For how weak his limbs were, he forced his body to move.
Mrs. Plinton had been right. He was too weak. But no. He’d had to leave the Plintons’ farmhouse today. Had to set a frown that would last for days onto Mrs. Plinton’s kind face.
For all the Plintons’ generosity—for saving his life—he could never repay them.
That hadn’t stopped him from sending a request to his solicitor in Plymouth to have their farm bought outright and given them. No more rent to worry on or they could sell the farm and settle elsewhere, the cost of it affording them a comfortable life of leisure.
Though Mrs. Plinton would be hard-pressed to convince Mr. Plinton to stop working. That farm was in his bones, and Des knew they would be there until their dying breaths. At least now, the farm would be theirs.
The ache in his bones dragging his feet, Des stepped along the last line of trees and looked up at the side of Gatlong Hall.
He’d had no cause to approach this estate with wariness before. This time, he’d taken every precaution. He’d shaved. Mrs. Plinton had given him a haircut—so short he could have easily fit into a line of Wellington’s soldiers. Crisp, fresh clothing. His tailcoat sporting the latest high horizontal front cut and a waistcoat with the finest embroidery had been procured from the tailor in Buckland where he’d bought his horse.
He now looked the man he was. Not a disposable sailor to be shot.
Yet that wasn’t enough. Des was taking no chances this time. He had two pistols loaded and strapped under the sharp lines of his new coat. A dagger in each boot. One in a scabbard at his waist.
Anything to get Jules out of there. Whatever it took.
He’d gladly hold a pistol to Gatlong’s temple if that’s what became necessary.
Des strode out of the woods, stalking a hasty line through the shin deep snow to the front doors of Gatlong Hall. Before stopping, he’d circled the estate on his horse and determined this was the quickest way to and from the front door. At the angle opposite the long drive, he also knew he wouldn’t be seen approaching.
He’d hidden all of his weapons—best to not barge in with hostility if it wasn’t necessary—situations escalated far too quickly when blades and pistols were drawn.
Even if he hoped things would escalate.
He could barely move his right arm, yet he hoped to get a chance to drive a blade into one of the cowardly footmen that had shot him in the back. No matter how it would tear at his own wound.
But Jules was the most important thing. Extract her without blood if possible—without putting her in danger.
He reached the double front doors and banged on the knocker.
Footsteps shuffled slowly from within and the left door creaked open. The elderly butler—Mr. Charles—looked out at him.
“May I help you, sir?”
“I am here to speak with Lady Julianna.” Des set his tone imperious—not to be questioned.
Under his bushy grey eyebrows, the butler squinted. “Forgive me, do I know you, sir?”
“I am Desmond Phillips to speak with Lady Julianna.”
The wiry hairs of his eyebrows drew together, tangling, as he looked Des up and down. He opened the door farther. “You may wait in the drawing room.”
Des exhaled a breath. Right clothes, right demeanor opened almost any door. How had he forgotten that fact?
Mr. Charles showed him into the drawing room, the very same one he had been dragged from weeks ago.
The butler left him and Des walked over to the window that faced the front lawn of the estate, looking at the long winding gravel drive. Snow had held oddly to the ground this past month and an unusually heavy snowfall in the past days had added another layer to the lawn, the drive barely perceivable except for the tracks of a carriage and horses in it.
“Mr. Phillips.” The distinctive wheezing voice of Jules’s father filled the room behind him.
So the butler had recognized him and fetched her father first.
Des turned to Jules’s father, the line of his jaw set hard, his spine a steel rod. “I am here to speak with your daughter, my lord.”
Gatlong nodded, his thick hand going to his cheek, rubbing it as he sighed. “I imagine you are, since you are still alive.”