Page 51 of The Risky Wager of a Masked Lady
There’s no time to think on that now, she reminded herself, brushing off her fear and racing towards the paddocks as fast as she could go, ignoring the throbbing in her injured leg.
After gathering as many wooden pails as she could carry, Marjorie returned to the great water trough beside the stable and began filling them quickly. She handed each one off to a stable hand, then stood at the ready to retrieve it and fill it again. More pails arrived as some of the younger lads returned from farther fields and store rooms, and she filled each of those in turn.
“You there,” Marjorie said to one of the smaller boys, “hurry to the house and tell them what’s happened. Go! Go to the kitchen and tell the housekeeper!”
While she continued to fill the buckets and pass them along, she ordered another lad, “Round up these horses and move them away from the stable! If the roof goes in, they’ll bolt in fear! Hurry, lead them two by two down to the race track and see that they don’t jump the fences!”
Grateful for something to do, the frightened boys were happy to obey anything that sounded like a useful order. They moved the horses away as quickly as the stable hands could get them outside. Slowly, the creatures emerged as black smoke billowed in plumes from the open double door. More smoke poured out of the stall windows as the wooden shutters went up in flames.
“That’s all of them, I believe,” Jacobs said breathlessly, wiping the black soot from his face with his sleeve. “Are all of the hands here? Everyone?”
The group of weary men looked around, taking note of each other. They nodded as they counted out. But Marjorie gasped, horrified.
“Where is Mr. Donohue?” she demanded, but no one answered. She looked to the door of the stable and hesitated for only a second before running into the fire.
Chapter 22
Gregory Balfour sat at his desk but the pages before him held no interest. His sister was still keeping up her ruse, seemingly amused by her game. She insisted to anyone who entered her apartments that her brother had tried to murder her. Thankfully not many of the staff would venture in without needing to, and those that did were well aware of whatever she was playing at.
Angeline had not sent word to him, though, and that was what worried him. He’d never held out so long as this whenever they’d quarreled, though it was always he who would be the one to be the peacemaker. He’d beg her forgiveness for whatever insult he’d caused, and she’d sniffle like an injured schoolgirl. It would take a few days for her to overcome her hurt, but then eventually she would speak to him again.
But not this time. Gregory was not playing the fool anymore. He knew what Angeline was up to, and he was having none of it. What troubled him, though, was how to be rid of her without word of her ludicrous story getting out.
In the pile of correspondence left for him by his butler, Gregory found the answer. The letter from Charles Acton, though unusual and even a bit untoward, provided the very avenue he needed to remove Angeline and send her straight back to France where she rightfully belonged.
Gregory was startled by a slight sound behind him. He turned to see his housekeeper standing just inside the doorway, her hand to her mouth as she cleared her throat.
“Mrs. Bancroft? Come in,” he said, gesturing for her to enter.
“Your Grace, may I have a word with you?” Mrs. Bancroft asked. The worried look on her face pained the Duke, as he knew she must have just come from attending to Angeline.
“Of course. Please, sit and tell me what troubles you?”
Mrs. Bancroft perched on the edge of a nearby chair, clearly uncomfortable at sitting in the presence of the Duke, and on his furniture no less. Her expression belied her composure though, and Gregory worried about what she might need to say.
“I’ve come once again from… upstairs,” she said, not even daring to speak Angeline’s name. “My Lord, she’s begged for the constable. She insists on continuing with this farce. I know she is not invalid because I carry her food myself, and I take away her laundry and linens personally. I’m in and out of her apartments all throughout the day, I hear her when she scurries back to her bed. How long will this continue?”
Gregory’s worried expression changed to a smile. He held up the letter he’d just been reading and said, “I don’t think it shall be a problem much longer.”
“How so, My Lord? If I may be so bold as to ask?” The housekeeper dabbed at a tear in the corner of her eye, but cleared her throat and resumed her resolved expression.
“I’ve received word that my marriage is to be much sooner than planned. If I marry in accordance with the wishes of my bride’s family, Angeline will have nothing to say in the matter. And unless she can explain a nearly-miraculous recovery—by tomorrow, that is—there will be nothing she can do to stop it.”
“Tomorrow, My Lord? Forgive me, but are you sure?” Mrs. Bancroft asked, already calculating the work it would require of the household.
“Quite sure. There’s no reason to delay, least of all when you’re my age!” he answered with a laugh. The housekeeper, though, was not amused.
“But is… is that the proper thing to do? Won’t people be perplexed, to say the least?”
The Duke waved his hand, unconcerned. “People will talk no matter what I do, given the ages between Lady Marjorie and myself. Of course, they will be willing to believe that our betrothal was somewhat longer than it truly was, and that her father avoided the announcement in the event that I… well, that I took ill or otherwise fail in my health.”
“Oh, do not even speak those words, My Lord,” Mrs. Bancroft cried with a caring smile. “Of course, whatever must be done I will see to it that the household is prepared.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Bancroft. But it shall be a simple matter of telling the right lady at our first official event together, and those words will spread throughout the ton. And once when the matter is finally resolved, there will be no further need of my sister here. She can pack her trunks and find her way to the next boat leaving port!”
The housekeeper startled at the familiarity with which the Duke spoke to her but said nothing. Instead, she asked, “My Lord, you seem eager to see her go, but truly? After all these years together? Surely you will miss her.”
“The only thing I will miss are the years I could have been living quite happily, I’m afraid. Her little game has opened my eyes to her true intentions… she has sought to prevent me from marrying in hopes that her idiot son will be my heir.”
