Page 12 of Taken By the Dangerous Duke

“That is fine by us,” said James.

Eleanor nodded in agreement with her husband.

Margaret held it together as best she could. She tried not to show any emotion as she waited for the man to leave. As soon as he was gone, she ran to her room and cried more tears than she ever had before. Her life might as well be over.

CHAPTER5

The Great Escape

Margaret opened her eyes. She would not be able to sleep even if she tried, but she had been squinting to keep them partially open so she did not accidentally fall asleep and wake up in the morning. She lay there for a while and listened. An owl hooted in the distance, and the leaves were rustled by a slight breeze, but there were no sounds inside the house.

Still, she lay there and held her breath for as long as she could, really concentrating on the interior of the house, trying to hear the slightest noise. There was nothing. She took another deep breath and slowly got out of bed, moving as if her life depended on her being completely silent.

When she was out, she crouched down and pulled the pack from under the bed. It was a bag she had used as a child, and it still fit with the strap adjusted to sling over a shoulder. It was not large, and she had managed to pack as many practical items of clothing into it as possible, along with half a loaf of bread that she had taken from the kitchen when no one was looking.

She could not stay here. She could not marry that dreadful man. And she saw no way out except to escape and run away and never come back. Her parents would not help her, and she was afraid that things would only get worse if she refused to marry her father’s cousin.

Margaret slung the pack over her shoulder and picked up her boots. She would walk through the house barefoot to not make a noise, and put her boots on when she got outside. Then, it would be a short walk to hopefully where a horse would be waiting for her.

She had only got to the hallway outside her room when disaster struck. She knew the house like the back of her hand, and she could navigate it with only the moonlight for illumination, but she had forgotten about the pack on her back, and when she turned a little ways from her room, she knocked over the wooden sculpture that her father so loved.

“What the blast was that?” shouted James a moment later.

Margaret only had time to see the pistol protruding from her parent’s bedroom doorway before a hand grabbed her and pulled her back into a room. Another hand clamped over her mouth, and Margaret came face to face with the maid. The maid brought her finger to her lips before she let Margaret go. Margaret watched as the maid stepped quickly out into the hallway.

“Beggin’ your pardon, sir. I needed the bathroom is all, and I knocked over the statue of the panther.”

“Bleeding well gave me a heart attack,” said James. “If it is broken, it is coming out of your wages. Don’t know why I bother to pay you at all with the amount I feed you and the roof I put over your head.”

“I am very blessed, sir,” said the maid with a slight curtsey.

Margaret watched her from inside the small room—a room just big enough to fit a bed and a small trunk. Her father need only look into the room to see her standing there.

“Well, get it cleared up and back to your bed.”

“Yes, sir,” said the maid. She disappeared from view for a moment, and there was the muffled sound of the statue being replaced. Margaret held her breath until she saw the maid again, finally letting it out.

“I thought you were going to the bathroom,” noted James.

Margaret worried for a moment that her father was going to appear at the door.

“I forgot something, sir. Lady problems.”

James did not reply, but there was a sound of disgust from him, and receding footsteps and muttering came shortly after. The maid turned back to Margaret and held her finger to her lips. She held it there for what seemed like an eternity. Eventually, the maid removed her finger and took a deep breath. She held Margaret’s gaze, and a look of understanding passed between them.

Margaret could not be sure if the maid had seen her packing up throughout the day or if the nature of Margaret’s late-night wanderings was becoming obvious, but Margaret knew the maid was rooting for her to make an escape.

The maid pointed out of the door and pointed her finger to the left, and then down, and left again. She was instructing Margaret to go the opposite way down the hallway and use the staff stairs down to the kitchen, and escape out the back door. Margaret wondered why she did not think of doing that herself.

She was about to go, about to leave this place forever when she stopped in her tracks and turned back to the maid. She grabbed her and pulled her in, hugging the maid like she was a friend from childhood. The maid might not be her friend, but she had helped her more than anyone else ever had, and she had risked her life doing it.

Margaret held the maid for a moment more and almost thought about staying, just to be a companion to the overworked woman who was only a couple of years older than she was. But, it would not last. Gerald could be back at any time to take her, and the maid would be alone anyway. Better for one of them to escape.

I’ll come back for her, thought Margaret, knowing that it was unlikely she would ever see the maid again.

With that, Margaret let go of her savior and left the room. She took the route described by the gestures of the maid and left the house. When she was outside, she put on her boots and moved from the property as quickly as she dared, sticking to the shadows. The further she moved from the house, the more the shadows scared her. She was paranoid that someone would see her on the street and question what she was doing, perhaps take her back home to her father.

She needn’t have worried. There was no one out on the street. Margaret hoped that she had timed it right. When the moon was directly above, that is when they would meet, and she still had an hour to travel by foot.

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