The Reluctant Duchess (31 page)

Richard
headed for the stairs but he was so breathless by now, that it was all he could do to drag himself up them, although he longed to run. Three rooms ran off the upper hallway but only one had a bolt affixed to the outside. Richard approached that door, drew the bolt back and pushed the door open with as much energy as he could muster.

He
could just make out two figures on the bed, clinging to each other as though for dear life.

“Anna?” he rasped, falling to his knees, unable to go any further. “Mama.”

Before he knew it, they were at his side, helping him to his feet and over to the bed where he sat on the edge whilst he got his breath back. He still had his wits about him though, and noticed that Annabelle was very protective of her left side.

“Did he… hurt you?”
Richard managed to ask, although it caused him to cough a little.

“No, we’re fine.” Annabelle assured him.

“You don’t… seem fine.”

“Just a bruise I’m sure.”

The women sat on either side him, their arms around him.

“I’m so sorry, Richard,” Annabelle sobbed. “I was so worried that I wouldn’t get the chance to say sorry to you or to tell you how much I love you. I'm so sorry.”

“Ssh,” he soothed. “There’s plenty of time for that.”

The Captain came in a few moments later.

“They’re all dead,” he said. “I’ve sent a man to the hall to get a carriage for you ladies, but you might be more comfortable waiting downstairs. At least there’s a warm fire there.”

Once he recovered his breath,
Richard made it downstairs with minimal help and he noticed that Annabelle was having trouble, so he turned to offer her his hand for the final few steps. As he turned however he noticed that there were now three dead bodies in the corner of the room.

“What happe
ned to the man with the red kerchief?” he asked.

“What man?”
asked the soldier, who had just dumped the third body there.

“When we came in there were two kidnappers and two dead bodies in the corner.
One of the dead bodies still had a red kerchief over the lower half of his face.”

“
He must have been playing possum and slipped out when he had the chance.” The Captain deduced, having heard the exchange. He turned to his men. “Search the house and surrounding area, I want the fourth man found, got it?”

The soldiers filed out to follow their orders.

After fifteen minutes by the warm fire, all Annabelle really wanted to do was go to sleep for a week. She’d had hardy any sleep the night before, as well as being more than a little anxious all day, but people kept insisting on keeping her awake. First she had to wait for the carriage to take her back to the Hall, then for the local doctor to arrive, who thought her ribs were bruised but not broken. He insisted on giving her some laudanum to help her sleep, which didn’t help her fight the drowsiness but did wonders for the pain. When that was over with, the servants and Lavinia insisted that she take a bath and she had to admit that afterwards, she felt better, as if she had washed some of the ordeal off her. Finally she was dressed in a night gown and led to her bedroom.

By this time she felt dead on her f
eet, but she had just enough awareness left to snuggle closer when a weight got into the bed beside her, although her eyes never opened.

Annabelle awoke to find herself
wrapped in Richard’s warm embrace and for a moment, she wondered if everything that had happened recently had just been one long, bad dream. She snuggled in closer, unwilling to face reality just yet but the sharp pain in her side as she moved, meant that reality clearly had other ideas.

“Are you all right?” she heard Richard ask
, and she realised that she must have hissed in pain.

Reluctantly she
opened her eyes and turned her head, keeping the rest of her as body still as possible. She smiled up at him.

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?” his brow creased in confusion.

“Everything. What I said to you, leaving you when you were unwell, getting your mother kidnapped-“

“Ssh,” he said, wrapping her a little tighter in his arms. “That’s all in the past now and nothing that Frederick did was ever your fault.”

“How is Lavinia?”

“Better than you are,” he assured her, his fingers skimming the ugly bruise on the left side of her jaw. “The doctor said that you had a lot of bruising on your ribs and stomach.”

Annabelle nodded. “I fell, then I got punched.”

“Can I see?”

Annabelle hesitated for a fraction of a second, then realised that he’d seen her naked
many times before, so modesty now was slightly redundant. She nodded her agreement and lay back, allowing him to move down the bed and lift the front of her nightgown. Thankfully it was rather voluminous, allowing him to raise it up as far as her breasts without her needing to move.

His expression grew pained as he saw the dark purple bruises, over her stomach and the left side of her ribs.
He lowered his head and gently kissed the offending bruises, careful not to apply too much pressure. His lips travelled from her stomach, over her ribs but he stopped short at her breast, fearful of turning either of them on too much. When he heard her give a small, breathy sigh, he decided that he had gone as far as he dared right now and pulled her nightgown down, as he crawled up her body. He was surprised to see that her expression was pained.

“Don’t you want me anymore?” she asked

His fear that he may have hurt her fled and he smiled warmly.

“More than words can say, but I can’t hurt you. As much as it
aggrieves me, we will just have to settle for hugs and kisses for a time.”

“I can live with that, as long as you forgive me.”

“Always,” he assured her, stealing a quick kiss, then his expression fell. “But now I’m afraid that I have some bad news.”

Annabelle steeled herself to hear it and nodded.

“Frederick is dead,” he said. Her expression was inscrutable, so he couldn’t tell how the news made her feel. He was her brother, after all, so it was more than possible that she could have some lingering affection for him. “He was shot by the men who collected the ransom with him.”

“The ringleader told us that
was the plan,” she admitted. “They were going to kill us as well and pin the blame on Frederick.”

“You aren’t upset?”

Annabelle shook her head. “Mostly I feel relieved. I never really knew him as a brother, but I do feel a little sad that he wasted his life.”

“As his only living relative, all this is yours now,” he said. “You can be the lady of the manor.”

“I don’t think I want it,” she said. She had very few happy memories of this house and those she did have mostly involved her mother which, given their current relationship, only made her sad.

“Then sell it
. I have to admit, there would be a lot of work to do if you did keep it. Frederick has let a lot of it go to rack and ruin, especially the estate farms. He also has a lot of debts so even after the sale, you might not be left with much.”

“I’ll sell,” she said. “I want nothing that was
Frederick’s, so I don’t care if there is no money left over.”

Richard kissed her softly again, then reluctantly pulled away.

“We should probably get dressed,” he said. “One of the servants found some clean gowns for you, probably things you left here but there is no lady’s maid in residence, so you’ll just have to put up with me.”

Annabelle smiled.

Richard helped her wash her hair, then dress in a very simple gown which was more in keeping with fashions 20 years ago than modern ones. It was a good thing though, as he didn’t think that Annabelle could handle anything too tight at the moment, let alone corsetry.

He tried to press some laudanum on her but she refused, disliking the way it made her feel. He reminded her of how she had pressed the stuff on him after the fire and reluctantly, she agreed to take a few drops
.

By the time they made their way downstairs, his mother was taking breakfast with the Captain and the detectives.
Richard seated Annabelle, then got her food for her from the warming plates on the sideboard.

She thanked him and listened to Lavinia recount
their story as she ate.

“You were both very brave,” the Captain said, including Annabelle in that statement. “You made our job much easier by killing one and hurting the others.

“That was all Lavinia, I’m afraid,” Annabelle said. “She is a good shot.”

“Nonsense,” Lavinia declared. “Your job
was to distract them and you were in far more danger than I was. I may be a reasonable shot but I’m not sure I could have offered myself up as a distraction. Speaking of which, how are your ribs this morning?”

“Sore,” Annabelle admitted.
“But at least we’re alive.”

“Indeed,” Lavinia agreed.

“Did they catch anyone?” Annabelle asked.

“One,” Richard admitted somewhat hesitantly. “He told us where you were. One also escaped,” he admitted. “We think it was the ringleader, Old John.”

“My men are still combing the woods,” the Captain tried to explain. “We won’t let him get away.”

Annabelle nodded her understanding but she was in no mood for polite conversation.

After breakfast, she excused herself and slowly walked the rooms of the lower floor. Richard accompanied her but he didn’t pressure her to talk. Silently they walked through the parlour, the drawing room and the destroyed library. Annabelle had a destination in mind though, a portrait of her mother that hung over the fireplace in the library.

Richard could see that the woman Evelina Wyatt had been was a far cry from the person he’d met all those weeks ago. She was young in the portrait, no older than 20 and although he wouldn’t have believed it possible, even more beautiful than her daughter. Evelina’s beauty was ephemeral though and he couldn’t see this woman standing up to him as her daughter had. In fact, she looked
as though a strong breeze might blow her away.

He looked to Annabelle, who had tears shining in her eyes; her fist was clasped near her neckline, almost as if she was holding the pendant that she used to wear.

Richard rested a hand on her shoulder, offering silent comfort. She put her hand over his and she turned her head to smile at him, then went back to looking at the portrait. Finally she went over to a glass case and withdrew a miniature enamel portrait, also of Evelina but whilst the lid was up, Richard found himself reaching for a different portrait, one of a young Annabelle. He thought her to be perhaps 13 or 14 years of age until he looked close, when he saw that she had her sapphire pendant on, which he knew she had been given on her 14
th
birthday.

She was stunning even at that age but more than that, she looked innocent, a trait that he had never seen in her before. As interesting as it was to note the difference in her appearance, he preferred the woman she was
now to the girl she had been.

Annabelle closed the case, keeping the portrait of her mother. She had seen him take her miniature but she didn’t tell him to put it back, so he put it in his pocket instead. She handed him her mother’s portrait, which he also stowed in his pocket.

Out in the main hallway again, he noticed the larger paintings that adorned the walls, a family history, probably dating back to the 1600s, judging by the dress in some. He had seen them before but until now, hadn’t paid any attention and although he looked, there was no family portrait, of William, Evelina and their daughter, which Richard thought odd. Actually, there didn’t seem to be any portraits of William and Richard wondered if Frederick had been petty enough to have them taken down.

If so, why keep Evelina’s in the library?
It didn’t make sense to remove the paintings of his father and sister, then keep a painting of the woman he was supposed to loathe in the library.

Annabelle didn’t linger for long and headed for the rear of the house
and the orangery, which had been added to the rear of the house. Few plants were still alive though and Annabelle felt tears prick her eyes.

“My mother loved this place,” she said, approaching a central row of pots. All the plants were withered and dead. “We spent hours in here as she taught me to care for the plants. She loved them, they were almost
like children to her. Father never came in; he liked fresh flowers in vases but always said this place was hotter than Hades. He never disturbed us in here.”

She wandered to the end of the orangery as she spoke, then tried to open the doors at the end, which led to the gardens. They were stuck t
hough and pushing hurt her ribs, so Richard stepped in, pressing his shoulder against the door until the wooden frame gave. They stepped out into the garden and Annabelle headed around the side, to the stables.

“Anchor!” she cried, upon spotting a small, black Shetland pony. “I can’t believe you’re still alive.”