Page 5 of While the Duke Was Sleeping (England’s Sweethearts #1)

One week later.

“Bloody hell. You killed him?” In the six months that Adelaide had been working for Cordelia, she’d witnessed much that made her roll her eyes. But never could she have expected the body on the floor. She’d been out running errands when she’d heard gossip that the Duke of Strafford was paying a call on the two new sisters who had taken up residence in Honeydale Cottage.

“They’re not sisters at all. One’s the daughter of a duke. Our duke has gone to propose.”

Fuck. How had their secret gotten out? Adelaide had been so careful. She’d constructed believable aliases and minimized Cordelia’s contact with people. They’d only been in town for a matter of days.

Adelaide had exited the general store as quietly as she had entered, her mind racing through all possible scenarios and exit strategies just to find the one situation she hadn’t anticipated—a dead man in the sitting room.

All blood had drained from Cordelia’s face, and her hands were twisted in the practical, secondhand woolen skirts they’d purchased from a farmhouse two days into their trip. “I don’t know,” Cordelia said. “I might have killed him? Be a darling and go see.”

Examining bodies was certainly not part of Adelaide’s duties, but in for a penny, in for a pound.

Squaring her shoulders, she marched across the sitting room to where the Duke of Strafford lay slumped on the floor, his head at an odd angle by a chair, one arm caught awkwardly under his body, his legs spread-eagled.

Adelaide crouched over him, slipped two fingers just below the edge of his tie, and pressed them against his throat. Th-thump.

She exhaled swiftly. “He’s not dead.”

“Oh, thank goodness.”

There was a rustle and a soft thump . Adelaide looked over her shoulder to see her mistress sitting on the rug, her back against the doorframe, staring up at the ceiling. Relief was perhaps the most sensible expression Adelaide had witnessed on Cordelia in the past week.

Adelaide turned back to the duke, who was as grim in repose as he had been when he’d called on his new tenants three days ago. She wasn’t particularly keen on being present when His Grace woke, but what were her other options? The man was unconscious on their sitting room floor and required some form of care, which Cordelia clearly wasn’t capable of providing.

Adelaide put a hand on his shoulder and shook it gently. “Your Grace?”

Nothing.

She shook more forcefully. “Your Grace.” Still, there was no response. She turned to Cordelia. “What did you do, my lady?”

Cordelia scowled. “I shoved him, but it was not my fault.”

Of course it wasn’t. Nothing was ever Cordelia’s fault.

“It’s true! He was spouting all sorts of nonsense about how our marriage was such a practical option and how he’d already drafted an announcement to The Times . And, when he grasped my hand, I took umbrage. I pushed him away from me. I had not noticed that dratted cat sneak in. The duke tripped over it, and his head smacked against the edge of the chair.”

Adelaide scanned the room quickly for the offending animal, a scrawny white cat with one blue eye and one brown that had latched on to the sisters the moment they’d taken up residence, nudging, purring, and pawing for food. It had taken a post behind the lace curtain, peering out with a scowl on its face. The curtain flicked as the cat’s tail swished.

Once she’d satisfied herself that the stray was fine, she turned her attention back to the duke and the god-awful, centuries-old piece of furniture that had come with the cottage they’d rented only days ago. “He smacked his head on that?” Bloody hell. That thing looked as though it could take out the god of war himself.

Adelaide leaned over the duke once more, this time running her fingers through his sandy tresses, exploring his skull until her hands found it: a lump the size of a robin’s egg. When she pulled her fingers away, the tips were covered in sticky red blood. There were plenty of injuries that she was capable of dealing with: snakebites, burns, deep lacerations. She’d even helped set a broken arm in Rome. But head injuries were well beyond her self-taught medical skills.

“I think it’s time to send for the sawbones and the duke’s man of business.”

Cordelia shook her head. “No one must know that he was here.”

Adelaide searched for a little more patience. “My lady,” she said calmly. “The duke arrived on horseback. He’d have traveled through half the village to reach this cottage, and I don’t for a moment believe that he did so unseen. Keeping his visit secret will be impossible. Not to mention that he will likely call the constabulary the moment he wakes. You assaulted him.”

Cordelia tugged pins from her hair and hurled them across the room. Pins Adelaide would no doubt need to collect. “This is all his fault. What an incredibly arrogant, dense, and demanding jackass to assume I’d marry him. To have an announcement all written up before he’d even broached the idea with me. My life is over .”

Adelaide rolled her eyes. “Your life is not over. At least, not any more than it was yesterday. When the duke wakes, you’ll apologize for striking him, and then you’ll carry on as you were.”

“And if he’s already sent the announcement? Have you forgotten why we’re in this back-of-nowhere town?”

It was hard to forget the sight of Cordelia tearing down the church steps or how she’d grabbed Adelaide’s hands so tightly her fingertips had left slight bruises.

“What was he thinking?” Adelaide muttered, standing and pulling a handkerchief from her sleeve to wipe the blood from her fingers. Cordelia was beautiful, an absolute vision to behold, but they’d spent no more than ten minutes in each other’s company yesterday, certainly not long enough for either of them to get any sense of the other. Especially so, given every word out of the girls’ mouths had been a lie.

“Apparently, he found me quite convenient. He has no interest in engaging with London’s marriage mart, and given he and my father discussed a potential match when I was fifteen , my appearance was a timely solution. Of course, I must be flattered by his interest. What possible reason could I have to turn down such a match, given he is a duke, and I am a duke’s daughter?”

That was the part Adelaide didn’t understand. “How did he know who you are?” They’d lied about their true identity to everyone they’d spoken to. Cordelia had even done a passable job of acting like a normal person rather than someone who was waited on hand and foot.

Cordelia stared at her toes and scrunched up her nose. “I wrote my true name on the leasing document.”

It took everything Adelaide had in her not to drop her head into her hands. “Why?” she asked when she was confident she could mask her annoyance.

“It was a legal document. It would be wrong to lie on something so official.”

The girl had no sense. You told what lies you needed to in order to survive, official document or not. “There is no escaping it then. The duke knows. His man of business surely knows, and it won’t be long until the entire town knows.” Already, the news had spread to the general store.

“What are you going to do about it?” Cordelia asked, finally crawling to her feet.

What was Adelaide going to do about it? She bit her lip for a long moment until she was composed enough to answer. “I will call for a doctor and send someone to his home so they can bring a carriage to transport him.”

“And after that?” There was a thread of unease in Cordelia’s tone.

Adelaide sighed. What came after that seemed bleeding obvious. Could the girl not see it, or did she see it perfectly well but hoped otherwise? “We wait for him to wake up. You apologize for nearly killing him, and we hope he takes it no further.”

“And if he does?”

“We send for your father and let the dukes duke it out, I suppose.”

Cordelia took a step backward. “No… no, no, not possible. I can’t go back. All of London will stare. Two failed engagements!”

“I hardly think this one counts.” Adelaide gestured to the unconscious duke. “You never even agreed to it.”

Cordelia shook her head, eyes filling with tears. “It doesn’t matter. If the duke has already sent that announcement to The Times , we won’t catch it. London won’t care that it was a misunderstanding. The gentleman is never to blame.”

Adelaide wasn’t a monster; her mistress’s distress wrenched at her heart, but Cordelia lived in a fantasy land. She crossed the room and put a comforting hand on Cordelia’s shoulder. “My lady, the uncomfortable truth is that there are consequences to your actions. You left the Duke of Hornsmouth at the altar. You knocked this one unconscious. People are going to stare at you until there is a better scandal to gossip about.”

Cordelia huffed, as if the entire situation was an imposition on her and not, actually, the natural fallout from her own behavior. “This is going to ruin everything.”

Adelaide sighed. “Why don’t you go upstairs to rest, my lady? The village is only ten minutes’ walk. I’ll go.”

Cordelia shook her head. “No. You stay with it… him. In case he wakes up. You should handle it. You’re unnervingly good in a crisis.”

It took the better part of an hour for Cordelia to return. During that time, Adelaide sat on the chair responsible for taking down the Duke of Strafford. Now and then, she checked his pulse. Despite his state of unconsciousness, it remained steady.

“This is most inconvenient,” she said to him, as she scratched the stray cat beneath the chin, taking comfort in its soft purr. “And entirely avoidable. Would it have been so difficult to woo her? Just a little?” There was nothing quite as effervescing as a little courtship. Even the overly formal, highly supervised courtships of the ton held a touch of magic. Had the duke put even a soupcon of effort into his proposal, he may have succeeded.

Perhaps.

Cordelia had yet to reveal her true reasons for leaving Hornsmouth at the altar. Having one jagged tooth, an estate in the Scottish highlands instead of lowlands, two left feet, and a fondness for cigarettes was not reason enough to set one’s entire life on fire. But every time Adelaide broached the topic, Cordelia pressed her lips tightly together and left the room.

“Blimey.”

Adelaide’s head snapped up. She’d been so lost in her musings, she hadn’t heard the liveried footman enter. A few seconds later, another footman entered.

“Lord. Did you ever see such a thing?”

“He’s not dead,” she said as she stood, unease coursing through her. It was one thing to have an almost-dead duke at one’s feet. It was another to have witnesses to such. Visions of being locked up for murdering an aristocrat flashed through her mind.

“Of course not, m’lady.” The first footman shook his head. “We didn’t mean to suggest such a thing.”

“I’m not a—” She was interrupted by the entrance of even more people. A younger woman ducked in front of the two lads. An older woman prodded them forward so she could get a better view. A man with all the appearance of a butler but the expression of a gossipy kitchen maid stood with his mouth hanging open.

“What a turn of events.”

“He’ll wake with a crooked neck, for sure.”

“Jesus, what happens now?”

“And the poor bugger had just gotten engaged.”

Looks of speculation, hesitation, and titillation morphed into pity as the crowd glanced her way. “Apologies, m’lady.”

Surely they don’t… “ This isn’t what you think. I’m not—”

“Make way. Now. Excuse me .”

A wave of relief hit Adelaide as Lady Cordelia pushed through the gathered crowd, a frown on her face. The duke’s man of business and a white-haired fellow carrying a doctor’s bag followed on her heels.

Adelaide quickly crossed to them. “His pulse is steady,” she said to the physician. “But he has not responded to me at all.”

The doctor reached out a hand as if to clasp her comfortingly on the shoulder, but he pulled back before he’d made contact. “I’m sure he heard you, my lady. The soul can tell when our loved ones are nearby. It brings comfort even through the dark.”

“Oh. I’m not—” She looked at her mistress, waiting for Cordelia to set the doctor straight.

Cordelia patted Adelaide’s arm, her smile sweet, but her eyes flaring. “The doctor is right, Lady Cordelia. The duke can surely hear you. Your presence must give him great comfort.”

What on earth?

Conscious of the many pairs of eyes on them, Adelaide smiled wanly and took Cordelia by the arm, dragging her to the corner of the room farthest from people. “What are you playing at?”

Cordelia grasped Adelaide’s hands, fairly crushing them in her own. “This is a disaster . Every wretched part of it.”

“I am well aware,” Adelaide said, shaking free. “How does pretending that I’m you help the matter?” It didn’t. Absolutely no good could come from this. She wouldn’t do it.

“I cannot face him, and one of us must.”

“Or we could leave,” Adelaide whispered. “Right now, Cordelia. The moment his body is taken from this house, we could pack our things and get out of here.” Staying would be foolish. Leaving would probably also be foolish, but at least it would give her time to come up with a solution.

Cordelia shook her head. “For heaven’s sake, Adelaide. Would you simply stay with the duke until he wakes and convince him to retract our betrothal announcement? Then we can find somewhere else to hide, and everything will be well.”

That blasted betrothal announcement. The upper classes truly had no sense. Masquerading as a lady of the ton and confronting an arrogant duke with a blistering headache was the most asinine idea she’d heard. Not even her decision to run with the bulls in Pamplona had been as foolish as this.

“Would you like anything else from me, my lady?” she asked in a tone that clearly conveyed how ridiculous a request it was.

Cordelia narrowed her eyes. “Convince him not to tell anyone about how he came to be in this state. I would not survive that gossip, Adelaide. No man would want to marry a criminal. I’d be ostracized for the rest of my life.”

“Fine,” she said, relenting. “But once this is done, we are returning to London. You cannot run from consequences forever.”

“Excuse me, my lady.”

Cordelia turned, a smile on her face, and was about to respond when she caught herself, her smile freezing, and she took a deferential half step behind Adelaide.

“Yes?” Adelaide responded, rolling her eyes.

The woman in front of her stood tall and proud, soft gray wending its way through her chestnut hair, which was pulled back into neat and simple bun. Her dress was a well-made, conservative outfit that indicated a senior member of staff in a peer’s home. The woman curtsied, a gesture that sat ill with Adelaide. She was nothing but a lady’s maid. No one should show her such deference.

“I am the housekeeper at Strafford Abbey. Mrs. Hillston. I’m sorry to be meeting you in such circumstances. I’m certain His Grace would have rather introduced you to the staff in a proper manner.” She glanced over to where the doctor was instructing the young footmen, a laborer, and what looked to be a coachman as they transferred the duke onto a door that had been taken off its hinges.

“I appreciate you introducing yourself, Mrs. Hillston. It certainly is an unusual circumstance.” It wasn’t difficult to put on the soft affect of the upper classes. Mimicking her surroundings had been the key to surviving as she traveled on her own. In every city, she’d blended in, finding safety in being unremarkable, unmemorable, which was fine. She forgot others just as quickly as they forgot her. People were transient, momentary things.

Cordelia looked askance at Adelaide’s newfound accent but said nothing.

“The doctor said you can ride in the coach back to the house if you’re prepared to squeeze in beside them.”

Hell no. She would face the duke on Cordelia’s behalf, but she would do it with an open door in sight and a good ten feet between them. “Oh, I don’t think that’s— oof .” She stumbled forward as Cordelia jabbed her in the back. Adelaide shot her mistress a glare.

Cordelia simply smiled sweetly. “You should go, my lady. If the duke wakes, you’ll want to be the first thing he sees.”