Page 51 of The Scandalous Deal of the Scarred Lady
No matter. It was evident that the original agreement had tainted the situation they had now. He could only prove his devotion in his actions going forward from here, as he would likewise need to win her father if he expected to be granted her hand in marriage, especially given his penniless state.
And so, it was, he let the man sleep. And in the end, as the hour drew late, he wakened him as respectfully as possible.
“I was told to give this to you,” he said, handing over the folded paper when the man came to himself.
Barrington blustered, embarrassed by his unscheduled nap, and nearly waved the paper aside, but in the end, unfolded it, and read the few words inscribed within with widening eyes.
“Have you read this?” he asked, shaking the paper under James’s nose.
“No, Your Grace. I was told it was for you, and so the contents were none of my business,” James replied, perhaps a little more formally than was required, but feeling that to win the girl he must win the father, and the display of fine manners and good breeding would do well to put him in the old man’s graces.
“Harrumph.” Barrington read the note a second time. “Did you see who sent it?”
“I am afraid I have no knowledge of that. The young footman brought it in just moments after Miss Barlowe left. Perhaps she knows?”
Barrington’s entire countenance changed, going from puzzled to thoughtful to certain happiness in mere moments. “Yes, perhaps she does. Tell me, what hour is it?”
James eyed the wreckage of their luncheon, still not cleared away and eyed the servants who were peering more and more often from the doorway that led to the kitchen. “An hour before dinner, Your Grace. Maybe less.”
“An hour!” Barrington launched himself from his chair with such speed that the chair fell over backward with a crash against the floor. “I must…I have a matter to attend to.” With that, he left the room with more agility than James would have given him credit for had he not seen it with his own eyes.
James shook his head and followed more slowly, hearing behind him the excited hum of servants and the clatter of dishes as the table was finally cleared. Dinner would not be late in this household, he mused and realized that if he were perhaps a little more stern and strict in his expectations that he would have better luck in eating breakfast at the start of the day.
He was met in the hallway by Barrington’s own man. Antony. The man seemed most put out. “Your Grace, I am sorry to interrupt you, but a message has come to you from your home.”
“In this storm?” James turned to stare out the nearest window, trying to ascertain if the wind had let up any.
“A boy came, Alaric I think he was called. He said to inform you that your old governess has suffered a terrible fall and is calling for you. The doctor has been sent for, but the situation does not look good.” Antony cleared his throat awkwardly. “I am sorry I have had to tell you this way. Did you wish to send a return message?”
The words hit him like a blow. For a moment the room spun, and James thought he might be ill. He took a breath and then another. Lucy. Lucy who had raised him, dying? Surely it could not be so. She had been fine only that morning. “Tell him to stay put until the storm passes. I will…I must go myself…my carriage. If the horses can perhaps get through…”
Antony’s eyes were troubled. “Begging your Grace’s pardon, but it is hardly likely. The streets are nigh on impossible. You will not get a carriage through.”
“A horse then. If the Duke could lend me a steed…”
“The only one that would make it, Your Grace, would be his own personal mount.” Antony’s eyes were sympathetic.
“Then I must ask. I cannot…she raised me from a child. It would not be right…” His voice broke. No, there was no way he could possibly stay. Surely Helena would understand that he would return as soon as possible, that he would win her then. But in the meantime, this must…mustbe more important.
Mustn’t it?
“Where is the Duke now?”
Antony frowned a little. “I am unsure. If you could perhaps wait in the small parlor by the door, I will do what I can to arrange things for you.”
The small parlor felt like a prison. One footman had already run to fetch coat and gloves. He had talked to the boy from his own household and found out how grueling it had been to fight the storm on foot. There had been no other way to get there, and had the matter not been so urgent, he would have given up.
The boy’s tearful face though was what convinced him that the matter was urgent. The child loved Lucy, all the servants did, and the fact that he had been willing to brave the storm on her behalf told him that she must indeed be dying.
When Antony failed to return, James paced. Finally, he could bear it no longer. He would search every room in the house if need be. The sitting room. He would start there. With any luck, he would find someone else to ask. Perhaps Miss Barlowe or his beloved Helena would know.
Helena. I need to tell her myself that I need to leave. She will understand if I but take a moment to explain.
With that in mind, he headed for the sitting room.
Chapter 35
The girl had given her an unlikely opportunity. Phoebe rushed for the stairs, realizing how short time was. Pinned to the inside of her dress lay the brooch. She’d carried it with her since the Duke had bid her return it. Unable to bear parting with the pretty bauble, she’d kept it close to her skin since, terrified that if she left it in her room, a servant would discover it and bring it to the attention of her brother-in-law.
