“Miss Warren,” Robert Grebe murmured, a smirk curling his lips.
He was dressed in the Farnsworth livery. His eyes were lit with menace.
“Mr. Grebe,” Adeline said, trying to keep her voice from trembling. “I am happy to see that you have managed to find yourself a post after all.”
Grebe plucked at the waistcoat he wore, identical to all the other servants at Farnsworth Hall.
“Her Ladyship had to employ a number of us on a temporary basis. This isn’t a permanent job. How am I meant to eat once the party’s over, eh?”
Adeline licked her lips. The hedge passages were narrow, and there was no room to slip past Grebe, who advanced a handful of steps. She stood her ground, lifting her chin.
“I cannot influence the Duke. I do not have any kind of relationship with him,” she said.
“Not good enough, My Lady. I won’t wait forever. Rumors have a way of spreading, and soon enough, they’ll start to reach the wrong ears.”
“If any gossip begins spreading about the Duke, it will be traced to you. What do you think he will do?” Adeline said, trying to intimidate the man, but he just sneered.
“Rumors don’t get traced back to servants. Only gentlemen. The likes of me don’t get noticed. Now, if you don’t have a relationship with the Duke, maybe you should, eh?”
There was a leer on his face, and Adeline’s mouth went dry at the insinuation. He had insulted her in the same way previously, so she should have been prepared for his crude words, but Adeline was a lady. She would never allow a man to offend her so thoroughly without feeling a sense of mortification.
“I will not!” she hissed.
Grebe snarled and strode closer. Despite herself, Adeline backed away until the hedge stopped her.
“I won’t wait long. And I won’t go away. But I’ll help you, My Lady. You don’t want to use your talents to wrap the Duke around your finger? I’ll settle for money then. Plenty of stuff in that big house. Get me enough that I don’t need to go groveling to stuck-up toffs like you for a job, eh?”
Adeline could see no way out. The maze was a metaphor for her life. Tears filled her eyes, fear and anger mixed together. She firmed her jaw, wanting to slap Grebe’s smug, smirking face, but at the same time not wanting to antagonize him further.
“Adeline! Where are you?” Louisa’s voice reached Adeline from close by.
Grebe looked around and then withdrew. His gleaming, gimlet eyes locked onto Adeline before he disappeared around a corner. She wanted to fall to the ground under the weight she bore. But Louisa’s voice reached her again, and she forced resolve into her limbs.
“Louisa! I am here! Keep calling, and I will try to come to you!”
She walked along the leafy canyon, peered around a corner into another dead end. She turned in the opposite direction as a large figure appeared from a side passage. She screamed as he appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. Instinctively, she jumped back.
“Whatever is the matter?” Winston demanded, “And where is my daughter?”
Chapter Thirteen
Winston urged his horse into a steady canter along the winding country road toward Farnsworth Hall. The late summer sun was already high enough to glint off the distant windows of the great house. He was late, and he knew it. Louisa would be disappointed, Cordelia would be vexed, and he would have to endure the subtle whispers of Society about his discourtesy. Yet still he had delayed, circling Greystone’s stables longer than he needed, searching for excuses that did not exist.
The thought of immersing himself in the swell of theton, their practiced smiles, sly assessments, and idle cruelties spoken behind gloved hands, was intolerable. He had no wish to endure their whispers, nor to be measured like a prize stallion and found either desirable or wanting.
Perhaps life would be simpler in the New World, the Americas, where land is vast and men are not so tightly bound by centuries of custom and inherited expectation.
But he was no free man. Thoughts of flight abroad were nothing more than fantasy. A commoner could make such a choice. He was the Duke of Greystone and Briarwood, and duty was his prison.
The gardens of Farnsworth Hall came into view, already crowded with parasols and carriages. Grooms in livery lined the drive. Winston swung down from his horse and passed the reins to a waiting boy. Straightening his coat, he strode through the wrought-iron gates, his boots crunching on the gravel as he surveyed the sweep of the lawn.
Music drifted across the manicured grass, mingling with the laughter of guests. Women in silks and muslins paraded arm-in-arm, their companions following like attendant shadows. Winston scanned the crowd, searching for his family. He spotted Cordelia easily enough. She was surrounded by a bevy of ladies, gesturing elegantly with her fan, holding court as though she had been born to the role.
She was, and so was I, but I have never taken to it. My father would be in his element here.
She noticed him at once and, with a quick flick of her wrist, beckoned him to join her. The ladies turned as well, eyes bright with curiosity. Some smiled with what they no doubt considered coy allure, others with frank interest. Winston felt the familiar tightening in his chest. He knew what was expected of him. Duty demanded that he cross the lawn, offer charming words, and let himself be admired. For the Dukedom. For Louisa. Foreverything his father had built, he was expected to maintain and improve upon.
But his feet did not move. He stood rooted, fighting the urge to turn back toward the stables and ride until the house and its expectations were nothing but a memory behind him.
