Page 41 of Taken By the Broken Duke
“Only that I desire to speak to her.”
“Very well.” Frances opened the door wide enough for herself to enter, then closed it behind her. Horatio paced the hallway outside the room for what felt like an eternity. He clasped his hands behind his back, fists clenching and unclenching. His mind roamed along multiple avenues of possible futures. Juliet crowded his thoughts most of all.
A liar and a fantasist? It did not seem credible. He didn’t want to believe it. Jane Bonel, a long-lost love wishing to rekindle their former romance? It did not seem credible either. Not as a possible future that he could entertain. Once, he would have ridden to Carlisle the moment he received Jane’s letter, and fallen to his knees before her door. Did he still want to do that? He could not tell.
The door opened again, and Frances exited through it. She looked somber, biting her lip, and peeking back at the closed door more than once.
“I am afraid she does not want to talk or receive you at the moment, Your Grace. She is in… no condition to receive guests.”
“What is wrong? Is she ill?” Horatio demanded, stepping towards the door, despite the taboo that bursting into a lady’s bedchamber represented.
Frances went as far as to put a hand against his chest, blocking his entrance.
“She is not unwell…physically,” she began carefully. “I think her ailment is of the head more than the body. I have seen her like this before, and it will not end well if you attempt to force the issue. The last time I saw her like this… well, my mother will not like me saying so, but Juliet needed time in a sanatorium before she recovered. It is a shameful secret of our family.”
Horatio frowned, searching Frances’ face for the truth. It was in such marked contrast to the Juliet he had met. It was true—Juliet had shown herself to be eccentric and refreshingly uncaring of social conventions. Such qualities were often described as madness. He could not bring himself to fully believe it.
“I will send for a physician at once,” he said.
“Better to leave Juliet to us, I beg of you,” Frances implored, stepping closer and placing her other hand on Horatio’s chest too.
She stood close enough to be kissed, fingertips pressed against his pectorals. But again, Horatio was unmoved. His thoughts were filled with Juliet and what suffering she might be going through. He cursed the social conventions that forbade him from entering her room, even though it was his property. While she was a guest, the rooms she had been given were her fortress. She could consider herself safe. As could Frances andLady Margaret. He growled in his throat, frustration twisting his insides.
“Very well,” he finally snapped. “Please inform me the moment Juliet seems ready to receive me.”
He spun away, halting when he saw Lady Margaret at the end of the hallway. She walked towards him, looking from him to her daughter.
“Do I find an inappropriate encounter taking place outside my very door?” she asked of Frances, eyes hard.
“No, Mama. Nothing of the sort. His Grace wished to speak to Juliet, but she is not answering,”
Lady Margaret’s glare softened and she looked to Horatio with something akin to compassion and regret. “I am sorry, Your Grace. Juliet is prone to these episodes. It was a reason that I did not suggest marriage to her as a solution to the scandal. I did not want to say so openly—for obvious reasons.”
Horatio looked between the two women, trying to read their impassive faces. If this was a lie, then they were well-rehearsed.
Frustrated, he turned away without another word. It was as he turned in the direction of the Red Study, seeking solitude for reflection, that he overheard two maids talking. The door of the room in which they worked was open, a sitting room in which hisguests had been taking tea. There came the clinking of cups and saucers being gathered and the sound of sweeping.
“She had her hood up and everything, but I thought to myself, what does the lady mean to be doing, going out when there’s a storm in the offing.”
“Maybe His Grace has laid on a carriage for her?”
“No, she was over the bridge and on her way into the woods when I caught sight of her. Not going to the stables at all. And that wasn’t the strangest thing. She stopped at the edge of the trees and crouched down. I thought to myself, whatever can she be doing? And then I saw a little rabbit running off. I think she was carrying it and had just let it go.”
“What was she doing with a rabbit of all things?”
“God knows. But I think she’d been carrying it from the castle. I thought there was a funny, musty kind of smell from her wardrobe. Didn’t want to say nothing at the time. Funny sort she was.”
Horatio stepped through the open door, seeing the two maids. One held a tray of tea things and she dropped into a hasty curtsy at the sight of him. The other was cleaning out the grate, crouching before the fireplace. She was the one speaking, because she carried on for a moment, before glancing over her shoulder and seeing Horatio. She hastily jumped to her feet, flushing bright red.
“Begging your pardon, Your Grace. I didn’t see you there.”
“Whom were you talking about just then?” Horatio asked.
“Why, one of your house guests, Your Grace. Miss Semphill,” the maid replied.
“When did you see her heading into the woods?”
“About two hours ago, Your Grace.”
