CHAPTER4
A REASON IS SHARED
Meanwhile…
“Sir? Andrew?” Angelika shook the prone man’s shoulders before moving a hand to the side of his face. “Andrew! Wake up,” she said in a louder voice. About to lift his head from the snow, she heard someone call out.
An older man approached, his hurried steps slowed by the snow. “What’s happened?” He landed on his knees on the other side of Andrew.
“I think he fainted,” she replied, her eyes rounding with worry. “Do you know him?”
“I am his valet, miss. Pruitt is my name.”
“I am Lady Angelika Westbrook. My father is Lord Stonely.”
“My lady,” he responded, nodding once. “I fear I cannot lift him by myself.”
“I can get help. My house is just there,” she said, pointing down the slight incline to where the three-story Lazonby sandstone manor house jutted from the ground, its green slate roof covered in snow. “And we have footmen,” she added. “Stay with him. I’ll be right back.”
She hurried off, following her own footprints in the snow as she held up her skirts and dashed through the powder. Bursting through the front door, she called out, “I need help!”
Bronson appeared from the butler’s pantry, a look of alarm on his face. “My lady?”
“I need the two footmen. Styles, especially. A man has passed out near the poplars.” She struggled to catch her breath. “Prepare a bedchamber for him. A good one,” she added. If the man had a valet, then he probably wasn’t simply landed gentry or a visitor to Dunfey Park as she had suspected.
Was he, in fact, the master of Dunfey Park?
“I’ll see to it right away,” the butler assured her, pointing to a tall footman who had already appeared from the back of the house upon hearing her cry for help.
“Follow my footsteps in the snow, toward the tree line,” Angelika instructed before hurrying up the steps and into the parlor. She gathered the blanket she had been wrapped in the day before and rushed out of the house.
The footman, Styles, was already on his way, his long legs giving him a distinct advantage over Angelika. He had Andrew up and leaning against him when she arrived to wrap the blanket around his back. Breathless, the second footman, Thompkins, joined them.
Between the two of them, they carried Andrew to the house, Pruitt and Angelika following close behind.
“Who is he?” she asked, her expression conveying worry.
Pruitt furrowed a graying brow. “He did not introduce himself?”
“He said his name was Andrew.”
The valet didn’t bother trying to hide his surprise at hearing her response. “His Grace, the Duke of Suffolk.”
Angelika blinked. “I’ve been teaching adukehow to make snow angels?” she asked in disbelief. She glanced back to where Andrew had fallen into the snow. Despite the marks made by her knees and those of the valet’s, the impression of the duke’s body had left a near-perfect angel.
“I admit to wondering if that is what you two had been doing,” Pruitt replied. “You must have been the one to decorate the grounds with an angel only yesterday.”
Despite the cold, Angelika’s face warmed. “It was me,” she admitted. “The snow is pristine on the property there. The top isn’t crusted over as it is in front of Stonefield.” She inhaled softly. “What’s wrong with him?”
The valet swallowed and took a deep breath. A cloud of white surrounded him when he exhaled. “His Grace does not do well out-of-doors.”
Frowning, Angelika tried to understand. “He doesn’t like the sun?”
“Oh, he likes it. He just cannot tolerate being outside. In the open.”
“Because he doesn’t like the out-of-doors? Or...?”
“He suffers from a condition, my lady. There is no hope for it, which is why I find it so surprising he left the house today.”
