?”
“It means that the former duke—her husband—passed away, and their son is now duke. My sources informed me that the duke married six months past and Flemington Hall was not big enough for the new duchess and his mother.”
“Where is Helen now?”
The duke clenched his jaw. “I have no idea. My sources informed me that the dowager sent Helen packing, and has the unmitigated gall to slander my name for offering a place on my staff to a woman of questionable reputation. She has no idea of the friends and acquaintances that I have reestablished a friendship with, or the new ones I have gained over the last three years. She does not wield one quarter of the power she thinks she does.”
“Even if she did, why would she slander ye?”
Again the duke replied, “I have no idea.”
O’Malley nodded. “What about yer carriage? Weren’t the coachman and footman supposed to wait until Helen had spoken to the dowager before leaving?”
“Aye, but apparently, the dowager raised bloody hell and ordered them from the estate.”
O’Malley’s heart beat faster. “Do ye mean to tell me the woman kicked Helen out of her home and sent her on her way…on foot?”
“Aye. There’s a good chance that my footman was in the servants’ quarters waiting for Miss Langley, while the coachman will have waited far enough away from Flemington Hall that the dowager could not see the carriage. Then again, I would not put it past the disagreeable woman to have booted my footman out and sent one of her servants after my coachman to ensure he left.”
“How long ago?”
“Earlier today. Apparently the dowager sent word to the inn that she would be meeting with Miss Langley before noon.”
“A few hours ago!” His gut felt as if he’d swallowed shards of glass. “Even on one of yer best horses, the fastest I could get there would be—”
“I have Thoroughbreds stabled at inns on the road to the Borderlands, as well as teams, for emergencies such as this. Every one of my stallions has the heart of a champion and can run like the wind. You can push them to the limit, O’Malley… They’ll thank you for it, as long as you see to it they are properly cooled down before giving them food or water. Make certain to warn the hostlers that it is an emergency and that you have my permission. With a few changes of horse, you can be there in four and a half to five hours.”
“But Helen’ll have been missing for—”
The duke reached into his waistcoat pocket and handed O’Malley a sealed, folded document. “You may need this, if things go awry.”
“What is it?”
“A special license. I am giving you my permission and blessing to marry Helen. God forbid she is injured—because of your promise to protect her, I know you would refuse to leave her side. It could ruin her reputation. If you are married, it will not be a problem.” The duke paused. “Summerfield is sending Flaherty to Flemington Hall. He’ll meet you there.”
“I won’t need any help—”
“Consider it an order to accept Flaherty’s help. Two heads are better than one.”
Emotion had O’Malley’s throat constricting for a moment before he cleared it. “Aye. Thank ye, Yer Grace. I will never be able to repay ye for yer kindness.”
“You have already done so, tenfold. Now, go! I need to speak to my wife, or else she’ll badger me because I did not confide this situation to her immediately. Then she’ll tell me I completely botched it.”
O’Malley didn’t need to be told twice. He bowed to the duke, shoved the license in his waistcoat pocket, and sprinted down the hallway toward Humphries.
The butler was waiting for him. “Godspeed, O’Malley. We’re keeping Miss Helen in our prayers.”
“Thank ye, Humphries!”