Page 110 of The Enigmatic Governess of Buford Manor
“Please, Your Grace,” Rose begged. “You must listen to me. He is not the man he would have you believe. He is a – “
Before she could finish her thought, Balfour rushed toward her, seizing her arm as he tried to drag her from the ballroom.
“You will see Bedlam yet!” he promised as Rose struggled to free herself from his grasp.
“Unhand her, Balfour!”
All heads turned as Nicholas appeared on the balcony, his face gritty with dirt. At his side, his young cousins stood, filthy and determined as they stared down at him. Rose felt a deep sense of relief as she pulled away, sinking back into the crowd away from the captain’s deadly grip.
“Your Grace!” Balfour breathed, his voice barely audible. “You are feeling better.”
“Better?” Nicholas rasped. “Better than how you left me to perish in the pond, you mean?”
A roar of indignation rose through the room and Rose glanced at the duchess whose face had turned a ghastly shade of white by the accusation.
“I haven’t a clue what you mean!” the captain denied, inching toward the doorway but Theodore stood to block his path in a manner which Rose had never seen of the feeble servant. He seemed a formidable giant, his shoulders back as he loomed above the captain.
“You haven’t?” Nicholas laughed but there was no mirth in his tone. “Perhaps my cousins will enlighten you as they were the ones who found me, floating away to my death.”
The Arlingtons nodded in concession.
“Daniel?” the duchess gasped. “Is this true?”
“Of course not!” Balfour screamed. “He is as mad as his lover! They have been ill and – “
“We were never ill!” Rose cried out. “Look at our arms! You had us poisoned with laudanum!”
“Nonsense!”
Yet there was much less conviction in his words as he gazed about, his eyes resting on Rose with fury.
“You are a murderer, a bamboozler!” Nicholas yelled, spinning to rush toward the stairs, the cousins in tow.
“You murdered my husband and you murdered the late Duke of Buford,” Rose sighed. “Why? Why did you do it, Balfour?”
A combination of mania and rage lit the captain’s eyes.
“If your husband had paid me my due, none of this would have happened!” he howled. “But I did not murder him! It was a fight gone awry. He merely fell in a tussle and hit his head.”
“Yet you still needed to get paid,” Rose murmured, tears filling her eyes as she imagined how horrific were Philip’s last, dishonorable moments.
“Dead men cannot pay,” Balfour agreed, almost spitting the words. “I had hoped you would clear his debt but it was obvious that you hadn’t two pence to rub between you.”
“Why did you follow me here?” Rose moaned. “Why could you not walk away?”
It was not a question which required an answer; greed and pride had driven Balfour. Rose had only been a vessel for him to achieve what he desperately wanted—notoriety.
“You killed my father.”
Nicholas appeared between them, his jaw clenched as he blocked the captain from further looking upon Rose’s crestfallen face.
“I did not!” Balfour insisted but even as she peeked over the duke’s broad shoulder, Rose could see he lied.
“You did and for that you will hang.”
“You forget, Your Grace,” Balfour replied slyly, looking about until his eyes fell upon Peter Alderson who tried to fall away into nothingness. “I have witnesses who were with me that fateful night. Twas nothing more than a grievous accident.”
“Quite a coincidence,” Rose mumbled but Nicholas seemed prepared for his denial.
