Page 122 of The Captive Duke
“He’s a scheming bounder,” George hissed. “Beggin’ your ladyship’s pardon, but what Greendale was sayin’…”
“Hush, George. I need to think.”
George and John exchanged a look while Gilly’s mind whirled.
Marcushad conspired with that awful Frenchman?Marcushad tried to woo Helene from Christian’s side?Marcushad threatened Lucy into complete silence?
Marcus, who now had her and Lucy right under his paw.
“Gentlemen, I need your attention, and I need to get word to the stable to put my sidesaddle on Chesterton, and to saddle Damsel for Lucy. We’ll need a groom, too, and your greatest discretion.” She gave them instructions and prayed luck would be with her and with Christian.
For they would both need it.
Twenty
GERVAISESTONELEIGH EYED THE MISSIVE SITTINGon his mantel and wondered, not for the first time, if Mercia knew what he was about. A man facing a duel must make his arrangements, that was part of the common sense of the process, but most men facing duels hadn’t had their hands—their bodies, their minds—mangled by their opponent.
Which might give Mercia a tactical advantage, or it might put him at a practical disadvantage.
Or both.
A knock on the door of his library disturbed Stoneleigh’s evening solitude. “Enter.”
“Beg pardon, sir, but a female has come to the door, and she has a child with her. She says she’s a client.” The butler’s face betrayed nothing, not curiosity, disapproval, concern—nothing. Stoneleigh paid him handsome wages to say nothing as well.
“Bring them in.”
Gillian, Lady Greendale, followed the butler in, holding the hand of a golden-haired girl Stoneleigh would guess was about seven or eight years old.
“Hanscomb, a tray with both tea and chocolate, and close the door behind you. Lady Greendale, an unexpected pleasure.”
Another unexpected pleasure.
“I am sorry to impose,” she said, still clutching the child’s hand. “We’ve come up from Severn today, and I couldn’t find the colonel, and His Grace isn’t residing at the ducal town house, but Girard is going to kill him if we don’t warn him.”
A silence ensued while the countess caught her breath and Gervaise puzzled out the sense of her words.
“Perhaps the child might enjoy her chocolate in the kitchen?” Bad enough he was about to discuss a duel with a grown woman. In the child’s presence, such a thing could never be mentioned.
“Lucy stays with me.”
“I can talk,” the girl said. “I’m staying with Cousin Gilly.”
The silent child, then, the one Lady Greendale had despaired of, but silent no more.
“I am to host two damsels in distress,” Stoneleigh said. “Your duke is safe enough as we speak. I know this, for His Grace called on me, and I have some familiarity with his schedule. He will come to no harm tonight.”
He gave the lady a pointed look, and she nodded.
The tale that emerged over sandwiches and tea cakes would give Mercia nightmares for years, provided he lived to hear it, and provided His Grace’s other nightmares didn’t absorb his every sleeping hour. LadyGreendale tried to convey some of the story in adult code, only to be thwarted by the girl.
“Cousin Marcus loved my mama,” Lady Lucy volunteered at one point. “But Mama said he was an amusement to her. She told me that, but when she told Cousin Marcus, he grew very angry and said he’d risked everything he had so they could be together. Mama laughed at him, and I crept away.”
“You did the smart thing, then,” Stoneleigh said. “Have another tea cake. They promote sound sleep.”
Lady Greendale’s eyebrows rose, but she nonetheless selected a small raspberry-flavored cake for the girl. Her ladyship was tired, with shadows under her blue eyes and a drawn quality about her mouth. Haring up from Surrey with a child in tow and a would-be murderer likely in pursuit wouldn’t improve a lady’s appearance.
“I wasn’t smart enough,” the girl said, munching her tea cake. “Cousin Marcus knew I was there, and he said if I told one word—even one word—of what I knew, then terrible things would happen. Evan died, then Mama died, and then Papa didn’t come back. What could be more terrible than that?”
