The Accidental Duke (The Mad Matchmaking Men of Waterloo Book 1) by Devlin, Barbara (love letters to the dead .TXT) 📕

laced his ale with laudanum, and the man is a pig. He snores like my grandfather, after he’s had too much rum.”

“Then let us away.” Arabella pulled on her gloves and grabbed the bundle of items she refused to leave at Sanderstead. As they spent the day preparing for departure, it became painfully clear she did not doubt, for an instant, they would succeed. It never occurred to her that their grand scheme could founder, potentially leaving them in a far more dangerous situation. Oh, no. Not his resourceful bride. She set her mind to do something and assumed she would achieve her goal. He prayed he didn’t destroy her optimism, because he dearly cherished that part of her character. “It is past due to put this dreadful affair behind us.”

“All right.” Emily lowered her voice. “We must take the servants’ stairs to avoid discovery, because Shaw refuses to use them. He does not view himself as a member of the below stairs staff. I asked the stablemaster to prepare the wagon, because I needed to pick up Cook’s order from the grocer. I have done this, before, on many occasions, so I should not have aroused suspicion.”

“You are wise, as well as loyal, my friend.” Arabella grasped Anthony’s hand and squeezed his fingers, and it was an endearing habit he had come to rely upon and expect. “We are fortunate to have you, and we are with you. We shall take orders from you.”

The maid turned the knob and slowly opened the door. She peered into the hall and glanced left and then right. After a quick nod, she led them into the wide passage. Sitting in a chair, with his arms folded and his chin resting to his chest, Fergus rattled the rooftops with an unusual, three-syllable exclamation.

Following in Emily’s wake, Anthony brought up the rear, as they navigated the house in the dark. They wound their way through a maze of corridors, some faintly illuminated by wall sconces. At one point, the maid halted, and Arabella followed suit, which caused him to bump into her. She gasped, and he slipped his arm about her waist and kissed the back of her neck.

Again, Emily waved for them to trace her path.

Old demons haunted and taunted him, faceless figures emerged from various doorways, and he told himself he imagined the enemies crouching in the shadows. The urge to run proved a potent intoxicant, as familiar torments echoed in his ears, provoking and terrifying him, and he longed to flee. The only thing that stopped him was the constant thought of his wife and child. They captured his attention to the detriment of all else, and that, alone, helped him control his otherworldly urges.

In a dimly lit corner, the maid paused.

“These are the servants’ stairs,” Emily whispered. “There are four and ten steps, so take care not to fall.”

Anthony and Arabella nodded, in unison.

With caution, they descended to the first floor, the wood boards creaking beneath their feet. As they stepped into the candlelit servants’ sitting room, Anthony detected hushed voices coming from the dining area. Emily halted them with an upraised palm. Slowly, she walked the length of the hall and peered around the corner at the other end. Then she waved, frantically. Anthony scooted Arabella forward, and they continued into the kitchen.

“Over there.” Emily pointed. “Through the butler’s pantry, there is another hallway that leads to the servants’ entrance. The wagon should be waiting, there. We will depart at a slow pace, so we do not attract attention. You must hide beneath a burlap blanket, in the back, so you are not spotted.”

“We understand,” Anthony replied.

Moving swift and sure, they all but ran to exit the main residence. Outside, he inhaled a deep breath and peered at the stars that twinkled like a field of diamonds in the night sky, which reminded him of the predawn hours, as he camped at Le Haye Sainte and prepared for battle. They were not free, but they were closer to their goal.

The farm wagon, hitched to a lone horse, had been parked on the pebble drive, and as Emily ran around to the opposite side to climb into the high back seat, he lifted Arabella into the box. The tattered blanket, which smelled of damp earth, had seen better years, but he was not about to complain, as his wife reclined, and he pulled her into the crook of his arm.

Tension built, and the cavalry bugle blared in his brain. In his mind, the infantry drummer beat the pa rum pum pum pum, and the troops formed the line. Cannons fired a rapid salvo, the explosions ripping open large gashes in the ground. Reducing men to naught but unrecognizable bits and pieces of flesh and bone.

It wasn’t real.

It was a symptom of the horrors he witnessed. He knew that. He understood that. Shaking himself, he blinked a few times and flexed his jaw. Again and again, he told himself he was safe. He was with his marchioness, and they drove for Weybridge.

The big guns silenced. The mortars vanished. The drums faded. The soldiers disappeared.

“Stay down.” Facing forward, Emily clucked her tongue and flicked the reins. The wagon lurched forward and rocked in a repetitive rhythm. “We are rounding the side of the house.”

“Do you see anyone,” he asked, as Arabella clung to him. He stole a quick kiss.

“No, my lord.” The maid glanced at them. “We approach the hedges, which provide some shelter, but I suggest you remain where you are until we have cleared the gates.”

“Of course.” He shifted, and Arabella drew him near and kissed him.

“Better?” she inquired with a knowing smile. “You know I am with you.”

“I know.” While she said naught, she knew the agony he fought. He bent his head and claimed another kiss, because he needed her. “And you? Are you anxious to get home?”

“What do you mean?” Arabella rubbed her nose to his and caressed his cheek. “Wherever we are together, that is home,