Page 49 of Never Beguile a Duke
Scattered across the entranceway were jagged pieces of a smashed ebony entryway table mixed with porcelain vase shards and purple hyacinth petals. The wallpaper nearest the door, stained with large crimson splotches, dangled from the wall as though ripped off in a desperate attempt to escape the house.
If Miss Fernsby-Webb had been here visiting her mother instead of at his residence… His heart stopped.
“This should be reported to the parish constable,” Silas said, unable to tear his eyes from the disturbing remnants of Mrs. Webb’s harrowing attack. “Mr. Curtis cannot be allowed to escape punishment.”
“We’ll summon Mr. Hughes from your home,” Roxburghe replied, his voice unrecognizable as he took a step backward. “We need to leave. Immediately. Nora… the Webbs are in grave danger.”
“We’ve another problem,” Silas said as they sprinted through the snow-covered garden toward the street. “Your coach is still missing.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
WINIFRED
Bracing for pain, Winifred hooked her legs around Miss Juliette’s, tightened her grip, and rolled both their bodies off the runaway sled.
Winifred hit the icy ground with a grunt, her head striking the unforgiving surface. Black spots dancing through her vision, she released her hold on Miss Juliette and slid uncontrollably toward a thorny bush. Flinging out her arms, Winifred dragged her fingers through the snow in a herculean attempt to stop herself from crashing into the shrub.
It didn’t work.
Thorns grabbed at her clothing, scraping her skin through the layers of cloth as she sailed beneath the plant’s spiked boughs. One particularly cruel branch latched onto her chin and carved a shallow scratch from her jaw to her temple.
She came to a rest just beyond the bush as the sled slammed into the beech tree. A horrendous crack reverberated across the grounds. Drawing in a shaky breath, Winifred attempted to sit up but couldn’t gather the strength.
Miss Juliette’s upside-down face, creased with worry, appeared. “Did you break anything?”
“I don’t believe so.” Winifred winced as she wiggled her arms and legs. “Are you injured?”
“No.” Miss Juliette’s lower lip trembled, then she burst into tears and flung herself on top of Winifred. “It’s all my fault. We could have painted, but I was still angry with Father for forbidding me from playing Brag, and now, you look a fright.”
Sobbing, she buried her face in Winifred’s pelisse.
Winifred stroked a soft hand over the girl’s back, waiting until Juliette drew in a breath before saying, “A few scratches don’t make me a monster, do they?”
Miss Juliette pushed up, sniffed, and rubbed the back of her hand across her face. “Are you going to tell Father?”
“That I almost killed you?” Winifred forced a chuckle. “I’m certain I’ll need to recant the tale to him.”
“Then, he’ll probably forbid me from sledding as well,” Miss Juliette said, crawling backward off Winifred.
“Doubtful,” the Duke of Lennox said, dropping beside Winifred and offering Miss Juliette a kind smile. “If Beaufort says one negative thing about today’s incident, I’ll remind him that he was responsible for the accident that nearly took Miss Fernsby-Webb’s life several weeks ago, and she didn’t prohibit him from taking her on future sleigh rides.”
Eyes rounding to the size of saucers, Miss Juliette shifted her full attention to the Duke of Lennox. “Father caused an accident?”
“While racing.” The Duke of Lennox leaned closer to Miss Juliette and softened his tone as though he intended to impart a great secret. “Your father took a curve too quickly and caused the sleigh, which he and Miss Fernsby-Webb were racing in, to flip over. We had to dig them out of the snow.”
“However,” Winifred said, sitting up with the Duke of Lennox’s assistance, “he also covered me with his body before we crashed to prevent any harm from coming to me.”
“Just like you did?” Miss Juliette asked, indicating a large indentation in the snow, the exact spot that Winifred hit the ground, roughly five feet from the base of the beech tree.
“Exactly,” Winifred replied, glancing over at Miss Braddock as she dragged two sleds over.
“Based on your speed,”—Miss Braddock sank onto one of the toboggans—“I expected the sled to shatter, but there are only a few small scrapes across the front. Perhaps we should save our luck and return to the house.”
“Not yet,” Winifred said, a hard edge in her reply. “We have to go down the hill again.”
“Is that necessary?” The Duke of Lennox passed Winifred a handkerchief, which she pressed to the cut on the side of her face.
“I shall leave the decision to Miss Juliette.” Winifred struggled to her feet, with the Duke of Lennox’s assistance, then wrapped an arm over Juliette’s shoulders. “When I was your age, my mother married Nora’s father and moved us into his residence. Following the wedding, Nora fell ill, and my mother’s attention was diverted to Nora’s care. I was left to explore the house alone.”
