“It’s beautiful,” Kendra breathed, and was struck by how she’d never taken the time for this simple pleasure. She’d been too busy with her career, too busy trying to prove herself. Plus, she’d lived in urban areas where light pollution washed out about seventy percent of the universe.
“I think young Molly is more interested in earthly delights,” Aldridge said, giving the maid a smile.
Molly blushed. “Ooh, yer Grace, pay me no mind. Oi like doing nothin’ better than stare at the moon and such.”
The Duke laughed and started forward. They followed him down the sloping hill, joining the throngs of people.
“There’s Tessa and Lizzie,” Molly said, spotting Mrs. Bolton’s granddaughters with a group of other young people.
“Go on, Molly,” Kendra encouraged. “Go and have fun!”
“Oh, but me duties—”
“Nonsense,” she cut her off, and gave the maid a gentle push. “Everybody deserves a night off.”
It still bothered Kendra that she had no money to pay for any of the goodies in the tinkers’ carts. She had to rely on the Duke to purchase her the dense, dark brown bread topped with seasoned pork that they ate while walking. The servants wandered away, and Sam joined a cluster of men Kendra recognized from the Green Maiden stables. She caught the whirl of familiar faces. Mr. and Mrs. Bolton were standing in the same group as Mr. Matthews and Mrs. Hearnshaw. Dr. Poole and his wife were standing in line for pasties.
Lady Winifred materialized in front of them, looking beautiful in a dark purple velvet hooded cloak, held together at the throat with silver frog enclosures. Her face was a pale cameo, shadowed by the sable-trimmed hood. Her hands were tucked inside a sable muff.
“Good evening, your Grace, my lord,” she said, and smiled in that small, practiced way of hers, as though she feared the lines that could develop if she smiled too much. Her gaze slid over Kendra. “Miss Donovan.” Once the chilly acknowledgement was made, Lady Winifred dismissed her, turning to Alec. “How delightful that you could come out to East Dingleford’s celebration.”
“Are you here alone?” Kendra asked, surprised. But she knew that there were more lax rules for widows.
“My maid is with me.” She glanced briefly over her shoulder to where a small, lonely figure stood hunched against the cold several feet away. “My father ought to be here shortly. He went to the mill today, and has yet to return.”
“There is much work to be done, I’m certain,” murmured the Duke. “Please, won’t you and your maid join us? It appears that they are about ready to light the pyre. Mayhap we can find ourselves a better position.”
“Thank you.” This time Lady Winifred didn’t bother to smile at Kendra. She withdrew a gloved hand from the sable muff to hold out for Alec. “Mayhap over in that area? Hopefully the direction of the wind won’t shift, and we can avoid the smoke.”
“Sound reasoning, my lady,” the Duke agreed, and gave Kendra a wink when he offered his elbow to her.
“My father tells me that you shall be leaving East Dingleford tomorrow?” Winifred tilted her head to look at Alec, letting her hand linger on Alec’s arm as they arrived at the viewing spot. There was nothing Alec could do but stand and accept the countess’s attention, Kendra knew, but it irritated her nevertheless. The woman looked like a Madonna, but she was brazen.
“Yes,” the Duke answered. “We shall continue on to Monksgrey as we had originally planned, before the fog and other matters waylaid us.”
“And you, my lord?” asked Lady Winifred. “Will you be accompanying your uncle, or will you be venturing back to London?”
“With Duke’s permission, I think I shall accompany him and Miss Donovan to Monksgrey for a spell,” Alec told her. “Ah, they have begun to light the fire. And there goes Guy Fawkes.”
Kendra turned to watch two men throw the Guy Fawkes dummy on top of the pyre, and two others light the kindling below. They must have used some sort of accelerant, because the flames soared and the fire spread rapidly. The crowd broke out into cheers.
“Would you ladies like a glass of spiced rum?” Alec asked with a crooked smile. “I have it on good authority that it’s best to have in your hand before the sermons begin.”
“That would be lovely,” Lady Winifred said, and finally released his arm.
“I shall assist you, Alec,” the Duke said. “If you will pardon us, ladies, we shall return shortly.”
As soon as they left, an awkward silence fell between Kendra and Lady Winifred. Kendra racked her brain for something to say to the other woman, then wondered why she should bother. Lady Winifred didn’t seem inclined to converse, her attention fixed on the fire, now soaring a good fifteen feet high. Besides, it was far from quiet, the high spirits of the crowd a steady noise that rose and fell around them.
The vicar approached the platform next to the roaring fire—or tried to. He kept pausing here and there to exchange words with the villagers. At the rate he was going, Kendra calculated it would take him an hour before he would be able to give his sermon. At least she should have her spiced rum by then.
The light from the roaring bonfire spilled across the paddock, gilding everything with an orange glow. Her gaze drifted over a group of teenage boys huddled near the riverbank. She wasn’t surprised when she caught the metallic glint of the flask being passed back and forth between them. Her eyes shifted to where a handful of smaller children chased each other in circles at the edge of the forest. Kendra smiled slightly, observing two kids off to the side. They were simply spinning around like a pair of figure skaters. When they stopped, they stumbled across the grass like drunken sailors before toppling to the ground. She was too far away, but she imagined their giggles.
She started to look away, but stiffened suddenly, her gaze swinging back to the trees. She caught a pale flash in the darkness. Frowning, she took three steps forward, scanning the trees.
“Where are you going, Miss Donovan?” Lady Winifred asked from behind her.
Kendra ignored the woman. She searched the trees. Maybe it was her imagination . . . no. Something moved in the shadows. She saw a face.
Flora Turner.
47
Flora was going to have a seizure, she just knew she was. She’d seen it happen once when she was a child. A tinker who’d come to her hamlet had gotten into an argument with a local merchant. They’d shouted at each other, their faces turning purple in rage, when the tinker’s eyes had suddenly bulged and his face twisted in a spasm of pain. Flora had watched as he clutched his chest before collapsing on the ground. It had been a terrible thing to witness, and later her mother had told her that high emotions sometimes caused seizures.
Flora’s emotions had been high all day. Not from anger like the tinker’s, but from a terrible fear that kept her stomach churning. Guilt and worry over her decision to leave William made her heart beat so fiercely that she worried it would pound right out of her chest. The paper that Harry had given her for safekeeping, in her pocket, seemed to burn her thigh.
In her head, she’d begun counting down the minutes. She’d packed a small satchel, storing it deep inside the wardrobe. There wasn’t much in it: her Sabbath dress and her nightdress, her hairbrush. She’d have to wear a maid’s uniform, she supposed, if she worked in the Duke’s household. And she’d be getting a wage. Her heart leaped at the notion. She’d never had money before. Her father had certainly never believed in sharing his hard-earned coins with his wife and children. William was much like her father. The only time he gave her money was on market day. He would count the coins as he laid them on her palm. And he always made her show him the insides of her pockets and reticule to make sure she wasn’t hoarding any coins after market.
It was one of the reasons she’d never thought about running away. That, and because it was a sin for a wife to leave her husband. But if William forced her to lay with other men, that was a sin too. She couldn’t stay. And for the first time, she had someone who offered to help without requir
ing money in return. As soon as she started working, she’d be able to earn her own keep.
Yet her thoughts flitted time and again to the paper in her pocket. What if it really was instructions to a treasure? She didn’t know how such things worked, but surely she’d be entitled to a small portion? Was she being too fanciful?
William had noticed her distraction, of course, which only added to her skittishness. He seemed to linger longer at the table, even after he’d eaten his nuncheon, his gaze tracking her as she cleaned up the kitchen. She’d dropped a plate, and thanked the Lord when it didn’t break. But she’d seen William’s eyes narrow. She’d held her breath for so long, awaiting his reaction, that she’d felt dizzy. When he didn’t punish her, she’d carefully exhaled, and, though her bandaged wrist throbbed, began vigorously scrubbing the counters. William had finally hefted himself up, and stomped out of the house without a word.
The rest of the day, she’d occupied herself by scrubbing the floor and then the laundry. William had come in several times during the day to stare at her. The attention had nearly shattered her nerves. As the sun sank down, she began to worry that he’d changed his mind about going out, that all of her planning had been for naught. But then he’d come into the house, demanding she fix him a bath. After washing, he’d changed into a shirt and cravat, and shrugged back into his coat. His gaze was on her as he picked up his purse and stuffed it into his pocket. Then he slammed out the door.
Flora sat down then, just for a short spell, to steady her heart and trembling hands. She prayed for courage. After a long moment, she stood and went upstairs to grab the satchel with her dress, nightgown, and one hairbrush. She put on her coat and bonnet, feeling a little like one of those windup toys she’d seen peddlers bring to the market, her movements stiff and automatic. Her gaze swept the kitchen one last time, and she hoped to never see it again.
Still, Flora’s chest felt tight when she left the house. The farm was quiet, the chickens in the coop for the night and the animals stirring quietly in the barn as she set off down the road. She wished that she could carry a lantern, but didn’t dare call attention to herself. Luckily, the moon and stars were bright enough to guide her. She didn’t stay on the country lane long, as she had no wish to encounter anyone. And there was always a chance that William might return.
Shuddering at that thought, Flora leaped off the road, toward the woods. It was a little less than two miles to the squire’s paddock on the edge of East Dingleford. She often walked that route to the village on market day when William was too busy to bring her. Unless the weather was bad, she always enjoyed those long walks through the woods.
But she’d never before walked the woods at night. The moon and the stars didn’t penetrate the canopy of leaves, so it was much darker, and the forest was filled with noises that made her heart gallop in her chest. Just the breeze rattling the leaves? Or some beast stalking her?
She swallowed hard and increased her pace. She prayed she wouldn’t trip on roots and stones. Dear heaven, William was right. She was stupid. Stupid and fearful . . .
She nearly went back. But she thought of Kendra Donovan. The American was so fierce, and fearless. She’d stood up to William. Of course, she was Quality. The gentry knew that William was beneath them. It was easier for them to stand up to him, even a woman.
In the darkness, the journey seemed endless. She didn’t like being in the woods at night, but she liked it even less when she reached clearings or had to cross roads, feeling too exposed. At least she was hidden in the shadows. She picked up her skirts and ran through such clearings until she reached the next stretch of woods. She was beginning to lose her breath, the satchel with its meager contents feeling like it was filled with stones, when she finally saw the orange light flickering through the trees.
In a final burst of energy, Flora ran, the satchel bouncing awkwardly against her leg. Caution—and lack of breath—halted her at the edge of the forest. She sucked in cold air and peered out from behind the trees. Children were playing only a few yards from where she lingered. Beyond them was the bonfire, enormous in size, a circle of tinkers’ stalls, and crowds of people—so many people! Flora’s stomach twisted. She hadn’t thought of that. How would she ever find Miss Donovan? Even worse, what if William was in that crowd? If she encountered her husband in her search for Miss Donovan, he would kill her.
Tears sprang to her eyes. She dashed them away, but more came. She’d come so far. How could she go back? But how could she go forward and risk meeting William?
With a sob, Flora sat down on a fallen log. She covered her face with her hands and rocked back and forth. It was too much. William was right. She was weak and stupid. If she returned home now, William would be none the wiser—
“Flora?”
Flora stilled. Her hands fell away and she turned toward the voice. She let out a ragged gasp as her eyes focused on the figure entering the woods. Miss Donovan.
Save me.
48
Kendra had never been a big fan of the woods in the dark, probably because she’d watched too many horror movies in her rebellious stage, and they always seemed to take place at an isolated cabin in the woods, where a bunch of teens and twentysomethings did the most idiotic things. By the end of the movie, she’d usually wanted to shoot them all herself. But at least in the twenty-first century, she could enter the dark woods with a good flashlight and her trusty Glock.
As she pushed aside the prickly branch of a pine tree, she wondered if she should retrieve the pistol from her reticule. Her gaze scanned the woods. Her ears strained to identify noises. A shuffling movement over there. A snap of a twig to the right. A soft sob to the left.
She moved to the left. Her gaze locked on the forlorn figure sitting on the log. “Flora?”
Flora stared at her, her face wet with tears. Then she leaped off the log and ran toward Kendra.
“Thank heaven,” she cried. “I—I didn’t know w’ot ter do!”
Kendra grasped the other woman’s slight shoulders, searching her face. “Are you all right? Your husband didn’t—”
“Nay.” She gulped. “I want ter go with ye. I can work hard, I—I can.”
Kendra ordered, “Take a breath.”
Flora regarded her anxiously. “Ye haven’t changed yer mind, have you? Maybe I can pay . . . pay me way . . .” She unbuttoned her wool coat and thrust her hand through the opening in her skirt to the pocket.
“Flora—”
“Harry gave me somethin’.”
Kendra raised her eyebrows. “Stone gave you something?”
“Aye. For safekeeping. He said it was important.” She fished out the folded foolscap, and held it out to Kendra. “It’s not a treasure map. I know that. But maybe it’s a letter that leads ter a treasure?”
“I doubt it.” Frowning, Kendra took the paper, turning it over to peer at the address. It was so dark that it took her a moment to read. Mrs. Farnsworth, Toad & Scythe, Hammersmith. Kendra noticed the seal had been broken. “Did you read it? What does it say?”
Flora shook her head. “Nay, I . . . I don’t know how ter read. But I know it ain’t a map. Maybe it’s ter something important, something I can use ter pay ye ter take me with you.”
“I already promised to take you with us. You don’t need to pay me. Don’t worry, Flora, I’m not going to break that pro—” She broke off when Flora’s eyes widened in terror. Flora screamed, stumbling back.
Kendra started to spin around, but was sent flying when something hard slammed into her back. She landed in the dirt, gasping in pain.
“Bitch!”
Heart thudding, Kendra rolled over to meet William Turner’s glittering eyes. He towered over her, his mouth knotted into an ugly snarl, his gaze moving from Kendra to his wife.
“Ye think ye can leave me?” he demanded. “After all I’ve done for ye, ye ungrateful trollop!”
Kendra scrambled to her feet. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the reticule and Stone’s l
etter on the ground, where they’d fallen. Too far away to retrieve the muff pistol. “Step back, Mr. Turner.”
He glared at her. “I’m gonna teach ye ter mind yer own bloody business. I don’t care whether yer the ward of some fancy Duke. No one but God can come between a man and his wife!”
Kendra kept her eyes trained on the sheep farmer. “See, here’s my problem with that. You call yourself a man. But real men don’t hit defenseless women.” She moved closer, circling, drawing his attention away from Flora.
He shifted around to keep his eyes on her. “Ye’re not gonna look so pretty after I’m done with ye, bitch,” he snarled.
“You think I’m pretty?” She showed her teeth in a tight smile, her eyes fixed on his face. Then, she struck, rushing forward and putting her entire body behind the punch. Turner’s nose cracked, and blood spewed forth as his head snapped back.
She danced backward, out of his reach, while Turner grabbed his nose and howled. Behind her, Flora screamed.
“Go, Flora! Find Alec or the Duke!” Kendra ordered. She kept her gaze locked on her opponent. Now that she’d lost the element of surprise, she needed all her attention on the sheep farmer.
He came at her with a roar, swing his arms in a poorly constructed move that she easily blocked with her left arm, allowing her to bring up her right fist for another punch. If his nose wasn’t broken before, it was now, she thought, hearing the satisfying crunch. She jumped back again, ignoring the sting in her knuckles.
“Fucking Satan’s whore!” he yelled. He stumbled, and shook his head like a wet dog. Then he rushed at her to knock her down, like he had earlier. Kendra leaped to the side, grabbing his arm and twisting it viciously behind his back. Turner screamed. She yanked his arm higher, and used the leverage to drive him to his knees.
“Miss Donovan!”
Kendra jerked her head up, her eyes finding Lord Bancroft. The darkness of the forest and the shadow cast by his tricorn hat made it impossible to see his expression. But she had no trouble seeing the gun in his hand.
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