Page 71 of A Feud with the Duke

“By heaven. You must be the lovely Lady Hathway that I have heard so much about. Please forgive my rudeness, my lady. Henry Gladwell, Earl of Rochester at your service.”

He bowed to her before returning his attention to Simon. Alice smiled faintly, feeling sick to her stomach. This man was the one who Simon had wished to introduce to her. Now that she was in his presence, all she could think was how he paled in comparison to Harold.

“Three men, led by this blackguard named Shepherd, attacked a traveler on the road. Beat him and half killed him. Fortunately, it happened en route to this house. I happened along the assault and had the advantage of surprise. I knocked one of them out cold with the shoulder of my horse, a trained charger. The other ran and the one I managed to capture was so intent on the murder of his victim that he didn’t see me coming up behind him. I rapped him over the head and tied him up, then sent for help from a nearby farm.”

Simon’s face had turned scarlet, then purple.

“Highwaymen? On my land?”

“Incompetent highwaymen. I think these three were more in the line of ruffians with an eye for the main chance. They got more than they bargained for.”

“Well, let’s see the rogue. He can be locked up in the stables until the militia can be summoned,” Simon said coldly.

“Who was the man they attacked?” Alice asked, feeling that an important part of the story had been overlooked in favor of revenge against the perpetrator. “And where is he now? Does he need medical attention?”

“The man is a high-ranking gentleman. That makes the crime so much worse. The Duke of Redwood,” Gladwell said.

Alice felt as though her vision narrowed, as though she saw the two men from the end of a long tunnel. Their voices reached her as a buzz, a conversation taking place a long way off. The words reverberated inside her head and she was dimly aware that Gladwell was looking at her, concern on his face.

Harold. He was on his way here and was attacked. Hurt. Half killed. That’s what he said. Half killed. I must go to him.

“Lady Hathway? Do you feel faint? You look quite pale,” Gladwell was saying.

Simon was halfway to the door, not looking back. Gladwell remained behind, one hand hovering near Alice’s elbow as though to support her should she need it.

“You said that Harold…that the Duke of Redwood was the man attacked?” Alice asked shakily.

Gladwell paused for a moment. “Yes. I knew him from my army days. From the war. Recognized him at once. They must have taken him by surprise. Such men couldn’t possibly have bested Colonel Clauder if he’d seen them coming.”

“Where? Where is he now?” Alice stammered.

“I took him to the house he has rented, Rosebank it is called. Not far from here. I left him there under the care of Mrs. Much, the wife of the farmer who lent me his cart and two of his sons as escorts for my prisoner. A physician has been sent for from Ardle Heath.”

“Is he well? I mean…will he live?” Alice asked.

She didn’t realize that she had grabbed Gladwell’s arm, holding it tightly. He looked down for a moment, then gave a sad smile.

“I believe so. Though he took quite a blow to the head. One can never be sure with such wounds,” he said gently.

“I must go to him,” Alice whispered, thinking aloud.

Gladwell sighed and nodded. “Yes. I suppose you must at that. Very well. You will allow me to escort you?”

Alice looked at him, suddenly reminded of his presence.

“That is not necessary…” she began.

Gladwell held up a hand. “Lady Hathway. One of those ruffians is still at large. I cannot let you go alone. Shepherd is tightly bound. He will cause no further trouble.”

Alice looked at him for a moment. Then she nodded.

“Very well. But we go at once.”

She started towards the door, not caring to wait for hat and coat to be brought. Then she stopped, looking at the open door. Through it, she could see Shepherd being hauled out of the cart by the Much boys. Simon stood before him, saying something.

“We will go out to the stables via the back door,” Alice said. “I don’t want to waste time arguing with Simon.”

Gladwell looked at Simon for a moment, frowning. Then he shrugged.

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