Page 58 of A Duke Under Her Spell
“I am not a witch,” Marybeth argued before she could stop herself. The Earl raised his hand and struck her across the face, sending her spinning to the floor.
“You will tell the Duke that you have changed your mind about him and his mother. You will refuse to help either of them any more from this night forward. You will do so in a way that breaks the Duke’s heart. You will do so in a way that makes him loathe the very thought of you. You will leave immediately, and you will never return. If I ever see you step foot here or at Arkley Hall ever again I will kill you and I will kill the Duke.”
“No! I will go to the magistrate and report you!”
“And I will tell them that you are poisoning the Dowager Duchess.”
“I would never!”
“They do not know that. To them you are just a witch from the forest. Who do you think they will believe, you or a peer of the realm?”
“I will not let you do this!”
“You have no choice. Now go and pack your things. The Duke must have no doubts as to your intentions. He must not be given false hope that you will return.” The Earl of Bredon grabbed her up by the arm and hauled her up the stairs to her room. “And get out of those clothes. You are not worthy of a noble lady’s silk.” The Earl jerked at her fastenings nearly ripping the silk in the process. He pulled his sister into the room and made her stand guard. “Make sure she does as she is instructed. I will be just outside the door.”
The Earl left the room and shut the door behind him. Lady Cordelia stepped forward and helped Marybeth the rest of the way out of her dress. “I am sorry,” she whispered. “I did not mean for this to happen.”
Marybeth refused to speak. She was so angry she did not trust herself to say anything. Instead she shed the lovely purple dress and pulled on her everyday frock. Packing her few belongings into her medicinal bag, she turned ready to leave the townhouse, Bath, and all things pertaining to the nobility behind. When she opened the door, she found the Earl standing watch just as he had warned. Grabbing her by the arm, he dragged her back down to the library where he forced her to write a letter saying goodbye.
“Make it hurt,” he ordered as he stood over her watching her every move.
Marybeth picked up the quill and began writing. By the time she was done she was in tears. She had never felt so low in all her life. “God will punish you for this,” she whispered to the Earl and was silenced by the back of his hand striking her across the face.
“Get out,” he seethed, and then physically tossed her out into the street.
Marybeth fell, skinning her hands and knees on the cobblestones. Sobbing, she picked herself up from the ground, hefted her bag over her shoulder, then began walking. She walked until dawn, scared and sore. When she thought she could not take another step a farmer passed in his wagon. Stopping, the farmer asked her if she needed a ride and Marybeth gratefully accepted. “I am on my way to London. Where are you headed?”
“Arkley Forest,” Marybeth answered climbing aboard the wagon and taking a seat next to the farmer’s dog.
“I drive right past there on my way to the market. I would be glad to take you the rest of the way.” The farmer appeared to be a kind older man and so Marybeth accepted.
“Yes, thank you.”
“You look tired. You may lie down upon the sacks of potatoes in the back of the wagon if you wish. I have been known to do so myself from time to time and find them to be tolerably comfortable.”
“Thank you. You are most kind.”
“Not at all. You remind me of my own dear sweet Peg, God rest her.” The man glanced up at the sky as if he were directly conversing with the deity in question.
“Peg?”
“My daughter. She died of pneumonia when she was about your age.”
“I am most sorrowful for your loss,” Marybeth commiserated. “I just recently lost my grandmother. Is your wife still living?”
“No, she died shortly after our Peg. Your parents?” the farmer asked. Marybeth shook her head in answer. “’Tis sorry I am to hear it, lass. We make quite a pair of sad ones do we not,” he noted companionably.
“I suppose we do,” she agreed.
After everything that she had been through it felt good to talk to someone so kind and amiable. Taking the farmer’s advice, she crawled back into the wagon and laid down upon the stack of potato sacks. The farmer’s dog, a border collie, crawled back and laid down beside her as if it could sense her pain and wished to ease it by its presence. Marybeth wrapped her arms around the dog burying her face in his fur and allowed herself to drift to sleep. Her last thought was of Felix.
* * *
Felix returned to the townhouse exhausted but determined in what was to be his next course of action. He had decided to declare his love to Marybeth and seek her hand in marriage if she would have him after the fool he had been. Knowing how such a decision would affect his mother’s sensibilities he determined to make it right with her first before speaking with Marybeth.
After entering the house, he climbed the stairs up to his mother’s bedchamber and opened the door. He found her sitting up, tears streaming down her face, clutching a piece of ink stained paper. “What is it, Mother?” he asked rushing forward to take her hand in his. “What has happened?”
“She has left us,” his mother sobbed.
