Chapter 24 #2
Judith glared. “I have known him for years and years,” she said sharply. “He was a good friend of your father’s.”
“Oh, was he?” Perry looked doubtful. “Isn’t the Duke of Sargen a dreadful rake? Always seducing ladies and fighting duels? He doesn’t seem like Father’s sort of man.”
Robert raised a brow.
“Your father knew him as a boy,” replied Judith stiffly.
“But I’ve never even heard you speak of his grace before.”
Judith lowered her gaze to the blue rug.
She couldn’t really tell Perry that Dacian had broken her heart, twice.
She couldn’t announce that she might have married Dacian instead of Perry’s own father, and that the duke had just made her an offer of marriage.
She couldn’t say that if Dacian died in Austria, she would sink into a black despair and possibly never emerge from it ever again.
“He needs our help.” She looked up. “Even if he doesn’t want it.” She shook the letter angrily. “The foolish man thinks he should do as Drumpellier directs.”
Robert frowned. “He wants to go to Austria to assassinate Bonaparte?”
She nodded, unable to voice it.
Robert drew a breath, opened his mouth to speak, then thought the better of it and closed his lips.
Perry glanced at him, and said, “But Mother, if he wants to serve England in the war, you can’t stop him.”
Judith brought a hand to cover her face. Tears leaked from her eyes as the truth of Perry’s words sunk in. She couldn’t stop him. Dacian wouldn’t want her to, and he might not forgive her if she did. Her plan was moot. She couldn’t do anything at all.
Judith rushed from the drawing room, still clutching the letter.
Tears blurred her vision, and she could not bear to stay and send Perry on his return journey just yet.
He would have to wait and make polite talk with Robert for a minute while she collected herself.
She stumbled away, instinctively making her way to the Tea Tower Room.
Sobbing as she walked, she allowed all the pent-up emotions of the last few days to erupt and pour down her cheeks.
The steep climb up the Tea Tower forced her to stop crying, and by the time she reached the top step, she had regained some of her composure. Still heartsore, she pushed the door open with relief, stepping into the soft welcome of the room.
Despite its gentle soothing, the Tea Tower Room was in darkness. Curtains, open from their activities earlier, allowed starlight in, casting a pale glow. The telescope was still propped up near the easternmost window, maps strewn around it.
She set about lighting the candles and reinvigorating the coals in the fireplace.
When a tidy flame burned on a new pile of sticks, she sank onto the nearest couch, drained and empty.
Yet the cheerful comfort of the room worked its magic upon her, gradually easing the frown from her brow.
And Ghastagon came to sit on her lap, purring loudly, like a huge pillow filled with vibrating rocks.
She read the letter again, and then again.
There might be a chance that Dacian would survive, she told herself.
He was used to living in exile, using his wits to survive.
Though clearly, he had lost his mind now!
Yet Drumpellier would want to keep the duke alive and sane, after all, as a valuable weapon.
Between the two of them, and all the resources of the Custos, Dacian might just manage to jump into Austria, do the deed, and escape.
She dared not dwell on any other possibility. She could not.
She was not sure how long she sat, staring at the middle of the circular room, absentmindedly patting Ghastagon while her mind became curiously blank.
The fire warmed her skin, and the Tea Tower Room soothed her spirits, but her heart ached inside her.
Even as it ached, it exulted, for Dacian’s letter laid out his affection for her in no uncertain terms.
…lay my heart at your feet…please marry me.
He was hers. If only she could give herself to him in return. Even just see him one more time, before he left. Could she ask Perry to do it, to take her back to the fort one more time?
Perry. She sat up and shook herself out of her stupor. Had Perry gone back to the Crescent already? She must say goodbye and give him a message for Elinor, if he could not be convinced to stay and Travel her into the fort.
Before she could stand, however, she heard footsteps on the stairs, in the quiet of the night.
She tensed, then looked up to see Mrs Ulrich’s head appear around the edge of the door.
Slowly, the rest of the housekeeper’s body followed, and she darted a look around the room in a pantomime of caution.
Judith stared. The housekeeper was holding something in her hands, wrapped in cloth. What task had she given Mrs Ulrich? And why was her expression so grim?
The housekeeper presented the bundle, as if holding a funeral shroud. “Ma’am, I found this hidden in eastern cliff-face.”
“Oh?” Judith sat up, intrigued. Miss Onslow’s secretive stash!
With great ceremony, Mrs Ulrich swept the cloth aside.
Underneath was a gun.