Chapter 35
“Take them.”
The command echoed like a death knell through the thick woods.
The horses pawed at the dirt impatiently, steam blowing from their nostrils as though they could sense the violence in the air.
Inside the carriage, Aurelia, Hyacinth, and Nora held one another. Their skirts were tangled, and their hearts pounded with fear.
“God’s teeth,” Hyacinth muttered through clenched teeth, her eyes flashing. “The bastard dares—”
But her anger only made the fear cling to them like the dew in the air. Fear of what these armed men could do to three helpless women.
The first rider jumped down, his boots hitting the ground with a loud thud. He was followed by another, and then another. As they moved closer, the leaves crunched louder.
Aurelia’s heart raced. She could hear her mother’s voice in her head, the countless lessons about dignity and composure. But there was no room for grace now.
There was only survival.
“We can’t stay inside,” she hissed. “We’ll be cornered.”
Hyacinth’s jaw tightened, but she nodded. “Then we fight.”
The carriage door burst open as the three women stumbled out. The air outside was cold. They backed up against the wall of the carriage, scanning their surroundings.
“Come quietly, ladies,” one of the men sneered. “You’ll make it easier for yourselves.”
“Easier?” Hyacinth spat, snatching up a fallen branch from the ground. “Take this, you ox-headed brute!”
She swung with a force that surprised even herself, and the wood crashed against the man’s arm.
He cursed loudly, stumbling backward.
Aurelia looked around and reached for the first thing she saw. She yanked the iron lantern off the side of the carriage and flung it at one of the men. It missed his head by inches, crashing to the ground with a fiery spark.
“Stay back!” she shouted, her voice raw with desperation.
Nora was pale and shaking now. Still, she picked up a handful of stones and, with trembling hands, threw them one after the other. “Don’t touch us!”
The riders laughed mockingly, but every step they took was met with stones.
“I’ll make sure you limp back to your master, you pox-ridden dog,” Hyacinth spat as she made a quick bun with her hair.
Another rider laughed before reaching for Aurelia’s arms. She shrieked, tossing a rather sharp rock at him which caught him in the eye. He roared in pain, cradling his eye.
“You’ll regret that,” another snarled.
“Come closer,” Aurelia growled, fire blazing in her eyes. “And see if I don’t gouge your eyes out to match your friend’s.”
The woods erupted in chaos. The ladies fought the riders like cornered lionesses, swinging at them with every ounce of their strength.
Amid the confusion, Sir Edmund darted forward and wrapped his arm around Nora’s waist. She screamed, the sound splitting the air as he pulled her back against him.
Aurelia’s gaze snapped to them. “No!”
Her heart dropped into her stomach.
Hyacinth spun at the sight, but she was too late to stop him.
As Nora tried to kick and bite Sir Edmund to no avail, Aurelia’s vision blurred.
Not her. Not Nora. Not my sister.
A strangled scream tore from her throat, and she lunged at him. Her fist struck his jaw with startling force. “Let her go!”
The impact was so strong that his head snapped to the side. For one glorious moment, Aurelia believed she could yank her sister free.
But Sir Edmund’s fury was swift. With a growl, he grabbed Aurelia by the neck and shoved her away.
Her body flew back, hitting the back of the carriage. Her head slammed against the wood with a sickening thud.
“Aurelia!” Hyacinth’s cry pierced through the chaos, so loud that it froze the air.
Then she ran, rushing to where Aurelia crumpled to the ground. Her chest barely rose, and her eyes were closed.
Sir Edmund’s face twisted with panic despite his rage. “Enough,” he snarled to his men. “Retreat!”
The riders obeyed at once, climbing back on their horses.
Sir Edmund let go of Nora as he climbed on his steed. Then, with a thunder of echoing hooves, they disappeared into the trees.
An eerie silence fell over the path, broken only by the sound of Nora dropping to her knees beside her sister.
“Aurelia! No, no, no…”
But Aurelia lay still, slipping into oblivion.
It wasn’t winter, so the presence of snow couldn’t be blamed on the cold surrounding Whitmore Estate. If anything, it was something heavier. Something quieter.
Percival found himself wandering the corridors like a ghost. His boots echoed against the marble floor; the sound was impossibly loud in the stillness.
For days, he had buried himself in work, in duties, but tonight something fragile was calling him back to life.
Lottie. His little girl.
He realized with shame that he had barely seen her. That she had been left to nurse her longing for Aurelia alone.
Without a second thought, his feet carried him to her chambers. The door was ajar when he arrived, faint candlelight spilling into the corridor.
He hesitated, unable to muster the courage to face her.
“It’s all right, Sir Whiskerton,” he heard her whisper. He watched her stroke the cat’s back as she curled up on her bed. “She’ll come back for us. I know she will. She promised.”
The cat purred faintly, as though agreeing.
Percival’s chest tightened. And it hurt him to see that he wasn’t the only one hurting.
Even my daughter feels her absence like a wound.
He took a deep breath and finally knocked on the door.
Lottie lifted her head at once, her curls falling around her face. When she saw him, her lips curled into a small smile.
However, it wasn’t the radiant one that used to greet him. This one was tired, strained, as though she were forcing joy into her heart.
“Papa,” she murmured.
Percival stepped inside and crossed to her bed. The mattress sank under his weight. His eyes softened as he looked at her, but guilt shadowed them all the same.
“Have you eaten?” he asked gently. “Are you feeling well?”
Lottie only hugged the cat tighter, her eyes fixed stubbornly on his face. “When is she coming back?”
The question came impatiently, proving that she wasn’t ready to discuss anything else with him. And it sliced through him like steel.
“I want Aurelia,” she added.
Her voice was not pleading. It was firm, steady, with the stubbornness only a child could wield.
Percival swallowed. His throat burned with words he could not speak. He wanted to tell her that Aurelia would be back tomorrow, that she was fine—that everything was fine. But he could not lie. He could not promise something of which he was no longer certain.
So instead, he pulled his daughter into his arms.
Her small frame pressed against his chest. She paused for a moment, then her little hands gripped his coat.
And that was when the formidable Duke of Whitmore allowed himself to crumble.
“I want her too,” he whispered into her curls, the admission tasting of defeat.
Sir Whiskerton glared up at him with unblinking green eyes, as though judging him. And for once, Percival didn’t deflect.
I deserve that glare. I deserve worse.
But the moment didn’t last. It couldn’t. Not when a frantic knock sounded at the door.
“Your Grace!”
It was Sophia.
Percival straightened, his arms loosening around Lottie. “Come in.”
The governess rushed inside. Her face was pale, and her eyes were so wide with panic that she frightened Lottie.
“Your Grace—” Her words tumbled out in a rush. “I just received word from Banfield House. Her Grace…” She swallowed hard. “Her Grace has been hurt.”
Instantly, the air vanished from the room, and the world around him slowed.
“Hurt?” he repeated.
It sounded like a joke.
No, it must be a joke.
“Yes.” Sophia’s voice trembled. “She was attacked by men on the road.”
Percival froze, as though his soul had been wrenched out of his body. He could only picture Aurelia smiling or laughing with a touch of stubbornness.
But hurt? He couldn’t picture her hurt.
His brows knitted together, and his jaw clenched so tight that it ached. And then, when his confusion gave way to worry, his blood boiled.
His vision darkened at the corners.
Who dared? Who dared touch her?
“How?” he bit out.
The governess flinched at his tone, but she answered nonetheless. “Her carriage was attacked. Lady Hyacinth and Lady Nora were with her. She lost consciousness, Your Grace.”
Something inside Percival snapped. Something that tore a low, guttural growl from his throat. The sound made Lottie flinch and cling tighter to the cat.
He stood up and gently pushed his daughter back against the pillows.
“Stay with her,” he ordered, his voice like iron.
He did not wait for a reply.
He stormed out of the room, his strides long and determined. The servants scattered as he passed by, but he didn’t see them. He could only focus on one thought: Aurelia. Mine. My duchess.
He reached the stables in minutes and grabbed the reins of his stallion with a force that startled the beast. But even the horse seemed to sense his urgency, his desperation.
Without a word, without armor, without pause, he mounted his horse and tore through the gates.
The night air lashed at him, the wind whipping his face, but he did not care. His heart pounded with guilt, with fury, with terror.
This is my fault. If she had stayed, she would have been safe. If I had begged her to stay, she would not be out there. I failed her. I failed them all.
But he would not fail her now.
He kicked his heels into the horse’s flanks, urging him faster.
He was coming for his wife, and God help anyone who dared stand in his way.