Page 44 of Never Beguile a Duke
Winifred grabbed the smallest greatcoat from the same rack and passed the garment to Miss Juliette, who seemed pleased by the idea of wearing attire three sizes too large.
“Mother slept through the night without incident,” Winifred replied, buttoning Miss Juliette’s coat, then retrieving a pelisse for herself. “And though I’m grateful for Miss Venning’s invaluable assistance, I shall feel much more at ease after His Grace returns with the doctor.”
She didn’t mention the second guest the Duke of Beaufort intended to transport back to his residence or how her heart raced when she imagined facing Mr. Hollingsworth for the first time since her arrest.
Grateful for the morning’s distraction, Winifred yanked open the front door and led the group through the snow to the stables. Upon entering the warm building, they discovered there were not enough sleds available to accommodate every person.
Before someone could excuse themselves, Miss Juliette said, “We should ride in pairs. I select Miss Fernsby-Webb as my partner.”
The Duke of Lennox selected Miss Braddock, leaving Miss Wilmington to ride with the Duke of Mansfield, and the six of them trekked south from the stables toward a large hill.
Dragging the heel of his boot across the top of the hill, the Duke of Lennox created a starting line in the snow, then he pointed at a wooden fence post, roughly ten feet beyond the base of the hill. “The sled that passes that post first is the winner.”
With Winifred holding the rear of the sled, Miss Juliette climbed onto the front, crossed her legs, and tucked her skirt beneath her feet, ensuring the material wouldn’t become entangled with the runners.
“When the Duke of Lennox yells to start,” Winifred said as she crawled onto the back of the sled and assumed the same seated position, “dig your hands into the snow and push forward; we’ll get an extra burst of speed.”
Miss Juliette nodded and curled forward, her fingers hovering over the ground.
“Go!” When the Duke of Lennox shouted, three toboggans tipped forward, sliding down the hill at an alarming rate.
Yanking the steering rope, Winifred maneuvered their sled into the lead, cutting off Miss Wilmington and the Duke of Mansfield. Behind them, Miss Wilmington screamed, her shriek followed by a muffled thud.
Winifred peeked over her shoulder, discovering Miss Wilmington and the Duke of Mansfield tangled together near the top of the hill, their riderless toboggan heading for the back of Miss Braddock and the Duke of Lennox’s sled.
“Watch out!” Winifred waved her arms, attempting to garner the Duke of Lennox’s attention.
He twisted around, swore, and jerked the rope, steering himself and Miss Braddock out of the path of the runaway sled and into a small snowbank, burying the front end of their toboggan.
“We won!” Miss Juliette said, glancing back and clapping her gloved hands together. “I knew you were the correct partner to select.”
One of their runners struck a buried rock, sending them careening toward a large grove of beech trees. Winifred grabbed Miss Juliette to keep her from falling when the sled picked up speed. As she struggled to maintain their balance, Winifred reached for the toboggan's steering mechanism, but her fingers found only air.
“Where’s the rope?” Winifred’s hands frantically searched for the cable. “We need to turn before we get closer to those trees.”
“I don’t know.” Miss Juliette’s voice cracked as the sled’s momentum increased, the curved front of the toboggan aiming for the base of an ancient beech. “What do we do?”
Winifred wrapped her arms around Miss Juliette and hugged the young girl tight against her body. “If we strike one of those trees, you’ll be gravely injured, and your father would never forgive me for allowing any harm to come to you… Therefore, I’m going to hurt myself.”
CHAPTER TEN
SILAS MORTON, DUKE OF BEAUFORT
Mr. Younge’s braying cackle smacked into Silas. “If you’d like to try your fortune with one of these other unfortunate souls, Your Grace, I’m certain one of them would show you the gratitude you deserve.”
Three covered heads twisted toward Mr. Younge.
Silas couldn’t see the criminals’ faces beneath the cloth sacks, but he could imagine the pitiful expressions gracing each visage.
“Would you consider any of those men worthy of redemption?” he asked, glancing at Roxburghe, who appeared torn between chasing down Mr. Hollingsworth and hearing Mr. Younge’s answer.
Mr. Younge’s dark eyes flicked to the prisoners. “Given the choice, I would have hung Mr. Hollingsworth; four heads are better than three.”
Eyes narrowing, Roxburghe took a step toward the platform. “Even the innocent ones?”
“Mr. Hollingsworth may not have committed this crime, but he’s a guilty man.” Mr. Younge nodded toward the empty noose. “I’ve held this position for quite some time, Your Grace. Only the guilty sleep on their first night.”
Placing a restraining hand on Roxburghe’s shoulder, Silas said, “Neither of us is carrying enough funds to free three additional men, and neither of us wants to face an angry mob after robbing them of their afternoon’s enjoyment. I suggest we follow Mr. Hollingsworth and allow Mr. Younge to carry on with his duties.”
