Mr. Watley froze under Adrian’s pointed look. He was somewhere in his sixties, slight of frame, hunched in posture, but with a kind face that most would surely feel comforted to find themselves under.
Adrian bore the man no ill will. In fact, a small part of him cared deeply for the aged servant. Sadly, Adrian was not one to show such emotions.
“Would you care to join us, Your Grace?” Mr. Watley dared.
Adrian scoffed. “I would not burden you with my company.”
“It is no burden, Your Grace.”
“No?” Adrian scoffed again. “Perhaps ask the rest of the staff how they might feel before making such a bold declaration.” He raised an eyebrow at Mr. Watley and saw the doubt in the man’s blue eyes. Where Mr. Watley was surely willing to invite Adrian to join him, the rest of the staff would bemoan such an inclusion.As they would be right to do.“Go,” Adrian sighed. “And enjoy yourself, Mr. Watley. You deserve it.”
The event in question was the Feast of John the Baptist. It was a yearly event, one celebrated with feasts and drink, dancing and laughter, and the knowledge that for one night at least, those who participated could forget their troubles and act freely and without care.
It was not an event that suited Adrian.
“I will see you on the morrow,” Mr. Watley said with a soft smile. “Be well, Your Grace.”
Adrian exhaled sharply through his nose, indicated toward the doorway with his head, and then turned back to watching the flames of the hearth.
Alone, finally, and Adrian took a sip of brandy. It would not be the last. His intent was to drink the entire bottle, bring himself to a point where he could hardly stand or think, and then pass out cold. That was the easiest way to dull his senses and forget for a time who he was, how much he was hated, and how there was nothing to be done about it.
The storm continued to rage. The minutes ticked over. Adrian drank. And then, as if it were a dream, he thought that he heard something…
It sounded like the storm, at first. But the manor was large and hollow, so the sound echoed throughout its vast chambers until even Adrian could not deny it. It was the sound of someone knocking on the front door.
“Mr. Watley!” Adrian shouted. “The door!”
No answer came and Adrian cursed as he remembered the reason why.
The knocking continued in intensity and for a moment, Adrian considered ignoring it. But the sound was incessant, and he worried that if he left it alone, it would not stop. Peace and quiet were what he desired on that night, and such disturbances threatened to lay those plans in ruins.
He groaned and rose from the chair, then he stumbled from the drawing room and into the halls.
The knocking grew louder, filled with panic. Adrian sneered, figuring it to be a farmer or some such, caught in the storm and wanting help.
He almost laughed at the notion. Surely, anyone within a ten-mile radius would know better than to risk disturbing the Duke of Vermont. Why, was he to guess, he would have said that most would have preferred the dangers of the storm.
The front doors shook with the incessant knocking. Adrian crossed the darkened foyer, a sneer already on his lips as he reached for the handles. He then took a breath as if to calm himself before throwing the doors open.
Rain and wind lashed his face. He threw up a hand to cover himself. It took a moment then to see who had disturbed him, but when he did, Adrian started with surprise…what on earth…
A young woman stood shivering on the doorstep. She wore a cloak to cover her body and face. Her skin was pale. Her coat drenched to the bone. And as she looked up at him, she swayed on the spot as if she might collapse.
“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded on instinct.
“His Grace…” she asked, her voice barely a whisper. “I need to see… Vermont”
He frowned at her, trying to see her face clearly. It was too dark to make out, however, so all he could see were a pair of green eyes so bright they were almost blinding.
“I am he,” he said carefully. “What is this about? Who are you?”
“Please…” Slowly, as if in pain, she shifted her cloak and opened it wide. Adrian gasped because the woman held a baby in her arms. Somehow, it was asleep, wrapped warmly, looking more comfortable than it had any right to be. “Worry not about me…” The woman held the baby out to him. “The child, Your Grace. Take your child…”
Adrian did not realize what he was doing, but he reached for the sleeping baby and brought it into his arms. It was light and warm, and it smiled as it rested in his arms.
“Who are you?” Adrian demanded. “What is the meaning of –”
The woman collapsed suddenly. Adrian started in surprise, caught between helping the woman and holding the baby. But through it all, the woman’s words echoed in his mind. ‘Take your child…’
