Page 8 of A Masked Lady for Mr. Kenworthy
Thomas felt his cheeks flush, and he prayed the light was too dim for Rupert to see it. He shook his head, stepping past his partner and putting his hand on the door.
“As I said, I will explain later,” he grumbled.
He could hear Rupert scoff, but it was clear his friend did not want to remain in there any more than he did. Thomas eased the door to the study open, glancing along the aisle to ensure they were alone. Of course, he knew the young woman could be hiding somewhere from earlier, watching to see when he made his exit. But he decided to leave that to her. He and Rupert did not want to be spotted anywhere near Lord Turlington’s study.
As soon as they were both outside the study, Thomas reached to close the door. It was then that he spotted a key sticking out of the keyhole, and he stared at it in disbelief. How had he missed it when he entered the study? Perhaps he had been so stunned at finding the door unlocked that he had not been paying attention. Or, perhaps, that young woman had tried to lock him inside when she made her escape. In that moment, he felt certain that his earlier deduction was correct. That had, indeed, been the French spy Gabriella Dupont. No innocent young woman would have the key to a suspected criminal’s study. He also realized something else; his report to Rupert would not keep until the following morning. If he was correct about the woman’s identity, the information he had was far too important.
“Come, Rupert, let us get out of here,” he said, urgently leading his partner toward the front door of the manor. “I am ready to tell you everything that happened this evening now, after all.”
Chapter Six
Faye chewed her lip so hard, she nearly drew bloodas the carriage rolled along the road leading back to Welborn Manor. The coach was empty apart from her, as she and her mother no longer had any servants to act as a chaperone when she left her family’s home. Mayson did not carewhether such a bold act ruined her reputation. In fact, Faye suspected he found the notion of her being ruined amusing. But, in that moment, she was rather glad she was alone. She could not bear the curious, pondering eyes of anyone on her just then, not even one of her old trusted and beloved maids. Perhaps especially not them. She was terribly ashamed of her unladylike behavior that evening, and she would have hated the people she had grown up with, thinking of as her friends to see her acting in such an atrocious manner.
She had never intended to rob, harm, nor deceive the charming gentleman in the study. She always cared about others and tried to help people as much as she could. Her manners that evening were very different from those she had acquired from her mother, but she would do anything to save her.
There was something worse than the shame she felt, however. Her stomach twisted into knots as she imagined having to tell Mayson she had failed to fetch the journal as he had demanded. She did not need any more proof of the fact her cousin was involved in something far shadier and more sinister than she could ever have imagined. She had been afraid of him before that night. But now she had failed to get what he had sent her to Turlington Manor for, she knew that whatever he did would not be good. She did not yet know if he was capable of murder, though she had certainly seen real, cold-hearted, and evil intent in his eyes when he threatened her as he held that pistol in his hand.
She covered her face with her hands, wishing it could be simple to hide herself away from the world. Whatever Mayson was capable of, she knew without a doubt that worse was yet to come. And something told her that there could be fates worse than death. There was certainly something worse than having to tell her cousin she did not have the book. She would be forced to tell him why she had failed. And that would mean revealing to him that she had been seen poking around in the marquess’s study. At the very least, that made her some kind of liability, especially once people began to figure out she was related to him. He would surely wish to be rid of her then. And then, what would become of her mother? She uttered a cry of frustration, cursing the night, her current situation, and the man who had managed to catch her in the study. Of all nights, why did he have to enter the study then too?
For a moment, her thoughts took a different turn. She had been absolutely terrified when the man had stolen into the study and caught her there. She had realized three things instantly. The first was that if someone else was breaking into the marquess’s study, whatever was going on was beyond her realm of comprehension in terms of seediness. Second, that he was the man with whom she had danced. And thirdly, that she would have been in terrible trouble if the man had turned out to be violent and ruthless. But to her surprise, he had been anything but. He had even bowed to her, just as cordially as he had when he had asked her to dance. She felt a pang of guilt at having injured him, but she had reacted in a moment of panic. She had no idea what was happening or what she was doing, and all she could think of in the moment was that she needed to escape the study alive, for her mother’s sake.
Another thought occurred to her as the carriage turned to make its way up the short road leading to Welborn Manor. The mysterious man must have also been looking for something inside of Lord Turlington’s study. Could it have been the book for which she had been searching? Her intuition told her that it likely was. Even though she had no idea what the journal contained, it was clear it was important enough for people to want to steal it. Otherwise, she would have never found herself in the marquess’s study searching for it. What could possibly be so important that both her cousin and a strange, mysterious man wanted that book so much? Was Mayson trying to keep it out of the strange man’s hands?
Faye shook her head as the carriage stopped in front of her family’s home. She disembarked from the carriage, unsurprised to see that Huston was not waiting to see her inside safely. She was relieved, however. She was sure she would not have to contend with her cousin at once, as he would surely be waiting up to take the book from her. She would rather not deal with the valet, who always affected a mood of offended hauteur, as well as her infuriated cousin. But as she entered the manor, she quickly realized the entire house was completely quiet. She knew it was after midnight, but Mayson often sat up drinking and laughing boisterously with Huston until well past that time. She held her breath, slipping off her shoes and tucking them beneath her arm as she tiptoed toward the stairs. Her cousin was likely out for the evening, but if he was in his study, she wanted to slip past him undetected if possible.
She reached the top of the stairs, satisfied her cousin must not be home. With a sigh, she dropped her shoes inside the open door of her bedchambers. Then, she continued down the hall and to her mother’s room. The door was closed, and Faye knew t Mayson must have stopped in to speak to her mother before leaving for the evening. Her blood boiled at the thought. He would not have been so considerate as to let her know he was going out. He would have had something mean and cruel to say, something perhaps threatening, unless she had been sleeping. Perhaps he would have even woken her just to assert his dominance over her. Though her mother was a strong woman, she was too ill to have to deal with the likes of Mayson Winters.
Taking a deep breath, Faye reached to open the door. Before her hand touched the knob, she heard her mother begin coughing. The coughs sounded as though they were rattling her ribs, and her mother’s breath was rough and raspy. Faye felt as though her heart had been put into a vice as she listened, and she had to bite down hard on her bottom lip to keep herself from bursting into tears. What if Mayson really did cut her mother off from the medical care she needed? Would she ever be able to find a way to get her mother the help she must have?
Before she could let her emotions overwhelm her, Faye quickly turned the doorknob and entered the room. The dowager countess was holding a handkerchief to her face, waiting for her coughing spell to subside. She was sitting upright, though, which pleased Faye. Most often, her mother was lying down, unable to muster the strength to sit up. An empty food tray was on the other side of the bed, and it was apparent that she had been alone for many hours. Faye smiled warmly at her mother, who smiled back sheepishly over the now damp handkerchief in her hands.
“Hello, dearest,” she said, putting down the handkerchief and reaching for a cloth on the table beside her bed.
Faye grabbed the cloth first, dipping it in the basin of water that sat on top of the table and wringing it out before handing it to her mother. The dowager countess smiled gratefully as she took the cloth from her daughter’s hands.
She is so weak … she thought, touching her hair nervously.
“How are you feeling, Mother?” Faye asked as her mother wiped her hands and mouth with the cloth.
The dowager countess tried to widen her smile, but another fit of coughing claimed her. It was a brief one, but it seemed to exhaust her. When it was over, she collapsed back against her pillows.
Faye’s heart ached again as she reached out and took her mother’s cold, clammy hand. She gently squeezed it and gave her mother a sad smile.
“Do not worry, Mother,” she said. “I am working on getting you better medical care. I would do anything to see that you no longer have to suffer in this way.”
The dowager countess’s eyes grew dark, and her brow furrowed. She took a deep breath and opened her mouth as though there was something she was about to say to Faye. But before she could, one more terrible coughing fit claimed her, one worse than Faye had ever before witnessed. Faye sat frozen, certain her mother was about to die at that very moment. The spasms from the coughing violently wracked her mother’s frail shoulders, and Faye began to panic. However, after several long moments, the coughing, at last, began to subside. Faye patted her hand gently, then quickly rose to her feet, hurrying to fetch her a glass of water. She was glad to have something to keep her hands busy, if only for a few moments. It grew more difficult every day to see her mother’s deteriorating condition, and it became harder to hide her sadness from the ailing woman.
She took the water to her mother, forcing herself to keep her hands steady. The dowager countess reached for the glass gratefully, but it was clear to Faye that her mother could not hold it on her own. Faye helped her to drink, then she took the glass and placed it on the bedside table. As her mother settled back against her pillows once more, clearly exhausted by the coughing and the effort of taking a drink of water, Faye made a silent vow. She would do whatever it took to see that her mother received the best medical care. No matter what that meant.
Faye patted her mother’s hand again, smiling fondly down at her.
“Would you like me to stay a little while longer, Mother?” she asked.
Once more, the dowager countess looked as though she wanted to say something. But instead, she returned her daughter’s smile, shaking her head weakly.
“I am quite tired, darling,” she said. “I think I shall try to rest again now.”
Faye nodded, trying not to let her disappointment show. What had her mother been about to say? And why had she not just gone ahead and said it?
