Chapter Twenty-Three

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

EVELINE/HELENA

"E rnest! Stop!" Eveline ran toward him and jumped between her brother and the Duke of Lennox as Ernest swung his arm.

She cringed, twisting her head away and waiting for the explosion of pain that would accompany the collision of Ernest's fist with her face.

The slap of flesh on flesh echoed through the room, but no agony followed. Eveline peeled her eyes open. Less than an inch from her cheek, Ernest's hand, enveloped by the Duke of Lennox's palm, shook.

"H-How did you do that?" she whispered.

Shoving Ernest backward, the Duke of Lennox slid his body in front of Eveline's and glanced over his shoulder at her. "I swore no one would harm you again… that includes your brother."

Voices echoed in the hallway. Miss Webb, the Duke of Roxburghe, and a moment later, Miss Fernsby-Webb squeezed through the doorway and burst into the chamber, all of them wearing expressions of shock.

"Who should I strike?" the Duke of Roxburghe asked, his eyes flicking between the Duke of Lennox's protective position and Ernest's balled fists.

The Duke of Lennox sighed, straightening. "Both of us."

"If you wish." The Duke of Roxburghe pushed up his shirt sleeves.

"Neither of them." Eveline darted around the Duke of Lennox. "A misunderstanding occurred between my brother and my fiancé."

"I did not misread the situation," Ernest snarled, stabbing a finger at the Duke of Lennox. "Despite your request for Eveline's hand, this union is not official, and until that occurs, you'll not have one moment alone with her."

"I reject your demand." The Duke of Lennox approached Ernest, keeping his arms at his sides. "I understand your desire to prevent a scandal, but you cannot prohibit me from encouraging our connection. We are to be married, and your sister's alarming experience with her previous fiancé still affects all of her interactions with me."

Ernest folded his arms. "I won't give you permission to seduce Eveline."

"Perhaps," the Duke of Roxburghe said, striding forward, "an agreement can be reached between the both of you. Lennox agrees not to have intercourse with your sister until their wedding, and you agree to allow him time with Miss Braddock as long as the interaction doesn't occur in her bedchamber."

Ernest and the Duke of Lennox eyed each other.

"I'll accept those terms," Ernest said, a hint of melancholy in his response, and held out his hand.

The Duke of Lennox glanced down, accepted Ernest's hand, pumping once, then flicked his gaze toward the Duke of Roxburghe.

"I want your wedding date."

"Absolutely not." The Duke of Roxburghe turned and strode out of the room with the Duke of Lennox on his heels.

"You forced this situation upon me," came the Duke of Lennox's reply.

"This incident is a result of your actions," the Duke of Roxburghe said, his voice fading down the hallway. "I warned you."

Eveline couldn't decipher the Duke of Lennox's muttered retort, but she knew the words weren't polite. A moment later, two doors opened and shut simultaneously.

Pressing her hand to her mouth, Miss Webb stifled a giggle, curtsied to Eveline, and exited the room, accompanied by Miss Fernsby-Webb, who escorted her sister to her chamber and then retired to her own.

"Do I need to stay?" Ernest asked, glowering across the hallway at the Duke of Lennox's closed door.

"I doubt he'll make a second attempt tonight," Eveline said, attempting to keep her annoyance at Ernest's interference under control.

Eyes narrowing, Ernest strode to her doorway and paused, his hand wrapping around the door handle. "None of your sisters gave me this much trouble."

Eveline grinned. "Thank you."

He slammed the door and stomped back to his chamber.

Though she very much wished for the Duke of Lennox's return that evening, she understood he wouldn't tempt her brother's anger. Grumbling, she crawled under the coverlet and glared at the ceiling, waiting for sleep.

A creak reverberated down the hallway. Eveline froze, her breath catching, and strained her ears, listening for footsteps. She hadn't heard a door open.

Who was prowling along the second-floor corridor?

Her door handle depressed, and Eveline's heart stopped. Before she could react, the door exploded inward, revealing Humphrey's face, which was twisted in rage. She screamed, struggling to free herself from the covers, which further tangled around her legs, and fell out of the bed, landing hard on the floor and knocking the breath from her lungs.

Humphrey vanished.

A sliver of early morning light, steaming through a crack in the drapes, struck her in the eyes, and she rolled onto her side with a groan, staring at the empty room.

It was just a dream.

"Eveline?" Ernest tapped on the closed door. "I heard you yell."

"I had a terrible dream," she replied, scrambling to her feet.

She darted across the room and opened the door, catching a flash of concern flickering through Ernest's eyes.

"Dress as quickly as you can," he said, inspecting the room over Eveline's shoulder. "We have a full house this morning."

Eveline frowned. "Who else has arrived?"

"Two more dukes and a Mrs. Grove, who's assisting Mrs. Hawkins with the household duties." A loud knock resounded on the outer door, and Ernest, glancing heavenward, exhaled a deep breath. "That article caused a flurry of activity. I don't know how you slept through the din."

He turned and trudged out of the room, heading toward the staircase.

She raced about the chamber, yanking on clothing, dragging the bristles of an embroidered hairbrush through the tangled mess hanging from her head, and hunting for her shoes, which mysteriously ended up under her bed. Once presentable, she exited the room and descended the staircase, following the low rumbles of voices down the corridor.

"I'd like to know," said a deep voice that Eveline assumed belonged to the Duke of Mansfield, "what you were thinking when you printed this story?"

The fluttering of paper accompanied his question.

"I was resolving a situation." The Duke of Lennox's calm tone floated out of the dining room. "Mr. Drummond is no longer a threat once he understands Miss Braddock is out of his reach. The sooner that happens, the sooner I can marry her."

A cacophony of sound exploded into the hallway.

"I knew you'd fallen!" Glee punctuated the Duke of Mansfield's statement.

Uncertain if she should interrupt the discussion, Eveline hesitated in the doorway, her gaze sliding over four dukes, two sisters, and Ernest, seated in front of multiple platters of steaming breakfast foods.

The Duke of Lennox spied her first. He rose, pushing back his chair, and hastened to her side, lifting her hand and placing a searing kiss on her fingers. Then he escorted her to the table, directing Eveline to sit in his previously occupied chair and selecting the empty one beside her.

"How did you sleep?" he asked, dragging his half-eaten plate toward him.

"Terribly." She leaned against his arm and exhaled. "I dreamed Humphrey attacked me."

Her response caused the Duke of Lennox to exchange a glance with her brother, then place his hand on her trembling leg. She leaned against his arm, needing the comfort provided by his proximity.

"When is Mr. Drummond expected?" The Duke of Beaufort leaned over and speared two sausages from the platter to his right.

"Tonight,"—the Duke of Lennox's hand tightened on her leg—"would be the earliest estimation. However, I suspect he'll make his presence known at the Venning's ball tomorrow evening. He'll need time to assess the situation."

The Duke of Beaufort added two more sausages to his plate. "And how do you propose we entertain ourselves until then?"

"Do you not intend to spend the entirety of your visit in the dining room?" The Duke of Lennox winked at Eveline, drawing a small smile to her lips.

"He should," the Duke of Mansfield said as he picked up his coffee cup, "provide us with a concert."

"No." The Duke of Beaufort's green eyes narrowed. "I don't play in public."

"This isn't public." The Duke of Mansfield indicated the group with his cup. "This is your friends and their fiancées."

"And one sister and one brother." The Duke of Beaufort slashed his arm toward the end of the table.

Setting a cloth napkin beside her plate, Miss Fernsby-Webb said, "If it eases your trepidation, Your Grace, I'll accompany you."

The Duke of Beaufort's eyes slid to her. "I'm not afraid."

"Your refusal claims otherwise." She tilted her head.

The air crackled between them.

"I am doing this under protest." He shoved back his chair, rising.

"Don't believe his blustering," the Duke of Lennox said, leaning over Eveline to address Miss Fernsby-Webb. "Music is his hidden passion."

"When you inform everyone,"—the Duke of Beaufort's eyes bulged—"it's no longer a secret."

"Your Grace, if His Grace is too timid to play, you shouldn't force him." Miss Fernsby-Webb picked up her napkin again. "I'd rather silence over the discordant musical struggles of a man who believes his caliber is greater than it truly is."

The Duke of Beaufort banged his fist on the table, startling all three ladies.

"Follow me," he ground out, obviously struggling to maintain his civility.

The Duke of Beaufort marched to the parlor and sat at the pianoforte, making a grand spectacle of readying himself, then struck the first chord, filling the room with music. Miss Fernsby-Webb, true to her word, sat on the bench beside him and joined in, her alto voice rising and falling in harmony with his.

"Do you see it?" Miss Webb murmured as she sat beside Eveline on the sofa and nodded toward her sister and the Duke of Beaufort.

"See what?" Eveline asked, keeping her voice low.

"The connection between them."

Eveline shook her head. "You can't force two people together."

"Sure, I can." Miss Webb grinned. "I schemed to bring you and the Duke of Lennox together, and now, you're engaged."

"And facing a horrific encounter with a madman."

"Which you no longer need to endure alone." Miss Webb shifted her attention back to the pianoforte and nodded her head once. "Three dukes left to match."

The day crawled by with Eveline's eyes flicking to the window to inspect each passing carriage, every sound bringing renewed dread.

When would Humphrey come for her?

"Drink this." The Duke of Lennox sat beside Eveline and handed her a full snifter of liquor.

"I can't," she protested, her nose wrinkling at the strong smell wafting from the glass.

"You're shaking. This will help." He pantomimed bringing the cup to his lips. "I'm not moving until you consume all of it."

She complied and coughed as the harsh taste coated her tongue. Warmth spread down her throat, loosening the knot in her stomach. Finishing the liquid, she sighed, passed him the glass, and sagged against him, her eyes half-closing.

The world turned blurry.

She was vaguely aware of Ernest—after a terse argument with the Duke of Lennox—lifting her and carrying her to her bedchamber. He deposited her in the bed, closed the drapes, and exited the room, leaving her in the darkness.

At some point during the night, her chamber filled with the scent of grass, like a meadow just at sunrise. She moaned and rolled toward the smell, burying her face in it and falling back asleep. Though she feared encountering Humphrey, he didn't visit her dreams.

When she opened her eyes the next morning, the Duke of Lennox, stretched out beside her on top of the covers, rolled over and smiled.

"Good morning," he said, drawing her closer. "Did you sleep better?"

"I did." Curling into his chest and inhaling his unusual scent, she sat up with a gasp. "Ernest!"

"Over here," her brother groaned, unfolding himself from the armchair.

"You both slept in here?" Her head whipped between Ernest and the Duke of Lennox.

"We reached an agreement." The Duke of Lennox brushed a kiss across her forehead. "After our engagement is announced at the Venning's ball this evening, Mr. Braddock will attempt to shelve his overly protective brotherly tendencies."

"I hope all your children are daughters," Ernest snapped.

Eveline laughed. "Careful, or that curse may attach itself to you."

"Don't turn your matchmaking tendencies toward me," he replied, shuffling toward the door. "I'm satisfied with my current lot."

"His opinion may change after tonight's ball." The Duke of Lennox squeezed her hand, then slid from the bed. "Your brother and I have some business to attend. Roxburghe, Mansfield, and Warwick agreed to stand guard until we return."

"How long will you be?" Eveline scrambled off the bed and chased him to the doorway.

"A few hours." He lifted her hand and pressed his lips to the back of it. "We heard Mr. Drummond may be staying at an inn outside town. We're going to have a conversation with him in the hopes we can bypass any public confrontation."

Hours passed.

When Eveline and her houseguests gathered in the foyer that evening to depart for the Venning's ball, neither Ernest nor the Duke of Lennox had returned from their quest.

Miss Webb touched Eveline's shoulder. "I'm certain they'll meet us at the ball."

Dread, Eveline's constant companion since the printing of yesterday's newspaper article, bubbled into her throat. Swallowing the bile, she nodded and forced a smile.

"Of course," she replied, opening the front door.

She didn't believe Miss Webb, and judging by the pinched expression on his face, the Duke of Roxburghe didn't either.

The silent coach ride did nothing to ease Eveline's growing concerns. She stared out the window at the dark street, her mind churning through gruesome possibilities.

Would Humphrey murder both Ernest and the Duke of Lennox?

Slowing, the coach turned onto the road leading to the Venning's estate, joining a line of carriages traveling in procession. Behind them, the coach containing the Dukes of Mansfield and Beaufort turned as well, then sped up and passed them.

When their coach stopped in front of the Venning residence, the Dukes of Mansfield and Beaufort, arms folded into intimidating poses, waited on the steps, and behind them, hovering near the front door, stood Miss Sinclair, her face hidden in the shadows.

Before either Duke moved, the carriage door ripped open, and Miss Sinclair, having darted down the steps and shoved between them, stuck her pale face into the cabin.

"I beg you." She flung herself at Eveline's feet with a sob. "Please forgive me. My mother..."

"What did she do?" Miss Fernsby-Webb asked, a hard edge in her voice.

Miss Sinclair twisted her head sideways. "She learned that I visited Miss Rowe's?—"

"Braddock," Miss Fernsby-Webb said, leaning forward. "I know your mother enjoys gossip as much as every other lady in this town."

Nodding, Miss Sinclair returned her attention to Eveline. "I don't know how she knew I was there, but she tore up the article intended for the publisher and locked me in my bed chamber."

"When we called upon you," Miss Webb said softly, "your mother claimed you were gravely ill. However, you seem to have recovered quite well."

The corner of Miss Sinclair's mouth pulled. "Mother is an excellent nurse."

As she retracted her body from the coach, the lantern highlighted several faint yellow-green bruises along Miss Sinclair's jawline. Eveline leaped from the coach, intending to demand an explanation for the injuries, but Miss Sinclair vanished, leaving Eveline spinning in circles as she searched for the young woman.

"Looking for someone?" the Duke of Mansfield asked, appearing in front of Eveline and inclining his head in a curt bow.

"The woman who was just in our coach." Eveline peered around him at the entrance to the house. "Did you see where she went?"

"She disappeared around the corner." He pointed in a vague direction, then frowned. "Should I retrieve her?"

Eveline shook her head, fearing that bringing attention to Miss Sinclair's unusual behavior would lead to more difficulties for the poor girl, and slipped her hand into the crook of the Duke of Mansfield's arm.

He escorted her into the ballroom, seemingly unperturbed by the whispers that followed their progress around the fringes of the dance floor.

"It must aggravate you," she said as they stopped beside the refreshment table.

"What must?" He turned, his dark gaze inspecting the couples behind them.

"To be constantly gossiped about," Eveline replied, picking up a cup of punch.

How had he not heard the murmurings accompanying their slow stroll through the room?

"There are very few whose opinions matter to me." Offering her a rare smile, he lifted a glass and clinked the rim against hers. "I've learned to ignore everything else."

She sipped her drink, studying him over the rim of her cup. "You must teach me that skill."

He inclined his head but didn't speak, which Eveline assumed meant he consented to her request.

Another stream of whispers—punctuated by the muffled thud of a cane—flowed toward them, and the Duke of Warwick emerged from the throng. When the Duke of Mansfield strode forward to greet him, a hand prevented Eveline from accompanying him. Admonishment on her tongue, she twisted around and froze, her words dying.

"We have unfinished business," Miss Drummond said, yanking Eveline closer.

"Our business is concluded." Eveline pulled against Miss Drummond's grip. "I'll never submit to your demands."

"I suspected you might refuse me." A vicious smile stretched Miss Drummond's lips. "Humphrey was pleased to learn of your location; he'll be arriving shortly to claim you."

Eveline reacted without thinking. Flipping her free arm forward, she flung her half-full cup of punch into Miss Drummond's face.

A horrific screech echoed through the ballroom, drowning out the music and drawing the attention of every person in the room. Smacking the glass from Eveline's hand, Miss Drummond danced backward and crashed into the refreshment table, releasing a second, louder howl.

As if suddenly aware of the attention upon them, she shoved her dripping hair out of her face, then brushed her hands over her gown and rolled back her shoulders, adopting a regal air.

She strode forward, sticking her finger into Eveline's face, and snarled, "You'll regret this disrespectful action."

"I've suffered at your hand long enough." Eveline raised her chin. "If you, or your brother, threaten me again?—"

Miss Drummond laughed, throwing back her head. "What will you do, Miss Braddock? Murder us?"

It didn't sound like a half-bad idea.