CHAPTER2
A LATE NIGHT ARRIVAL SURPRISES
Meanwhile, in the country estate of the Whyte dukedom
Katherine settled into her chair at the dining room table and waved to the footman. She felt silly being served dinner here rather than in the smaller breakfast parlor. With son Jonathan’s family having departed the day before for London—he and his duchess, Sarah, had decided to spend the Twelve Days at the dukedom’s townhouse in Mayfair—she no longer had guests to entertain.
Barker poured white wine while Smith-Jones set a bowl of thick soup before her. Although it wasn’t as hot as she would have liked, she ate two spoonfuls and directed her attention to her latest book.
The gothic novel wasn’t particularly well-written, nor was its premise very original, but the characters were interesting and the action was speeding up to what she thought would be a satisfying climax.
The hero had arrived at his destination, pounding on the door of an abandoned abbey in Yorkshire, his cries for help unheard by anyone. Meanwhile, the heroine was still in the clutches of the kidnapper in a nearby barn while her sister carried a valise filled with money and an ancient relic demanded in the ransom note.
So with the action having moved to the sister, why could Katherine still hear the hero pounding on the door?
She glanced up at hearing a faint yell for help and turned her head in time to see the butler racing past the dining room door.
Her book and soup forgotten, Katherine, Dowager Duchess of Whyte, stood from her chair and made her way to the dining room’s entrance. Peeking around the door jamb, she could make out Jackson assisting someone into the vestibule, the visitor’s arrival bringing with it a swirl of snowflakes and a blast of cold air she already felt wrapping around her slippered feet.
Curious, she called out, “Jackson, who is it?”
The butler paused in assisting the caller, his look of consternation growing by the moment. “I cannot say, but he’s half frozen, Your Grace, and he appears to have been injured.”
“Barker!” she called out as she hurried to join the butler, knowing the footman had to be somewhere nearby.
“Here, ma’am,” he replied, appearing from the dining room.
“Start a fire in the front salon. Tell Smith-Jones to bring blankets and find Mrs. Hutchins. It appears as if we’ll need bandages,” she ordered, unable to hide a wince when she saw their visitor had blood on his face.
The footman nodded in acknowledgement and hurried off. Before Katherine had made it into the vestibule, a housemaid was already scurrying into the front salon to see to the fire.
There were no lamps lit in the vestibule, but from the light in the brightly lit hall, Katherine could tell Jackson was seeing to a man of some wealth. Despite the coating of snow on his wool greatcoat, she knew it was of fine quality when Jackson pulled it from the man’s body and turned to hang it on a hook. The lining was clearly red satin.
As for the man’s top hat, Katherine took it from the shivering man’s head and flipped it over to discover a ‘Fitzsimmons and Smith’ label sewn into the crushed rim.
The hat that makes the gentleman.
Well, this gentleman was freezing. She could hear his teeth chattering from where she was standing—and no wonder. The vestibule was cold. Despite the chilly air, her long-sleeved dinner gown was providing enough warmth for the time being.
Placing the hat on a shelf, she turned and undid a wet woolen scarf from around his neck. Katherine immediately recognized the trademark scarlet color of Merino wool made by Banks Textiles in Darlington.
The very best wool in all of England.
When her attention went to the man’s face, she realized she recognizedhimas well.
“Thomas?” she whispered in awe. She couldn’t say more when Smith-Jones appeared with a blanket and some bath linens, and Jackson went to work drying the man’s salt-and-pepper hair and ashen face while the footman saw to wrapping the blanket around the man’s shoulders.
A streak of blood was left when Jackson pulled the bath linen from his face.
“Oh, dear. He is still bleeding,” she said, taking the wet bath linen from Jackson to wipe away the streak in an attempt to locate the source of the blood.
“He has a cut on his forehead, ma’am,” Jackson stated.
“Indeed.” She turned to discover the housekeeper, Mrs. Hutchins, armed with an array of bandages and gauze.
“I can see to patchin’ ‘im up, Your Grace,” she said. “You’re dinner’s gettin’ cold.”
Katherine caught Barker’s attention. “Take him into the front salon and see if he’ll drink some brandy.” She turned her attention to the butler. “Jackson, we’ll need tea and probably some food. Have my dinner brought there.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the butler replied, hurrying off toward the kitchens.
“Can you walk, Your Grace?”
There was a collective gasp from the footman and the housekeeper. “He’s a duke?” Mrs. Hutchins whispered. She immediately dipped a curtsy, although the man didn’t see her do it.
His gaze was on Katherine.
And from the expression on his face, it appeared he was regretting his arrival.
