Page 65 of A Duke Under Her Spell
“I will go,” Oliver volunteered attempting to rise from his bed.
“Oliver you cannot!” Betty rushed forward to ease him back onto his pillows.
“What I cannot do is stand by while the Duke and Marybeth are missing,” Oliver argued, refusing to lay back again. “I would never forgive myself if something nefarious befell them and I was not there to render them aid.”
“I feel much the same way, my boy,” Mr. Wheatly admitted. He was fretting, pacing the floor while anxiously ringing his hands.
“Neither one of you are in any fit state to be galloping about the forest,” Betty chastised, her hands on her hips. “I will not allow it.”
“Someone must go. If not Oliver and I, then who?” Mr. Wheatly asked in frustration. “Who else could be trusted explicitly with their safety and be discreet if it is not danger but romantic inclinations that keeps them hence.”
Oliver grinned at the butler’s words and comical expression as he spoke. “The latter being the preferable condition in which to find them.”
“Yes, but most indelicate,” Mr. Wheatly admonished.
Oliver attempted to stand once more to Betty’s dismay. This time he managed to stay upright while hanging on to the wall. “You are quite right, Mr. Wheatly. It would indeed be best if it were we and not another who found them, if such were the case. Perhaps we could employ the use of the small wheeled chariot that His Grace created for Her Grace when she felt strong enough to join him in riding?”
“Ah, yes! Perfect! I will go and speak with Her Grace about its use immediately.” Mr. Wheatly scrambled from the room in order to request permission.
“You should not be sojourning forth in your condition,” Betty argued. “I am sure that the Duke and Marybeth are quite well.”
“The Duke would have returned by now. Of that I have no doubt. Something has gone amiss and I cannot sit by and wait for answers. I must go and that is the end of it.”
Betty crossed her arms in a huff at his sharp tone and sat down in a chair in the corner. Oliver sighed and sat back down on the bed motioning for her to join him. Betty stood up and moved over to sit next to him. Oliver took her hand in his and kissed the back of it tenderly. Betty’s face softened and she interlaced her fingers with his.
“I am sorry,” he murmured wrapping his arm around her shoulder so that she might lay her head upon his chest. “I did not mean to be harsh with you, but I have made up my mind. These are two of the most important people in my life and I am not going to leave their safety to chance.”
“I understand, but you are the most important person to me, and it is only your safety that I am concerned with.”
Oliver smiled at her admittance and squeezed her shoulders affectionately. “I am glad to hear it,” he murmured bending his head to kiss her.
The sound of someone clearing their throat interrupted the tender moment. Oliver looked up to find Mr. Wheatly standing in the doorway averting his eyes to the ceiling. Oliver chuckled. “Yes, Mr. Wheatly?”
“The Dowager Duchess has given her consent for the use of her horse drawn wheeled chair.”
“Excellent,” Oliver attempted to stand back up with the aid of both Mr. Wheatly and Betty.
“I do not see how you can be of aid to anyone in the state that you are in,” Betty grumbled.
“I simply need to get my bearings and then all will be well,” Oliver insisted.
“Even so, I shall be going with you,” Mr. Wheatly replied.
“I will be glad of the company,” Oliver grunted as he attempted to walk across the room of his own accord without aid from either of them.
Mr. Wheatly offered a steadying hand to him as Oliver washed his body, then changed his clothes. It felt good to wash away the remains of his bedridden state and throw off the confining shackles of his bedroom. The pair of them made their way to the servants’ back entrance where a groomsman awaited them with a horse. Oliver crawled into the contraption that the Duke had made for his mother, while Mr. Wheatly climbed onto the seat behind him. Each man was armed with one of the Duke’s pistols.
“I feel as an invalid,” Oliver grumbled, frowning.
“You are an invalid,” Mr. Wheatly reminded him as he clucked to the horse and they took off toward the forest.
As they crossed over into the tree line, Oliver kept a wary eye out along the way for any sign of the Duke or Marybeth. He could not shake the feeling that something terrible had happened to them. His head pounded, blurring his vision and he blinked repeatedly in an effort to clear it. No amount of pain was going to keep him from finding them.
Scanning the forest floor, he noted the number of hoof prints in the dirt. The flash of metal caught his attention and he directed Mr. Wheatly over to the place in question. Climbing down, the butler picked up the shiny object and handed it to Oliver. “It appears to be the button to a gentleman’s jacket,” Mr. Wheatly observed. “I do not believe it to be the Duke’s, however, as it is not his style.”
“Indeed,” Oliver agreed, nodding his head. He looked around to see if there were any other signs of the Duke but found none. “Let us proceed to the croft.”
Agreeing, Mr. Wheatly climbed back up and they set off once more. The butler maneuvered the contraption through the trees with relative ease, however the ride jostled Oliver around quite a bit. He gritted his teeth and did his best to hold his head steady as they bounced along the forest floor. The closer they drew to the croft, the more his worry grew. He could not think of any reason other than the threat of life that would make Marybeth abandon his and the Dowager Duchess’s care.
