Secrets of an Accidental Duchess (32 page)

The potentially enormous scandal of what had happened between Max, Olivia, and Fenwicke never developed into anything. Stratford and the Donovans didn’t speak a word of Fenwicke’s villainy to anyone—it was still unclear whether Fenwicke would recover, and the family had determined that it wouldn’t do Olivia any good to suffer through a long and draining legal battle against the heir to a dukedom. It wasn’t fair, and justice would never truly be served, but the fact that a select few could remain above the law was a fact of life they were forced to face.

Max had no intention of talking about it either, because despite the fact that Olivia was a victim, the incident would damage her reputation far more than it would his or Fenwicke’s. The word about Town was that Max had left for a few days without telling a soul. And Olivia had been at her aunt Geraldine’s house, and Lady Stratford had made such a fuss due to a simple miscommunication.

Not a word came from Fenwicke’s quarter… which worried Max more than anything else.

Did he know that Olivia had poisoned him? Was he planning revenge?

For this reason, Max had hired two men—one to watch covertly over Olivia and the other to watch every move Fenwicke made. If the man took a step toward Olivia, Max would know about it, and he’d stop him.

As for Olivia and her desire for him to stay away from her—he’d give her the time she’d requested. He was a patient man, but his patience wouldn’t last forever. Every day he spent without her intensified his desire to make her his in a permanent way.

A knock on his study door made him look up from the papers he was sorting. “Yes?”

The door opened to his implacable butler. “Your Grace, Mr. Childress is here to see you.”

Max sat straighter. Childress was the man he’d hired to keep an eye on Fenwicke. “Please show him in.”

The man was ushered into his study, and Max stood to shake his hand. “What news?”

“Lord Fenwicke remains abed, sir. It appears as though he’s too ill to be removed from it any time soon.”

“I see.”
Good.
“Is he out of danger?”

“I believe so, sir. The doctor believes that the bad humors will take several more days to clear themselves from his body.”

“And his vision?” Last week, Childress had reported that Fenwicke’s sight had been improving.

“Completely restored now,” Childress said.

“I see.” Max tapped his fingertips on the sleek mahogany of his new desk, thinking. “Keep watching him as you have been. And please gather a list of all his properties in the United Kingdom for me.” When Fenwicke recovered, Max had the impression that he’d leave London. And Max wanted a good idea of where the man was at all times, because that was information he needed to know if he was to keep Olivia safe.

“Yes, sir.” Childress saluted and left.

Max stared after the man, a sense of foreboding tightening in his gut.

Two days later, that sense grew when Mr. Tanner, the man he’d hired to watch over Olivia, came to see him just after he’d had his morning coffee and was in his study reading the
Times.

“Miss Donovan left town yesterday, Your Grace,” Tanner said. “She left quietly, and I didn’t discover she’d gone until I’d spoken with the dowager countess’s coachman this morning.”

So she’s returned to Stratford House,
Max thought grimly. Knowing that she would be miles away from him seemed to open a gaping hole deep inside his chest. Not to mention the fear that lodged like a lump in his throat when he thought of how difficult it would be to protect her when she was so far away.

He took a breath. She’d needed time, and he’d given her that. Fenwicke was safely in bed in London, so he didn’t have to worry for her on that account.

He’d give her the short month of February, and then he’d be back.

“Looks like a trip to Sussex for me next month,” he murmured to himself.

“Sussex, Your Grace?”

Max raised a brow. “Yes. Sussex.”

“Oh!” Tanner’s brown eyes widened. “You mean to follow after the lady. But she wasn’t heading toward Sussex. The coachman said she was traveling north.”

Max frowned. “Why north?”

“Well, I couldn’t quite say—”

The man hurried after Max as he went into the corridor, bellowing for his horse to be saddled. Turning on Tanner, he pointed at the study. “Stay put until I return.”

The man nodded, and a few minutes later, Max was heading toward the dowager’s house in Bedford Square. When he strode into her drawing room, two ladies stood to greet him. One was the dowager Lady Stratford. The older one, a thin, wrinkled woman with a pinched face,
scowled at him. She was, of course, Lady Stratford’s mother, Lady Pierce.

Lady Stratford hurried toward him, her hands outstretched. “My goodness, Your Grace. What on earth brings you here at this hour?”

Max realized it was early—in fact it was earlier than most Londoners awoke. It was extremely rude and uncouth to go on a social visit at this time of day.

He managed a stiff bow. “Forgive me, ladies.”

“Well, of course.” Lady Stratford led him to a chair. Max supposed there were some advantages of being a duke—one being that intruding into an acquaintance’s house at an unreasonable hour didn’t necessarily result in immediate banishment from the premises. “Can I offer you some tea?”

He glanced at Lady Pierce, who was gazing at him through a quizzing glass. “I doubt the duke came here for a hot drink, Sarah.”

Lady Stratford stepped back from him, wringing her hands. “Oh, you are making me quite agitated, Your Grace. Do tell us the reason for your visit.”

“I need to know where Miss Donovan has gone,” he said. “I know she didn’t return to Sussex.”

Lady Stratford’s brows rose. “Oh, well, she went to visit her sister, Miss Jessica, in Lancashire. She was only planning to be gone for a few weeks—she wanted to be back soon, before you…”

Max frowned. “Before I… what?”

The lady’s blue eyes twinkled. “Well, she thought if she stayed away too long, you might come after her.”

Despite himself, Max released a short chuckle. Olivia knew him well. “So… that’s where Miss Jessica and Lady Fenwicke are? In Lancashire?”

“Yes, indeed. Mr. Harper has a house there, and that is where they are staying until they determine the best course of action to take.” She leaned toward him. “To keep Lady Fenwicke safe, you know.”

“Where is the house located in Lancashire?”

“I believe it is outside of Prescot,” Lady Pierce supplied.

“And Olivia was traveling alone?” Max realized belatedly that he’d called her Olivia and not Miss Donovan.

“Well, she had a maid with her, of course,” Lady Stratford said.

For a moment, Max rested his forehead in his palm. He should feel relieved. Surely Olivia was safe with her sister and Lady Fenwicke. Yet this news hadn’t placated the foreboding feeling within him at all. He rose from his chair. “Thank you, ladies.”

Lady Stratford rose, too, and hurried toward him. “Oh, Your Grace, what is the matter? Is it that awful Lord Fenwicke? I should send word to Stratford—”

He placed a calming hand on her arm. “Fenwicke is still very ill, and as far as anyone knows, he isn’t aware of his wife’s location. I’m sure the ladies are perfectly safe.” Lady Stratford released a breath of relief as he continued. “There’s no reason to contact Lord Stratford.” He bowed at the older women. “I’m sorry to have disturbed your morning, ladies.”

“I assume you’re on your way to Prescot, then,” Lady Pierce said.

He turned to her. He’d known Lady Pierce all his life—she’d been friends with his aunt. He’d always known she was an intelligent woman. Yet in this case, she’d deciphered his intent before it had even solidified in his mind. However, as he stood there staring at her, he
realized that she was right. He was going to Prescot, without delay.

“Yes, I am. Just to make sure all is well.” He offered them a smile of reassurance.

He hurriedly took his leave of the ladies and returned to his house in Hay Hill. That afternoon, armed with descriptions of Fenwicke’s properties throughout the kingdom and the exact location of the house in Prescot, Max left London, heading north.

Although Lady Stratford had pleaded with Olivia to take her carriage, she couldn’t accept such a generous offer, so she’d traveled to Prescot by stagecoach. The journey was longer than Olivia had anticipated—England was much more vast than the small islands she was more familiar with. By the time the coach approached Prescot a few days after their departure from London, Olivia was exhausted.

And she was worried. Throughout the day, she had been experiencing the symptoms of a fever coming on. Cora wasn’t familiar with Olivia’s fevers. Worse, Olivia still hadn’t replenished her supply of quinine. It was so soon after the last fever, and she’d never had two fevers closer than half a year apart, so she’d thought it unnecessary to buy quinine until she could return to Stratford House and ask Serena to order her some.

She sat in the crowded stagecoach, miserable, achy, and feverish. All she needed to do was get to Sebastian’s house. Out of all the people in the world, Jessica was the most experienced and competent when it came to Olivia’s malarial fevers. She would know what to do.

The stagecoach stopped at the only coaching inn in
Prescot. Olivia disembarked along with Cora, and they looked around the unfamiliar area.

The town was quiet, with hardly any traffic on the street. She looked at her maid. “Go inside and see if you can find someone we can hire to take us to the house.”

Cora’s brows knitted—to this point, Olivia hadn’t asked her to go anywhere without her—but Olivia knew she needed to conserve her strength. She leaned heavily against a maple tree trunk and awaited her maid’s return. Several minutes later, Cora came back, frowning.

“I couldn’t find a soul, miss.”

Olivia took a deep, stabilizing breath. “Very well. We’ll leave our luggage at the inn and walk, then. It’s only a mile.”

“Yes, miss.” Cora took their valises into the inn, emerging a few minutes later saying the innkeeper would watch the luggage for them until someone came to fetch it.

A mile was nothing compared to Olivia’s daily walks. But she was feeling weaker by the minute.

She squared her shoulders. All she needed to do was walk a mile. A mile wasn’t very far at all. When she arrived, Jessica would be there. Jessica would know what to do.

Side by side, Olivia and Cora walked. Every step was more difficult to make. Blurriness gradually began to overtake her vision, and she alternately shuddered from cold and wanted to rip the clothes off her burning skin. Her muscles—every one of them—ached, and her legs screamed in protest, taking offense at being forced to hold up her body.

“One step forward,” Olivia murmured. “Just a few steps more.”

She hardly noticed Cora’s concerned looks. She couldn’t spare a glance at the maid—all she could focus on were the steps ahead.

“That must be the house, Miss Donovan,” Cora finally exclaimed.

She saw it—a white, block-shaped structure. “Not too far,” she murmured, blinking hard to keep it in focus.

“Not at all,” Cora said. “It’s close as can be.”

Olivia stumbled and felt the maid’s sturdy arms encircle her.

“Just a little more then, Miss Donovan.” Cora kept whispering encouraging words into Olivia’s ear, but they all merged together. It didn’t matter. All that was important was that she get to the white house before she lost consciousness.

“Miss Jessica!” Cora called. “Lady Fenwicke?”

Olivia turned, fighting against the pull of her stiff neck muscles, to look at the maid, but Cora was gazing toward the house. Calling for help, Olivia realized.

“Jessica,” she called, but her voice emerged scratchy and weak.

There was no movement from the house. No one had heard them.

“Anyone here?” Cora sounded more desperate now as Olivia rested more of her weight on the maid.

Still… no movement except for the breeze that rustled over the overgrown hedges of yew lining the path leading from the road to the front stoop. Olivia wondered vaguely what it would be like to sleep in a yew bush.

“Is anyone home?” Cora yelled. The sound was so loud, so frantic. It hurt Olivia’s ears.

She stopped suddenly, blinking at the still house. It might as well have been a hundred miles away. “I can’t,” she whispered.

The yew bushes swallowed her, and everything faded to black.

M
ax was surprised he hadn’t caught up with Olivia and her maid by now. Perhaps they’d traveled through the nights via stagecoach or mail coach. He’d made the assumption that they’d spend the nights at inns along the way, but no inn he’d inquired at had seen any trace of a slight young blond woman and her maid.

On the other hand, Max had made the foolish decision to ride. While it was easy enough to exchange his horse for a fresh mount every once in a while, it was physically impossible for him to ride twenty-four hours a day—even though he attempted to do so. Once in a while, it became necessary for him to rest.

He didn’t arrive in Prescot until late in the afternoon on the third day. He went into the Legs-of-Man and Swan Inn, where he discovered that a stagecoach had arrived an hour before. The innkeeper was eager to offer him the finest room in the establishment, and as soon as the man gave him directions to Harper’s
house on the outskirts of the town, Max set off, his heart pounding.

He’d reunite with Olivia soon. He’d make sure she was all right, and he’d see her safely home as soon as she was ready to return.

The drizzle and rain he’d been forging through for the past few days had finally abated, leaving the air cool and fresh, while droplets of water sparkled in the sun like diamonds over the fields.

Within a few minutes, he saw the house—a small, square cottage painted a stark white, with a door in the center offset by two windows on either side. The lane leading up to the front stoop was lined with hedges of yew, and someone was on the lane. It looked as though she was bending to retrieve something.

As he drew closer, Max frowned. There was something on the ground, between the hedges. A person, dressed in white, with reddish blond hair escaping from her bonnet.