The duke mounted another step and released a huff. “Thank you, LaCroy, but you’re terminated. All of Markham’s staff will be terminated.”
“I failed as a groom so soon?”
“You’re able, but you worked for Markham. Won’t have any problems or potential loyalty issues in my troop if I start fresh.”
He took another labored step. “But I can make an exception for you if you’d swear loyalty to me now.”
“I don’t swear. My mother taught me better.” Mama’s only lesson that stuck, that and don’t move about when receiving a switch of spiky palm fronds across the legs. “I’d rather be terminated and reapply tomorrow.”
The duke moved again. This time a sharp word grunted out of him as he reached the next level. “Well, if you return in the morn, you’ll be employed. Do spread the word. Only disciplined people, loyal people will work at Hamlin Hall. LaCroy, I’ll remember that name. And your humor. You’ve my permission to leave. You’ll not be harassed by my men.”
Badly weaving, the duke hobbled forward, step by step up the portico.
A small part of me wanted to stay and make sure the man didn’t tumble headlong onto the limestone steps. And a smidge of me wanted to see Markham cower for all the suffering he’d caused.
But I’d lived to see another moment. That was enough.
With all the changes in the hires, this could be an opportunity. Maybe the countess would allow me to be employed to care for Lionel until I could claim my son as my own.
It wasn’t right to be a maid, but it had to be better than sneaking in at night. I turned to catch a view of the third floor and the nursery and smacked into a soldier.
“Halt.” The man brandished a weapon at my forehead, and the smell of gunpowder wafted. It made me nauseous. It made me remember. These fellows weren’t common folk. They were warriors under Repington’s command.
Another came and waved me forward. “The duke is signaling. This footman has been given permission to leave.”
Half pivoting, I saw the duke still on the steps. He motioned some sort of salute with his arm. He’d made my passage safe. Perhaps this Englishman had some honor. Maybe his word could be trusted. I hoped he’d protect my son tonight.
“Go on,” the soldier said. He joined the others unpacking the carriages. More weapons. All being stashed in Hamlin with my baby.
Fists balled, head down, I started again toward the gates, toward Jemina, hoping she remained hidden. I needed her help when I returned tomorrow to fight for my son.
CHAPTER 3
WINNING OFF THEFIELD
Busick Strathmore, the Duke of Repington, marched up the first landing of the grand stone stairs of Hamlin Hall. Well, “marched” was an exaggeration. His valiant ascent consisted of a series of hops with a foul wooden staff.
But still valiant, not tumbling or requiring assistance.
He started again, step by step, to the top without a fall, definitely not looking weak. Or so he thought, until he spied his friend and confidant, the cautious Lord Gantry.
The viscount’s face held a tight grimace as he stood near the doors, three steps higher. “You sure you don’t need help? Everyone needs assistance, even a great commander.”
“Just taking my time. Don’t you approve of my caution?”
“If a raid with fifteen soldiers rampaging a country estate full of drunks and wayward rabble is thoughtful plotting, I’d hate to see reckless.”
Tired and annoyed that someone would question one of Wellington’s trusted strategists, Busick banged his crutch as he took the next step. “I’m effective.”
His friend shrugged. “You are, but I don’t see how you lose on this one.”
Busick wasn’t losing anything ever again. He held his breath and pulled up to the last blasted stair. “Gantry,” he said with a grunt, “is my ward secure? I don’t trust Markham. He’ll steal the boy.”
“We have the fiend surrounded. Surrender is eminent.” He regarded the duke closely. “Your balance is good?”
“Yes, I won’t stumble. No lumps or bumps to be added to my thick skull.”
“Very thick.” Gantry sort of smiled, clasped the door handle, then stopped. “You’re not winded?”
