Page 63 of The Risky Wager of a Masked Lady
“I believe so. I took him myself in the carriage, and I know the way if you wish to go.”
“Please, you must take us to him at once! It is the most urgent matter!” she pleaded.
“Of course, My Lady. I’ll just take up these dishes—”
“There’s no time! We must depart right now!” Marjorie pulled Harriet to her feet and headed for the door, leaving Roberts nothing to do but follow in her steps.
Outside, they climbed into the open carriage and waited as the driver readied the horses, Marjorie clenching her fist tightly as the minutes ticked by. Finally, they departed, and not a moment too soon for her liking.
As they bumped along the cobblestones, Marjorie thought about what she would say to her father. Perhaps she had not truly believed they would be able to reach him in time for she realized she had no notion of how to begin. Should she reveal what she knew of his accusations? Give him a chance to repent and explain? Persuade him to sway this course of destruction he was on?
It mattered not anymore, for they were finally arrived… at the London home of the Earl of Lanercost.
“I don’t understand. Why are we here?” Marjorie asked Roberts, who only shrugged his shoulders.
“Beggin yer pardon, My Lady, but you said to take you to where his lordship went. And here we are!”
“Mr. Roberts, I thought he was meeting with some officials?” she asked.
“That’s what he told me, My Lady. Perhaps he had some other business to attend to here first?” he suggested.
“Or perhaps he had a change of heart? Oh Marjorie, dare we hope that is true?” Harriet cried. Marjorie only frowned, trying to make sense of it all.
“I cannot know that, but I do intend to find out,” Marjorie answered firmly. “There is only one way to uncover the truth. Mr. Roberts, let us enter through the gate and be announced properly.”
* * *
“What is going on here?” a woman’s shrill voice cried out. The Duchess of Lasconia eyed the procession of servants who entered her room without announcing themselves, then clutched the bedcovers to her chest. Mrs. Bancroft was the last to enter, and she turned to look at the Duchess with a frown.
“Your Grace,” she began in a very formal tone, “the Duke of Fenworth has dispatched all of the servants of the household to attend to the duties at present.”
“What duties? I was not informed of this!” she screamed. Mrs. Bancroft was unfazed.
“The duty of packing your belongings and carrying you to the port where a ship awaits to return you to Lasconia… today.” Mrs. Bancroft folded her hands in front of her and waited for the inevitable torrent of screaming that was sure to unfold.
“This is nonsense! And I will see every last one of you put out of this household for your insolence!” the Duchess cried. “To think that you could play so carelessly with an invalid woman—”
“Ah yes, thank you for reminding me,” Mrs. Bancroft said, smiling benevolently. “I’d quite nearly forgotten that you’re an invalid, despite the fact that I must feed you, bathe you, dress you, and empty your bed pot several times a day. Fortunately, with all of the coming and going I must do in these chambers, I’ve happened to see you walking about quite well on several occasions. Your recovery is nothing short of a miracle, Your Grace.”
The Duchess was silent for once, aware that her own plot had managed to snare her too. In light of this new understanding, she resorted to her time-honored tactic of wailing like a forlorn child.
“Hurry up!” Mrs. Bancroft said to the servants, ignoring the shrieks and cries. “These trunks must be packed by noontime so that they can be transported to the port. You there, be sure to leave out at least one dress for Her Grace to wear as she vacates this house once and for all.”
The Duchess of Lasconia had another tool to wield, one of outright bribery. Ignoring her supposed condition, she scrambled from the bed and grasped Mrs. Bancroft by the shoulders.
“Please. I can pay you. I can make it worth your while to ignore my idiot brother’s orders and come to your senses!” she said urgently, a look very much like one who’s gone mad coloring her face.
“No, thank you, Your Grace. I assure you that my employer is far from being an idiot. If there is any fault in him, it is only that he tolerated your presence all these years, something that I’m pleased to say will no longer be a problem.”
“You can’t do this!” the Duchess screamed, stamping her foot. “When my brother hears of this treatment—”
“Your brother is not here, Your Grace,” Mrs. Bancroft explained, “and he is not expected back any time before your ship will arrive back in France. He did, however, leave very explicit instructions that you are to be packed and gone… in writing, I should add. Would you care to read it?”
Mrs. Bancroft reached into the pocket of her apron and retrieved a folded note. She held it out to the Duchess, who only screamed again before slapping the offending paper out of the woman’s hand.
“I’m not going anywhere!” she screamed. “There is none among you who can make me!”
“Oh, but you are,” Mrs. Bancroft added in a low, threatening voice. “You can walk out of here on your own rather healthy legs, or you can be carried by the Duke’s guards after being bound in ropes. Either way you choose is fine with me, but you are leaving this house today.”
