Page 36 of The Duke
“What are you doing here?” Kit crouched as he asked his question, lowering himself down to stare at Peterson.
Before the man could answer, Elsie brushed past him, and pulled from the butler’s unresisting hand, the cloth.
“What are you doing?” Kit asked in confusion as he watched Elsie lift the cloth up to her face and give it a tiny sniff, before hurriedly lowering it and shaking her head swiftly in an attempt to clear whatever she had smelt.
“Ugh.” She pulled a face at the smell, blinked several times, and then looked up at him. “It’s been dipped in a mixture—the cloth,” shesaid. “It’s got a dash of laudanum on it. I can smell that. My grandmother and her friends swore by it. There might be some camphor too, and perhaps some other herbs. I’m not sure about the rest.”
“He meant to…”
“I’m not certain.” Elsie threw the cloth onto the nearby table, her gesture clear that she did not want to be contaminated by it. “Flora just told me that she woke up and found him pressing it over her mouth.” A look of tender sympathy passed over Elsie’s face as she glanced back at Flora, and then in an undertone for Kit’s ears only, Elsie added, “She must have fought very hard at its strong smell.”
With a murderous feeling swelling in his chest, Kit reached out and pulled Peterson up by his collar. “Tell me what you were doing in here with that.”
“I—that is, Your Grace…” The man, who Kit had known for years, gave the appearance of someone else entirely as he shifted and squirmed under Kit’s gaze. His familiar features hardened as they struggled to form words.
“He’ll have trouble talking if you keep tightening your hold on his collar,” Elsie said. From her tone, Kit could tell she did not much care for the explanation that Peterson might give.
Reluctantly, Kit loosened his hold a fraction, and from hastily licked lips, Peterson said, “We—that is, I thought… The little miss—she is hysterical, and the medicine has helped in the past.” As he spoke, Peterson nodded to them earnestly, his rounded eyes bobbing between Kit and Elsie, desperate it seemed to be believed, before settling on Kit. “My lord—Your Grace, you know what she was like after your… after that crash. Screaming. Inconsolable. And?—”
“You have dosed her?” Elsie cut into what the butler planned to say next, her question sharp.
“It was only meant to help.” Peterson looked away from Kit and Elsie for the first time, out across the chamber, towards Florawho had sunk onto the carpet, holding on to Lancelot. “Tell him, my lady, you used to come to the kitchen and ask us for it.”
Fury that Peterson would dare to address Flora, after invading her bedroom and attempting to dose her, made Kit yank Peterson close to him. He stared into the older man’s face until Peterson closed his eyes in fear, unable to read what Kit was thinking. The ugly truth was that Kit was not just angry because of Peterson’s nerve in asking such a query, but that Flora would take such action on her own without telling him, that she would make such a choice and believe Kit to be better in his ignorance. How long had his little sister been taking such doses and in what quantity? “Be that as it may, what business had you to administer to her in her sleep? Quite clearly my sister did not desire another dose.”
“You should send for the magistrate.” Elsie had come to stand close to him, shielding Flora from looking at Peterson. “What if he…” She paused, and Kit realised she was trying to formulate words to express her fear that Peterson had done this before and all that could entail. “What if this is not the first time he has invaded her bedroom?”
“I’ve never, madam, come here before—only tonight after what happened with the ball, I thought Lady Flora would need it. She’s never been right in the head, not after what she saw and?—”
“Enough,” Kit spat out. He doubted whether he could trust the man, but it didn’t matter what Peterson swore. All that mattered was talking to Flora. After that, he would decide on the best course of action. Dropping the butler down to the ground, Kit grabbed up his abandoned pistol and handed it to Elsie. “Keep this pointed at him, and I will go and talk to my sister. If he moves, shoot him.”
Elsie accepted the weapon unquestioningly, it was over large in her small hands, and she sucked in a breath before assuming a position with the pistol angled towards Peterson.
“I…” For all his bustle and desire to speak, Peterson’s lips continued to move but no words came out until he finally slumped still.
Walking across the chamber, Kit felt the weight of his failings as an older sibling—the obligation he owed to his sister and how he had let her down. Kit realised he had been overly focused on what the curse meant—far more interested in what havoc his dead relatives might have wrought, rather than what Flora was enduring. No, instead he focused on what could have caused the crash. What act of vengeance could be inflicted on those who had wronged his family. Instead of caring for the last member of his family that he had left.
When he reached Flora, he leant close, folding her into his embrace. She came stiffly and with great reluctance, and Kit knew he didn’t have the right words to offer the safety she needed.
“Tell me what to do,” he said to Flora.
Finally, after what felt like forever, Flora said for his ears only, “Make him leave.”
Raising his eyes, he sought out Elsie. She stepped back away from Peterson and lowered the pistol. Her expression was so trusting, guilt twisted through his mind at how he had behaved towards her. To all extents and purposes, he had acted as badly as the relatives he always judged—making love to a young lady, who he was meant to safeguard, and was, he supposed, in his employ since he had offered her the role of the companion to Flora. And then refusing to even make her an offer. Elsie met his gaze, her expression sympathetic and if anything, that made the whole thing worse. The messy muddle of the business sprawled out before him as he watched her, wondering what course of action he might take to make matters simpler. And whether that could make either of them happy.
Peterson twitched, perhaps considering making a run for it again. Well at least Kit reasoned he could deal with him. Letting go of Flora, he moved closer to Peterson, taking up the pistol and weighing it consideringly.
“We want you gone,” Kit said, “and don’t ever consider trying to return to this estate or any of my other holdings. I will take great pleasure in wringing your neck if you do.” Then with quick strides, Kit moved over to the servants’ bell and pulled. When Flora’s maid arrived, he told the girl to fetch up Peterson’s belongings and three of the manservants.
“What about Mrs. Clarke, Your Grace?” The wide-eyed girl threw a confused look up at Kit. There was a nervous hesitation which Kit did not understand, but perhaps the poor maid was tired and confused by the scene before her, which must strike almost anyone as strange.
“What about her? I would imagine the woman is asleep. Let us keep it that way.” He could almost resent someone who might be able to slumber through the last few hours. Then again, he wouldn’t have missed the opportunity of being with Elsie for…
“I was just wondering, Your Grace, if she should be informed?”
“No, wait until morning. But fetch the men. I want Peterson escorted off my estate tonight.” He was pleased when the girl vanished and even happier to drag the butler to the door and, finally, out of his sister’s bedroom. When Peterson was pulled away by three of the servants, Kit watched him go before slipping back into Flora’s chamber. To his surprise, Flora was asleep, with Lancelot the dog curled up next to her, a thick blanket thrown over her shoulders, whilst Elsie was busy setting the chamber to rights.
Kit watched her, wanting to say something that captured the depth and range of his feelings, that lumbered uncomfortably and with no definition through him—the best he could sum it up as was rather like having an acute stomach-ache combined with the jovial side of being drunk—none of which any sensible, hell any woman, would wish to hear. It was hardly flattering, but no one had ever labelled Kit as charming, and being locked away in the depths of Cornwall hadn’t helped with that.
