Page 65 of The Enigmatic Governess of Buford Manor
He pushed and grunted with the effort, looking back at Victor as if trying to think of how the horse might help but without pulleys, how could he?
Tears of frustration and pain iced upon his cheeks, but he refused to give up his relentless fight with the tree when suddenly, it budged ever so slightly.
Nicholas yelped in shock, jumping up as if he believed he had imagined it but when he did try again, the snow helped to shift the otherwise impossible obstacle off the duke’s crushed legs.
With supernatural strength, Nicholas slung his sturdy but stiff father over his shoulder and managed to prop him atop Victor. As he mounted the saddle at his father’s back, he dug his heels into the beast’s ribs and ordered him home.
“Oh, father,” he muttered, draping his body over the duke’s protectively. “I have failed you. I should have been here sooner, I should have been in your group.”
The regrets and shame sickened him and as they galloped toward Rosecliff, Victor suddenly surefooted and determined, Nicholas wondered how he would ever go on without his father’s guidance?
What will I tell mother? What will I tell Betsey and Harry?
Inexplicably, he thought of Rose and how she had also lost her parents. So young, left among orphans and so strong.
They are much braver than me. Rose, Betsey, Harry. I am not sure I can go on without him.
Yet Nicholas knew he must.
I never learned everything he wished for me to know. I cannot even stomach being in a hunting party with a man who is surly.
The most shocking understanding hit him in that moment and Nicholas gasped aloud, his fingers curling into his father’s arms.
I am the Duke of Buford now.
The notion would have been laughable if the situation was not so dire. He was to embrace his father’s place, to handle affairs of which he had only a vague understanding.
I will shame him! I am not ready for such a thing!
The emotions were conflicting and overwhelming, creating a shroud of haze over Nicholas. The cold had seeped into his soul like the fingers of death had grasped his father and the marquess was certain he would never again be warm, no matter if he stepped directly into hot coals.
“Oh father!” he bemoaned. “Why has this happened? Why have you forsaken us?”
He buried his frozen face into the duke’s back, inhaling the scent of his father’s pipe through the cloth but as they rode in silence, another foreign sensation began to seep into Nicholas’ body and he slowly rose.
How could they simply leave him there? There was no need for three men to leave him hurt and unattended. Why would they do such a cruel thing? They made no attempt to tend to his wounds. What in God’s name were they thinking?
He exhaled slowly as the distant lights of the manor appeared, candles flickering in every window and as he approached, his anger had taken over all else.
Again, he kicked into the horse and Victor sprinted the last feet toward the entranceway. Instantly, the door flew inward and Rose appeared, her face white with worry.
“Nicholas!” she choked, running toward him as he dismounted. “You – you – “
She burst into tears as she stopped before him.
“I was terribly worried,” she gasped, wiping her eyes. “Forgive me for being informal. Come, we have tea and hot stew for you.”
Nicholas barely heard her as he reached up to pull his father’s corpse from the horse. Rose screamed in surprise, not having seen it upon his arrival and her gloved hand flew to her mouth.
“Oh no…!” she whispered. “No!”
“Where are they?” Nicholas growled.
“Who, my lord?” Her blue eyes were shadowed with horror as she backed away from Nicholas as if to ward the scene away.
“Preston, Balfour and Peter.”
“Inside, Lord Buford.”
