“Well, what am I to do?” Lady Constance demanded, brushing at her gown. “You are teaching that child dreadful manners, Miss Winter. Don’t you think so, Papa?”
“Yes, quite dreadful,” Lord Farendale grunted, thrusting his cup out again. Maggie ignored it.
“Take this as a lesson, Miss Winter,” Lady Constance went on sweetly. “You had better improve, or else—”
“Or else what?” the duke interrupted.
Silence fell over the group. Lady Constance’s eyes went very wide, and she glanced around the picnic blanket, looking for support. When none came, she gave a nervous laugh.
“Your Grace, I only meant to draw your attention to poor, sweet Emma’s tutelage. It must be said—”
“It must be said,” he cut across her, “that Miss Winter is perfectly capable of her post.” His tone was cool, even dangerous.
Lady Constance recoiled a little, but Maggie felt almost as if she wanted to lean closer, as if towards a warm fire on a cold day.
“I…”
“The task here was to teach Emma how to make flower crowns,” the duke continued, nodding towards Maggie, “and Miss Winter seems to have made quite a pretty one.”
All eyes fell upon the perfect circle of daisies resting on Maggie’s lap.
“Where is the child, by the way?” Lady Farendale spoke up. It was the first time she’d spoken all morning. When Maggie glanced at her, she had her gaze fixed on the distant lake.
Maggie rose to her feet without thinking. Emma had reached the very edge of the lake and was bending over a patch of flowers.
It was not proper for a lady to shout—that, everybody knew. Fortunately, Maggie was no longer a lady.
Cupping her hands around her mouth, she shouted.
“Emma! Stay back from the edge!”
The ladies gasped.
“Goodgracious,” Lady Constance murmured. Maggie ignored her.
Emma did not seem to have heard, so Maggie stepped off the picnic blanket and began to walk briskly towards her.
“Wait, Miss Winter!” Lady Westbrook called. “Let Lady Constance—”
But before she could finish, Emma’s foot slipped. A splash rang out, and ripples spread across the glittering water.
“She’s fallen in,” Maggie said numbly. Then louder, shrill with panic: “She’s fallen in!”
She broke into a run, skirts hauled high above her knees. The distance between the lake and the picnic spot seemed to stretch endlessly before her.
Then something rushed past her in a blur and gust of wind.
The duke—Neil—tore past her, stripping off his coat as he went, and without a moment’s hesitation, plunged into the lake.
Chapter Sixteen
Maggie did not slow, though her lungs burned by the time she reached the edge of the water. The lake was deeper than she had realised—deep enough for the duke to dive in and vanish beneath the surface.
He reappeared with a rippling splash, coughing, Emma clutched limp in his arms.
Terror clenched around Maggie’s heart. She glanced up the hill for help. Lady Westbrook was descending at a brisk walk, her expression taut, while Lady Constance stumbled behind her, skirts dragging through the dirt. Lord and Lady Farendale stood frozen at the top, gawping. Maggie doubted anyone had had the sense to send a footman for assistance.
Neil splashed to the bank and wordlessly held Emma out. Maggie caught the child, carrying her to dry ground and laying her down.
