Page 54 of Never Beguile a Duke
“It really is no trouble, Your Grace,” Miss Fernsby-Webb said, gliding toward the fireplace and running her fingers over Juliette’s dress. “Unless you’re concerned about my abilities to care for your daughter. In which you should know that I’d never allow any harm to come to her.”
Juliette grabbed his hand and squeezed. “It’s the truth, Father. This very morning, Miss Fernsby-Webb flung herself off the sled to protect me as you had done for her when your sleigh flipped over.”
He didn’t recall sinking into the plush wingback chair near the fire, only that Juliette’s words knocked the breath from his lungs. He wasn’t certain if he was more worried for his daughter or Miss Fernsby-Webb.
Miss Fernsby-Webb knelt beside him. “It’s less worrisome than it sounds, Your Grace. The Duke of Mansfield fell off his sled as well.”
Silas snorted, lowering his hand from his forehead and catching a silent exchange between his daughter and Miss Fernsby-Webb.
“After which,” she continued, her eyes glowing fierce, “we slid down the hill again with no issue.”
“We even won!” Juliette clapped her hands together, then gasped as the realization of her admission crossed her face.
“Racing, Miss Fernsby-Webb?” Silas raised his eyebrows. “Was there a wager as well?”
She licked her lips. “For hair ribbons.”
His gaze flicked to the adornments tied at the bottom of Juliette’s plaits. “I find it difficult to believe the Duke of Mansfield possesses hair ribbons.”
Chewing her lower lip, Juliette inched over to Miss Fernsby-Webb.
“You’re correct,” Miss Fernsby-Webb said, patting Juliette’s shoulder and standing. “He does not, nor does the Duke of Lennox, who also participated. Each man gave a farthing with the explicit instruction that the coins would only be spent on ribbons.”
Tucking Juliette behind her body, Miss Fernsby-Webb lifted her chin as though daring him to argue. “And if you have a grievance regarding today’s activity, discuss it with me.”
“I have none,” he replied, raising his hands to defuse the hostility flowing toward him. “I would appreciate if you would answer my next question with the same candor.”
She swallowed, then nodded.
“Aside from dark hair and eyes, did your mother provide any additional details regarding Mr. Curtis?” Silas leaned forward, fixing her with a probing stare. “Was he a large man? A tall man? Did he stutter?”
“Unfortunately, Mother revealed nothing further regarding her attack.” Miss Fernsby-Webb gestured toward the corridor. “However, if you’d like to speak with her again, I’m certain Nora would approve of the distraction.”
Silas inclined his head. “Thank you for the suggestion and your assistance with Juliette today. I will see you both at dinner.”
He exited the chamber, closing the door behind him, took two steps, and froze when the door creaked open again. The scent of lemons crept into the corridor, and he knew, without turning, Miss Fernsby-Webb had followed him.
“Your Grace,” her tentative voice crawled over his shoulders. “I was hoping to speak with you privately for a moment.”
He spun, keeping a chaste distance between them. “Regarding?”
“Mr. Black.” She glanced back at the closed door, then strode down the hallway toward the servants’ staircase and waved her hand, calling him closer. “When I share this information with you, I expect you to answer a question of mine in return.”
That may not be the best idea…
“Agreed.”
“When speaking about the death of her mother with Miss Juliette, she revealed the reason no other person can recall meeting Mr. Black.” Miss Fernsby-Webb exhaled a deep breath. “Black was a moniker bestowed by Miss Juliette; she never learned his true name.”
It was as if his body had plunged into an icy lake.
“He could be a guest at this very moment!” Silas’ head twisted toward the main staircase at the opposite end of the house.
How would he protect Juliette from a nameless killer?
“If Mr. Black were here,” Miss Fernsby-Webb said, drawing Silas’ attention, “he would have had several opportunities to harm Juliette without anyone realizing.”
Her logic eased the iron vest crushing his lungs.
