Walker sighed heavily, glancing behind him as one of the footmen escorted the physician up the stairs. If his father lay upon the brink of death, wouldn’t it be better if he at least remained here with him?
“Very well. The address is Piccadilly Nineteen, but you cannot delay, Belinda. I don’t know how much longer my father…”
Walker didn’t finish but left her standing there while he hastened upstairs, missing entirely Belinda’s brittle smile as she whirled around and swept out the door.
***
Marguerite paced the foyer anxiously, her pale blue muslin gown swishing around her legs. Though she’d been awake for almost an hour now, she still felt so stunned that Walker would have left her without saying goodbye.
Jared was gone, too, while Lindsay slept upstairs unaware of his absence. Marguerite had just gone to check on her, and on little Justin sleeping so peacefully in his crib, and she wished now desperately that she hadn’t awoken, either.
Sweet oblivion would be so much better than this terrible worry gnawing at her! Had Walker and Jared decided to confront Russell tonight instead of in the morning?
The footman Sims, his back to her as he sat facing the front door with a pistol upon his lap, would only say that Lord Dovercourt had told him no one could enter until he and Lord Summerlin returned. The footman guarding the back door had said the same thing. Those words were ominous enough!
Oh, Lord, how was she to bear this misery of not knowing what might be happening? Perhaps she should go back upstairs and awaken Lindsay. Yet Marguerite doubted she would be sleeping so soundly if Jared had told her that he and Walker were on their way to challenge Russell to a duel—
“Oh!” The sudden scraping of Sims’s chair made Marguerite whirl toward the door. The footman had jumped to his feet as if hearing something…and then she heard it, too. Footsteps rapidly approaching followed by an urgent knocking.
“Who goes there?” Sims demanded, though his voice held a nervous tremor. The pistol he’d leveled shook in his hand, too, as the knocking abruptly stopped.
“It’s Lady Belinda Cavendish! Please open the door. I must speak with Lady Summerlin! Her husband sent me!”
Marguerite looked at Sims while Sims looked at her, clearly uncertain of what to do.
“Lord Dovercourt…he said not to let anyone enter—”
“Dear God, Sims, she said my husband sent her! Open the door!”
Still Sims appeared uncertain, while Marguerite could stand it no longer. She rushed past him to pull back the bolt herself and fling open the door.
Her heart hammering in her throat, she stared at Lady Belinda, whose flushed face and tear-filled eyes made Marguerite certain at once that something was terribly wrong.
“You must come with me now!” Belinda said frantically, gesturing to the carriage with its four snorting horses waiting in front of the house. “Your husband’s father is dying. His Grace only arrived tonight and came upon a terrible scene. Sir Russell is dead, and Alexander—oh, dear, I meant Walker, agreed for me to come and fetch you so he could remain by his father’s side. We must hurry!”
Marguerite didn’t hesitate but flew with Belinda down the walk, though she cried out over her shoulder, “Lock the door, Sims! I’m going to my husband!”
The poor footman had looked so stricken when she’d thrown open the door, but she planned to assure Jared and Walker later that Sims hadn’t disobeyed their command. She climbed into the carriage and Belinda followed her, and settled into the single seat very close to Marguerite as the vehicle jerked into motion.
“Driver, make haste!” Belinda cried out to the coachman, while Marguerite felt as if she couldn’t catch her breath, everything was happening so fast.
Already they seemed to be flying past the other town houses on Piccadilly, Aunt Winnie’s and others, the near-overpowering scent of Belinda’s perfume filling the lamplit interior. Marguerite turned from the window to find Belinda staring at her, half of her beautiful face cast in shadow.
Strange how she didn’t appear frantic anymore, Marguerite thought with a sudden sense of unease as the carriage rounded a corner at such a breakneck pace that Belinda was thrown against her. Yet instead of righting herself, Belinda stretched across Marguerite and clawed at the handle until she managed to throw open the carriage door.
“You common little bitch!” she screamed, grabbing Marguerite to shove her bodily toward the opening. “You dared to marry the man meant to bemyhusband? Get out!Get out!”
