“Son, it’s just one foot in front of the other. That’s how I do it, even if I need a crutch.”
Where was my crutch?
I had none, nothing to take away my guilt. Colin’s suicide was my fault. My last note pushed him into the Thames as surely as his depressed thoughts.
“Young man, you’re fatigued. See, my weight is too much. Gird your loins.”
“What?” I wasn’t sure I had those. My eyes crossed as I stared at him. “What, Duke?”
“Strengthen your hold. I’m not looking to fall, not on a night where I’ve caught that rascal. Markham will be evicted on the hour. He’ll be away from my ward.”
That was the crutch I needed, the duke taking Lionel from the scoundrel.
Maybe I should say who I was, a widow dressed as a man and . . . and get tossed out of Hamlin, too.
I grunted, then forced myself to take a step, then another.
The duke, this stocky man of six foot four or more hopped onto the first step. Was he pausing for me? Was I slowing him down?
I made my voice deeper. “Let’s continue. I don’t think I’ll dump you, sir. Yet.”
“You have a good sense of humor for a crutch.” The duke pulled out his pocket watch. “Only five minutes have passed. Still on schedule.”
Gantry stepped in front of us with a wooden staff and presented it as if he held a sword. “Here, Repington. It’s better than a minion for keeping your balance.”
The duke allowed him to slip it under the arm I held up. Standing on his own, he released me and powered up the next step. “Is the perimeter manned?”
“Yes. Your men are securing the surrounding park now.”
Surrounding park? Jemina? The sweat beading at my brow would soon wash off the remaining cosmetic. I’d be exposed, and Jemina would be dragged through the gate.
“Repington,” Gantry said, “would you like me to see what’s going on inside?”
The duke nodded. “Good idea. Go on. I’ll be in the drawing room at eleven past eleven.” He opened his gold watch again. “That’s six, no five minutes from now.”
Gantry hissed something under his breath, then went up the steps.
All the windows were lit up bright. Hamlin Hall was under full inspection or attack. But what of my Lionel?
The duke turned toward me. His clear blue eyes twinkled, reflecting the fire of torches, and he glanced at me as if he could assess every scandal in my soul. “What’s your name, soldier?”
I coughed. “Me?” When in doubt, Lady Shrewsbury said stay as close to the truth as possible. Mama’s name would do. “LaCroy, sir.”
The duke sniffed and wiggled his nose. “I smell milk or soap. You’ve been with a cow, LaCroy? Milking?”
His question sounded like a cross between a command and a joke.
But how to respond and not give away my sex?
Between my nerves and the fear that a soldier would drag my friend through the gates . . . I leaked worse than a grain bag with holes.
Then I saw my white cosmetic had smeared on the duke’s armpit.
Keeping my hands tight at my sides, I shifted. “Well, you see . . . what had . . . Yes, sir.” When in doubt, agree to everything except seeing a ghost. That was the countess’s second rule of masquerade but with my amendment to stay out of Bedlam.
“LaCroy, that was more of a joke than a request for an answer. But put the word out, I’ll require new staffing including a wet nurse. Based on the reports, Old Markham hasn’t employed one, and I hear it’s best to suckle a babe to grow strapping men.”
He thought to hire a wet nurse for Lionel. A sigh blasted through my lips. My boy would be safe at least this night.
