Was nothing to be kept private?
“This is not an unusual occurrence for me, your grace,” she said gently. This was not something she’d ever expected to discuss with anyone. “And I’ve not sensed any other… changes.”
Her grace dropped her eyes. Sophia had not realized the duchess would even consider such a thing. Although, what with the charade she and Harold had enacted, she ought to have realized such an expectation might exist.
“I know it must seem awfully presumptuous of me to bring this up with you, but when I thought it might be possible, I could not help but hope…”
Sophia dropped her book and moved to sit beside the older woman on the long sofa. The fire was warm and cozy. The room invited such confidences.
“No, no, I understand completely.” And then for good measure, “I, too, cannot help but hope… but I don’t wish to raise expectations when I think it unlikely…”
Her grace nodded and leaned into her. “You have been such a comfort to me, Sophia. I cannot imagine what I would have done without your steady presence, without the knowledge that you made Harold so very happy in the end.”
Sophia wished for the one-millionth time that she could tell the duchess the truth. That she could tell her Harold still lived and that he was happy as he was. That he’d not needed to change in order to find happiness and comfort. That he’d found love. That he was merely searching for place where he could have a life with Stewart, the man he loved.
But the lie must endure.
And then, in the distance, she heard the slamming of a door, anxious voices, and then quick footsteps running up the stairs. Without knocking, Priory Point’s most ancient butler, Mr. Girard, pushed open the door looking rather flushed from his exertions.
Bowing, he entered, seeming somewhat at a loss. And then, “Your grace, my lady.” He swallowed hard and then spoke again. “There’s been a horrible accident. His grace’s coach… it didn’t make it down to the main road.”
“Are they returning to Priory Point then, to the castle?” her grace asked, looking up from her knitting.
But he was shaking his head. His expression almost one of bewilderment. “That’s just it, my lady. The coach fell into the sea.”
* * *
The realityof what the butler was saying washed over Sophia before her grace could contemplate the full extent of his words. “The… coach alone? What of the horses?” her grace asked curiously.
“Did the passengers escape?” Sophia jumped up. “What of the passengers?” she asked. But the somber servant continued shaking his head side to side.
“The outrider downstairs… he has traveled from the wreckage on foot to get here. He says none of the passengers could escape. He says he and the driver barely managed to leap off before it went over.”
“His grace’s carriage?” The duchess had apparently finally comprehended what the butler was trying to tell them.
And then the butler gathered his wits about himself. “The outrider is resting downstairs. Shall I send out more servants to verify what has happened?” And then he stood straight and thrust his chest out slightly. “I, myself, will travel down to see what has happened.”
But Mr. Girard was elderly, and the roads were wet, and muddy, and slippery…
The duchess hadn’t moved, and so Sophia answered him. “No, Mr. Girard, send Richards and Quimbly on horseback.” They were the outriders who had stayed back to travel with the women tomorrow. They were burly, physical men of the world. They were employed as much for their protection as for any duties they might perform on a regular basis. “Tell them to be cautious of the stability of the road — we do not want any further calamities — but to discover what has happened. We will send down a few additional footmen to assist in a rescue, if that is possible. And to send for a magistrate so that—” What did magistrates do? They dealt with legal issues. They investigated crimes. “—to see that the accident is investigated properly and to ensure all is done that can be done.”
Surely this was not happening. It was not possible!
Sophia touched her forehead. She was in fully uncharted territory. Oh, Lord, she wished Dev were still here. Oh, God, or Harold, even.
Who had been in the duke’s coach?
The duke, of course.
And she believed St. John had chosen to keep out of the rain as well.
Good, God! And Dev’s father.
They needed to locate Dev. “And Mr. Girard. Send… send…” Oh yes, the stable master. He was familiar with Dev. He would know the route Dev had been going to take to Dartmouth Place. “Send Henry after Captain Brookes. He left for Surrey early this morning and must be notified immediately.”
“What if the road is impassable, my lady?”
What if the road…?
