The narrow staircase led her to a locked door.
Locked tight.
After searching fruitlessly for any screws or pins that could be used to remove the door from its hinges, she returned upstairs. She might be able to break the window and climb out of it. Depending upon the height of the window from the ground, perhaps something of a rope could be made of any sheets she could locate.
But first, she needed to see out of the window.
She piled one of the lighter trunks atop the desk. And then the chair atop the trunk. A second trunk could be used to climb onto the structure.
Feeling a little woozy still, she held her dress up away from her legs—scandalous if anyone were to see!—and then climbed atop the lower trunk. Wearing only her wool socks, she now regretted not taking the time to don her boots earlier. If she did manage to escape, would she have a long way to travel by foot?
Grasping the chair, Emily tested it for stability. Not what she would prefer, but what other choice did she have? She slid the chair to one side of the trunk and stepped gingerly onto the wobbly table.
For a moment, she thought the entire structure might collapse and froze in anticipation of falling, but then it steadied itself.
Now to pull herself onto the second trunk.
She… just… yes… “Oomph.” She grabbed the edge. “Ouch.” Yes. Stupid, stupid gown. She really needed breeches to perform such a maneuver.
Just a little farther, steady.
Aha.
Standing, she could reach the window casement with her arms outstretched now.
The chair presented an even more precarious challenge.
Damn dratted gown. She hooked it over her arm and ever so carefully. One knee. Another. Bracing herself against the wall.
The table wobbled some more.
Oh, goodness.
One foot. Rise slowly.
Carefully.
As the window came into view, she saw that it was latched from the inside. It would open. In fact, it opened just a few feet above another roofline. She could do this. The sun caught her eye, blinding her for a moment and causing her to turn her face quickly.
Unfortunately, the movement destabilized her entire structure. As she tumbled toward the floor, she wished she’d had the foresight to drag the mattress across the room lest she fall.
Finding Emily
“Iwish I knew where she went, Blakely. Some misses simply aren’t equipped for the demands that come with marrying into the aristocracy. Likely running home to her parents.” Quimbly’s icy gaze belied his deception.
After pushing his way past the earl’s stubborn butler, Marcus had barged into Quimbly’s study and demanded to know Emily’s whereabouts.
Quimbly hadn’t appeared the least surprised. He’d merely reclined in his chair and invited Marcus to sit down, for all the world as though they were the best of friends.
“My stable lad reported that she departed Candlewood Park in your carriage,” Marcus bluffed.
Quimbly lifted one brow. A tick appeared on the right side of his jaw. “Your lad is mistaken.”
Something like thunder sounded overhead.
Except the sky was a clear blue. No clouds in sight.
“Damned servants.” Quimbly grimaced and, as he did so, his eyes shifted to a vial of white powder on the edge of his desk. His casual attempt at laughter did not distract Marcus’ attention.
