Christopher grinned and crossed his arms in front of his chest.
“On mine. I am Christopher Newmont, Duke of Westmond. And I order you to let up. Now.”
The masked man turned to his companion who was still holding down the terrified messenger.
“Do you hear that? The Duke of Westmond is ordering us to let the man go. What do you say? Shall we?”
His companion appeared to ponder the question for a moment and Christopher felt quite certain that the two would do as he’d asked. He was, after all, a Peer of the Realm. Alas, he was quite mistaken.
“Nah,” the second man said and suddenly Christopher felt himself being grabbed by his long hair and pushed onto the ground. It was only due to the utterly surprising attack that Christopher found himself at a disadvantage. He was no stranger to fights and always came out victorious. This time, however, he found himself on the ground.
From the corner of his eye he saw Thorpe rushing to his aid, only to be tackled by the second man, who’d let go of the messenger. To his horror, rather than help them, the messenger mounted his horse and rode into the night.
The tall man straddled Christopher’s chest and wrapped his hands around his throat, squeezing hard. Gasping for air, Christopher saw flashing images appear before his eyes. His mother, young and beautiful. His father, strong and in his prime. He and his brother with their parents on a summer’s day. He, Christopher, the spitting image of his tall, dark haired and blue-eyed father and Henry, so like their mother. The images flickered as he struggled to breath.
This cannot be the end. No. I will not allow it. I have never lost a fight and I shall not start now.
Christopher knew he only had seconds left to act, seconds to save himself, and by the looks of it, Thorpe, who was now knocked out on the ground, was taking a beating from the second man. Christopher closed his eyes and gathered all of his strength. With one deep breath he curled his hand into a fist and a moment later, swung his arm forward.
Chapter 2
Rowena made her way down the grand staircase, running her hand along the beautifully carved wooden handrail. She crossed the foyer, passing Mrs. Wooster, their housekeeper, on the way. Mrs. Wooster was carrying a bundle of freshly cut flowers in her sturdy arms and smiled as she passed.
“Lady Rowena, don’t you look lovely today. Is that one of the new dresses Her Ladyship sent from Paris?”
“It is indeed,” she pulled the delicate silk fabric to the side and gave a little twirl, making the old woman chuckle.
“Utterly darling, I declare.”
“I was meant to save all the new dresses for when we go to London next week, but I couldn’t resist. And Mama is in London already with Margaret, so she won’t find out.” She paused and tilted her head to one side.
Perhaps I should not have told Mrs. Wooster. She is ever so loyal to Mama. But then, it is just the one dress, after all.
She needn’t have worried. The kindly woman smiled at her and shook her head.
“She shan’t find out from me. And I doubt Lady Catherine will tell her, given that she is presently prancing around the gardens wearing a new gown herself,” she winked at Rowena who grinned. “I shall carry on as these need putting in water,” she lifted the bundle of flowers and departed when Rowena gave her a nod of the head.
Rowena proceeded to make her way through the foyer. One of the footmen opened the large French doors leading outside. She stopped at the top of the stairs and inhaled. The scent of fresh-cut grass was in the air and the sound of birds singing in the distance drifted to her ears. It was May now, and spring was on the cusp of turning into summer.
She loved this time of year. The harshness of winter was long behind them and the best season of all, the London Season, was ahead of them. Rowena could hardly wait to join the rest of her family, who were already in London to attend the Royal Wedding, later in the week.
“Rowena!” her sister called out. She looked up and broke into a grin as her eyes settled on her younger sister, who was walking through their father’s rose garden up ahead. Betsy Carmichael, Rowena’s close friend, strolled alongside her.
“Come, join us. It is glorious weather out here,” Catherine called out. Rowena grinned as she gathered her pale, peach-colored gown in her hand as to not let it drag along the sandy driveway and stepped onto the gravel path.
“I see you could not resist the call of the new gowns any more than Cathy could,” Betsy said with a smirk as Rowena joined them.
“The best part of the war being over at last is that we can finally have access to all these glorious gowns from France,” Catherine said and gave a twirl. She was dressed in a striking yellow gown that flattered her blonde hair and pale skin. A row of white-lace embroidery ran down her chest in a V-shape and the same embroidery had been used around the hem. She’d paired the dress with a white spencer; it too was embroidered, this one with matching yellow flowers along the sleeves.
“I would venture to say that the soldiers disagree with you there. However, I must admit that I have never seen gowns quite as beautiful. And Mama and Margaret have really outdone themselves. We have enough gowns and hats and reticules to last six London Seasons.”
Rowena broke into a giggle, joined by Catherine. Suddenly, Rowena’s eyes fell on her friend’s face and she saw that Betsy had not joined in the excited giggles. No, instead she stood quietly, her hands folded in front of her, a polite smile upon her face.
A wave of shame overtook Rowena and she reached out to clasp her friend’s hand.
“Faith, Betsy, I am ever so sorry. I did not mean to be so insensitive and boastful.”
Betsy waved her hand dismissively. “Please, do not fret, Rowena. I am happy for you. This is an important Season for the both of you. Of course, Lady Hazelshire will want to ensure you have the very best and finest of everything. Besides, she has not entirely forgotten me.” A sheepish expression crossed her comely face and her grey eyes flashed with a spark.
