Page 54 of Disciplined by the Duke
Liz took a step towards her. The letter scraped against the delicate skin over her breast, making her flesh prickle where it touched. There was no way for the cook to hear the slight rustle of papers, but her heart thumped painfully just the same. “I thought I would go for a walk before I begin my day.”
Peggy paused, the knife in her hand sliced halfway into the pork.
Liz shifted on her feet. “I find the fresh air gives me energy.”
Peggy eyed her dubiously. “If you say so. Personally, I’ve never understood why some people choose to walk for enjoyment when it’s much nicer to sit down, get off your feet.” She laid the cut meat on a large griddle on the stove. Shaking the brazier so the charcoals rattled, she slid it underneath the grill. “But whatever works best for you.” She dried her hands on her apron. “I have noticed your color being much better these last few days. And your appetite is back.”
Liz stepped back, closer to the exit. The letter shifted beneath her stays, and her hand automatically flew towards it, pressing it flat against her breasts. Could Peggy see its outline beneath her gown? The rectangular wedge seemed so apparent to Liz, so damning. She forced her lips to stretch across her face. “I have been feeling better.” She took another step back. “I’ll be back shortly for breakfast, I’m sure.”
Peggy nodded, turning back to the sizzling meat. “Be sure to take a coat with you. It’s cold out and feels like rain.”
“I won’t be out long,” Liz said as she flew out the door, putting a wall between herself and the cook. She circled around the back of the long east wing of the house and headed off on a gravel path into a little wooded garden.
She had come across this trail on one of her excursions to mentally map the estate, and had immediately fallen in love with it. Instead of the manicured hedgerows of the east garden or the organized beds to the west of the building, each plant and flower laid out with military precision, this walk was softer, less controlled than the other gardens. Bushes crept outside their lines, an abundance of blooms spilling over into the narrow pathways. Large willow trees trailed flowering boughs so low at places one had to forge a path through the drooping branches. It was like entering another world, separate from the estate, no formalities, no pretense, only lush wildness.
She found her spot beside a small brook and sat on the cold slab of granite that made up a bench, a low wall of stone at her back. She shivered. Peggy was right. She should have brought a covering. The burble of water slipping over rock calmed her nerves as she drew the letter from her gown.
Why she’d decided to read the missive before giving it to Mr. Pike she wasn’t quite sure. She just knew that she needed to. There would be no excuses of ignorance for her action. If she read the contents she would have to own up to her full betrayal of Montague.
Sliding a nail under the broken seal, she opened the letter. It consisted of three pieces of folded paper, written by a cramped feminine hand. Liz squinted, trying to decipher the words. Morning was unfolding, but with a heavy cloud cover overhead the light was still poor enough to make reading difficult.
And then she wished she hadn’t been able to piece the words together.
What they said was too horrifying.
Because it wasn’t a shipment that Lord Westmore wanted to steal. It was secrets. And if she delivered this information to the earl she was guilty of treason.
She carefully refolded the letter. Swallowing back bile, Liz considered her options. Follow the plan and free her sister. If Westmore adhered to his promise.
If she did that she might be substituting one sister’s death in prison for another’s. Treason was a capital offense. And rightfully so. The information in her hands could get loyal subjects of the Crown killed. If she gave this to Westmore she would deserve death.
But it would save her sister. And if Westmore ever discovered she had found the letter but hadn’t delivered it to him both her and Amanda’s lives would be forfeit. One word from the earl to his judge and Amanda would be sentenced to hang. One note to Pike or a man like him and Liz would find herself as missing as Bob.
Liz fell to her knees and scrambled to the creek, barely making it before her stomach betrayed her. She hung her head over the shifting water, fingers digging into the soft loam, waiting for her insides to stop heaving. After splashing some cold water on her face, she crawled back to the stone wall.
The letter on the bench mocked her. Without a thought beyond the next five minutes, she tore a square from her thin petticoat and carefully wrapped it around the letter. Next, she dug moss out of a crevasse between two stones and hid the pages within, tamping the loose vegetation back into the crack as protection.
She couldn’t think what to do. Betray her sister or betray her country . . . and Montague. She gave a fleeting thought of asking Montague for help. He was a duke; he must have connections. But would he use them when he learned of her deception? Or would he have her tossed in Newgate next to her sister? Besides, the duke was an honorable man. He wouldn’t have a judge under his thumb. Even if Montague was willing to help, by the time he went through the proper channels her sister could be dead.
She wanted to scream, howl at the sky, but instead rose on shaky feet and backtracked towards Hartsworth. A distant rumble of thunder greeted her when she emerged from the garden.
The massive stone building towered in front of her. She didn’t know what she would do, but she couldn’t return to Montague’s home yet. She needed time to think of a solution. Think of something, anything.
She pointed her feet left, towards the open expanse of fields. Just another five minutes of walking and the answer would come to her. It had to.
* * *
Marcus held tight to Arabelle’s elbow with one hand and an umbrella with the other. He had never been so happy to hand a woman into a carriage as he was now. Not that his thoughts towards the woman hadn’t mellowed, but playing host to an overly energetic chit while he had a business and estates to manage, a spy to uncover, and a maid to avoid was one task too many.
“Monty, I’ll expect to see you when I’m in London. I’ll need you to help me make my suitors jealous. It’s the least you can do for me since I’m no longer to be your duchess.” She lifted her skirts and hopped over a puddle.
“The least I could do would be to do nothing.” He nodded at the footman to open the carriage door. “However, as we are old friends, I will assist you in deviling the bucks of London. When I have the time,” he hastily amended.
She paused on the first step. “It’s not deviling when I seek a betrothal. But that does give me some ideas for some sport we could have.”
With more force than proper, he pushed her onto her seat. “Our ideas of sport do not match. I will have to decline that invitation.”
She pouted, and leaned back in her seat with a smile. “I think you’re right. We would not have suited after all. My duke will not be so stuffy.”