But what if, instead, she became the infamous nursemaid who lost the Duke of Ashbey’s beloved daughter? The duchess would withdraw her support and the board of directors would deny her petition.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Felicia hadn’t been snatched up by nefarious persons unknown, or gotten lost in the wood, or ruined the party. She’d merely escaped the schoolroom. All Hera had to do was find the termagant—a-hem—darling child, persuade her to come along quietly, and then sneak back into the house with no one the wiser.
While dozens of guests and an almost equal number of servants milled about.
Right.
The alternative, however, was to admit defeat. And no matter how many pernicious reversals life had already dealt her in her quarter century, the one thing she could count on was her own competence.
Keeping a watchful eye on the crowd mingling over by the pavilion, she crept along a length of the duchess’s prized roses. From the edge of the bushes Fee’s footprints meandered, not toward the party but the cedar maze.
She sighed.
Ifthe guests remained in their clusters and she rushed quickly across the open space, she’d be able reach the maze with no one the wiser. She lifted her skirt to mid-calf and tucked the fabric into the ties of her apron. Then, the sound of rustling gowns grew more pronounced.
She ducked back down.
“Ah.” A woman. “You were absolutely correct, Lady Adelaide. The scentisdivine. Why, the aroma isalmostappealing enough to cover the stench of Ashbey’s past.”
The woman and her companion tittered.
“Darling Elizabeth,” Lady Adelaide scolded, “you mustn’t say such things. In the end, our host found someone his equal…in scandal, if not in consequence.”
As the ladies laughed again, Hera’s heart seized.
She’d known, of course, that Ashbey’s father had been tried, though not convicted, of murder. She’d also known that, for years, Ashbey had shunned society and lived as a recluse. But that was before his marriage to the war widow of a celebrated naval captain.
Before Lord Delmare and Lady Felicia.
Before Wisterley’s garden parties.
He was quite respectable now.
Wasn’t he?
“Oh,my!” Lady Adelaide exclaimed. “Could that be...? Yes! I amsurethat is the Duke of Hurtheven!”
Hurtheven.
His name was a second blow. This one knocked her off her heels. She touched the earth—damp and clammy—to restore her balance. Although she’d never met the man, Felicia and Delmare talked about the duke incessantly. He held the same exalted rank as the children’s father, but, to them, Hurtheven might as well have been a god.
Perhaps notGodhimself—the children would never be blasphemous—but of indisputable celestial origin...supremely powerful with ubiquitous cognizance.
Like Zeus, for instance. She scowled. ThelastthinganyHera needed was a Zeus.
“Where?” The one called Elizabeth asked breathlessly.
“Over there by the hedge. He’s...” Lady Adelaide’s voice lowered in disgust, “crouching.”
Hera leaned to the right, just enough to catch sight of a man’s trailing greatcoat. But the man could not possibly be Hurtheven. Adukewould not be on his knees, crawling along a hedge in the middle of a garden party, would he?
Not unless—Oh, no.
“That’sdefinitelyHurtheven,” the other woman cooed. “He’s always been…unconventional.”
“Unconventional?Please.To have survived as he did when his parents perished in such an unusual fashionhadto have been a matter of unnatural luck. For years there have been rumors. I believe them. He is the devil incarnate.”
