Page 4 of Dukes for Dessert

“Change of plans. Take me …” Home? No. His valet, Fortescue, would fuss, and his housekeeper would try to bring him soup, like an invalid. Someone would send word to Hart, and Eleanor would corner him. Or his solicitor would pop by to discuss the grave charges, or Griffin would send his solicitors to threaten David.

London wouldn’t do, and neither would Hertfordshire. Scotland? No, too many Mackenzies in Scotland.

There was only one place in the world David could think to go, and he wasn’t certain of his welcome even there.

“To Shropshire,” he finished.

Hinch’s eye widened. “Guv? Ye want me to drive you all the way to Shropshire?”

“Yes. If we make a start, we’ll arrive early tomorrow morning.”

“But it’s me wife’s birthday.” The red-rimmed eye held pleading.

David heaved a sigh. “You’re right, Hinchie. I’m being selfish. Take me to a station and get me on a train heading west. Then do as you please.”

“Thank ye, guv.” Hinch vanished. The carriage jerked forward, nearly dislodging David from the seat, and made at a swift pace for Euston Station.

David had little recollection of the journey. He swayed in the first class carriage alone, finishing off his flask before a waiter helpfully brought him champagne. He had little to eat, as he doubted his ability to keep anything down.

The Shropshire hamlet he aimed for lay well south of Shrewsbury. David had to change trains several times, assisted onto the last, small chugging train by a stationmaster who more or less hoisted him aboard and dropped him into a seat.

By the time they reached the village three miles from David’s destination, he was well inebriated and mostly asleep. He vaguely remembered being escorted from the train and pushed onto a dogcart as he mumbled the direction.

The jolting, sickening cart finally halted then listed as the driver climbed down. “You’re here, guv.”

Here was very, very dark, and utterly cold. David had no recollection of what he was doing or where he’d been trying to reach.

Light shone in his face, and David cringed. The driver and another man who’d joined them hauled David out of the cart and to his feet, but David promptly collapsed as soon as they let him go.

He fell on wet paving stones with grass between them. The boots in front of him drew back, and a face bent toward him. The head was shaggy and a white noose encircled its neck. David flung up his hands, crying out.

“Good heavens,” a rumbling voice said, and the face resolved into one of comforting familiarity. The white noose, David realized, was the collar of a country vicar.

“Sanctuary,” David whispered.

The vicar stared at David for a time before he let out a sigh. “Help me get him inside,” he said to the driver.

The next memory David had after that was light.

Far too much light, pounding through his eyelids and searing at his temples. He groaned.

The sound was loud, and David cut it off. He lay for a long time in dire misery before he realized he was in a bed piled high with quilts, a rather comfortable one at that.

The bedroom was tiny, with whitewashed walls, the ceiling sloping abruptly down to the eaves. David discovered this fact when he sat up and banged his head on a roof beam. A window about four feet square let in the dazzling sunlight.

His coat and waistcoat had been removed, but not his trousers. He tried very hard to remember where he was and why he’d come here, but at the moment, all was a blur.

When he at last dragged himself from the bed, David couldn’t find his coat, but a dressing gown had been draped over a chair. Ah, well, the inhabitants of this house would have to take David as he came.

David struggled with the dressing gown, only managing to get one arm inside before he found the door to the bedroom and opened it. This led onto a landing, no other doors around it. If he hadn’t hesitated on the threshold, he’d have plunged straight down the stairs.

Recollection about where he was grew as he went down the staircase, its wood dark with time. At the bottom lay a whitewashed passage that ran the length of the cottage. If David remembered aright, this door led to a dining room. He didn’t particularly want food, but Dr. Pierson would have thick, strong coffee, and at the moment, it was all David craved.

He chose the correct door, stumbled into the room, and collapsed onto a chair on one side of the table, eyes closing. He slumped forward, forehead resting on the polished table, and let out another groan.

A hot beverage slid toward him. David could tell by the scent that curled into his nose that it was tea.

“Coffee,” he mumbled. “For the love of God.”

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