Ellie looked just about ready to expire from heartbreak. Cal gently led her to the porter’s chair, and she sank down onto the seat, her head dropping into her hands.
‘Ye’re shaking.’ He forced his wounded knee to bend, and kneeled before her, rubbing her shaking legs. If only he could somehow rub a little of her fear away.
If Ellie’s heart broke, surely his would too.
He needed to fix this. He needed to find Gwen. Right this very minute. ‘Lizzy, stay with Ellen. Owen, guard the door. Call for me immediately if Blackford dares to show his face here again, and don’t let any of the guests leave unless ye’re sure they’re not hiding Gwen on their person. I’ll direct the search.’ He straightened, ideas about search numbers and reporting stations and plans of attack swirling around his head. It was the same voice he’d listened to when captaining a ship of seven hundred men. The voice he’d stopped listening to after the fire. Now, he didn’t have that luxury.
‘Right you are!’ Owen snatched a sword from a bewildered-looking knight and turned his gaze to the front door as though daring Geoffrey to reappear. He’d come to the ball as Icarus, the man who’d flown too close to the sun, and was wearing white feather wings and a short white tunic. Now, he was an avenging angel.
‘Where’s Chakrabarti?’ Lady F pushed a shot of whisky into Ellie’s hand, looking up and down the passage as though the butler would appear on command. ‘He was supposed to be manning the door, and he’s never not where he’s supposed to be.’
‘Ye’re right.’ He frowned. Had Geoffrey stolen away their butler too? Surely not.
‘Why has he done this?’ Ellie’s voice was barely more than a whisper. Calum didn’t need to hear a name to know she was talking about her brother again.
‘Think about it for a moment, love,’ he said, trying to offer words of comfort. Though what he could stay to make any of this better was beyond him. ‘What would Geoffrey want with a six-year-old? Nothing whatsoever. She’ll be hiding somewhere in the house.’
‘Then why did he say he’d got what he’d come for?’ Lady F nudged the untouched glass in Ellie’s hand, directing her to down the whisky.
‘He’d just fired a gun and created a scene that’s not likely to be forgotten anytime soon,’ Cal reasoned. ‘I think that’s what he was referring too. Gwen probably heard the shots and hid somewhere.’
‘You’re right.’ Ellie straightened, discarding the glass on the chair arm. ‘She’s very good a hiding. She’s used to hide in the—’ Her face froze.
‘Ellie?’
She pushed to her feet, her gaze distant. ‘What of the old housekeeper’s sitting room at the back of your library. That door’s half in shadow. Sophy might not have seen it.’
They hurried down the hallway, pushing their way past guests who had their mouths open and were watching everything that was happening like it was some sort of stage drama. In the library, the fireplace was empty and the curtains drawn, leaving the room so dark Ellie nearly tripped over the footrest again. Cal slipped his hand into hers. ‘This way.’ Reaching towards the door, his hand touched the back of a chair. ‘This shouldn’t be here.’ He pulled it out of the way. It had been blocking the door shut. He opened it, blinking in the sudden light.
A three-arm candelabra was on one of the dusty tables. Chakrabarti sat on the floor, his back against the wall. His eyes were closed and there was a bloody gash on the side of his head. Tzar lay at his feet, gently snorting.
A flash a white fabric was all Cal saw of Gwen as she scrambled to her feet and launched herself at Ellie.
‘Mama!’ A heartbeat later, the child had buried her face in Ellie’s skirts. Ellie dropped to her knees, crying loudly. She pressed wet kisses to Gwen’s cheeks, chin and hair.
Chakrabarti groaned, his eyes flickering open. ‘Your Grace.’ He tried to struggle to his feet, but Cal shook his head and nudged Tzar out of his way so he could bend over the butler and better assess his head wound. Thankfully it looked fairly shallow, despite the blood which had dripped down the side of his face and begun to dry on his cravat. Head wounds could be serious though, and Chakrabarti would need a doctor to check him over. ‘Someone hit me.’ The young man’s words were slightly slurred. Concussed no doubt.
‘It was my brother.’ Ellie stood up, her daughter in her arms. She bounced lightly on her toes, one arm wrapped around Gwen’s back and the other cradling Gwen’s head to her shoulder. The girl’s arms were wrapped tightly around Ellen’s neck. It looked like they were never going to let each other go. He could hardly blame them. It was all he could do not to pull them both into his arms. Hell, he felt like crying too, his relief was so palpable.
‘I don’t understand.’ Chakrabarti ran a shaking hand over his face. ‘There was a labourer. He came out of the drawing room after the guests had gone upstairs. That’s when he hit me.’ He looked at the blood staining his hands as though he couldn’t work out where it had come from. Even shallow head wounds tended to bleed a lot.
Cal stuck his head out the library door, directing Owen to call a doctor. then returned to Chakrabarti. Although the young man was slurring his words, his gaze was clear. ‘After Blackford hit ye, he dragged ye in here?’
‘I suppose.’ Chakrabarti shrugged then winced. ‘I woke up and found myself locked in here with Miss Guinevere. I think she’d come downstairs looking for Miss Miller.’
‘Maggie was in the kitchen getting her dinner,’ Ellie clarified.
‘Blackford must have locked Tzar up because he wouldn’t stop barking at him.’ Calum scratch Tzar behind the ear, remembering how much he’d barked at Geoffrey the first time Ellie’s brother had come calling. ‘Ye’ve certainly got good taste, old man.’
Tzar wagged his tail in agreement.
***
‘I can’t tell which way he went.’ Verity squinted up and down the street. They’d barely passed through the gate before a sinking feeling had filled her stomach. It was so dark, they’d never find Geoffrey now. ‘I should have tried harder to stop him.’
‘Self-pity later.’ Maggie turned right onto Curzon Street. ‘There’s only two ways he could have gone. We might as well try this way.’
Verity felt lost, like her thoughts were trapped in golden syrup. All she could do was follow Maggie. In no time at all they’d reached the end of the street, bringing them face to face with another hard choice.
‘This way.’ Barely pausing, Maggie turned onto Clargest Street, guessing again. Her footsteps tapped out a brisk rhythm that seemed to echo the beating of Verity’s heart. ‘If that vile man has hurt Gwen…’ Her voice dropped away with worry, even as she sped up.
Verity couldn’t think of a single comforting word. What could she say? Meaningless platitudes about how it would all work out in the end. How could it? They both knew what Geoffrey was capable of.
They reached the end of the second street and were faced with another impossible choice: left or right along Piccadilly? Unless, of course, Geoffrey had crossed into Green Park. Verity eyed the shadowy wall surrounding the park wearily. Surely not even Geoffrey would risk crossing it after sundown?
‘This is hopeless.’ Maggie turned a circle.
‘We can’t give up so quickly.’ Maggie’s panic seemed to launch Verity’s thoughts into action. ‘We’ll keep searching.’ It was all that they could do.
She took Maggie’s hand in hers, and they turned back, taking a different direction this time. Practically running now, they made their way along each of the streets in Mayfair, circling around Roseworthy.
‘Wait.’ Maggie held out an arm, stopping Verity. ‘Down here.’ Partial darkness hid the bottom of the area steps of the nearest townhouse, but Maggie didn’t hesitate.
Verity followed, almost slipping on something dark and wet on the stairs. There was a door, which presumably led to the basement kitchen, and at the foot of the steps lay Geoffrey. His arms were flung wide like he’d tried to stop his fall. He stared up at them, unseeing.
Kneeling, Verity ran her hands over Geoffrey, searching for any signs he still lived, but there was no breath and no pulse. Her fingers brushed something sticky on the back of his head. More blood. ‘He’d dead.’ He’d died as he’d lived—alone and disgraced. ‘It’s over.’ She sat back on her heels, sucking in deep, shaky breaths.
‘I can’t believe it.’ Maggie’s usually stern mouth quivered. ‘We knew him his whole life. And now he’s… This is how it ended?’
‘He was a rotten egg.’ Verity rose, dusting off her skirts.
‘That doesn’t mean we stopped loving him.’ Maggie’s voice broke.
Verity handed over her handkerchief. Geoffrey and Ellen were the closest Maggie had come to having her own children. She wanted to wrap her arms about the other woman’s shoulders, but that last seed of fear held her back.
‘What now?’ asked Maggie.
‘We do all that we can. We tell the authorities and make sure Gwen’s safe. Then… Then we go home.’
‘Back to the duke’s house?’
‘No. Home to Evendale.’ She held Maggie’s gaze, even as heat flushed her face and her chest seemed to constrict. ‘Yes?’
Without pausing for thought, Maggie slipped her hand into Verity’s, as she’d never done before, and tugged her back the way they’d come. ‘Yes.’
***
Gwen’s weight was a welcome burden. Ellen cradled her little girl as she drifted into an exhausted sleep. Pressing another kiss to her temple, Ellen settled into the gentleman’s armchair by the cold library fire. The low mumble of Maggie’s and Verity’s voices drifted in through the open door. They were answering questions of a Bow Street Runner.
Ellen pressed her lips tight together. My brother’s dead. The words swam through her thoughts, never pausing long enough for her to properly catch hold of them. Her brother…dead. Everything he’d done to Gwen, and to herself, was unforgivable, but he was still her brother. He was still… She still loved him. At part of her did. A very small part.
The front door opened and closed with the arrival of the doctor for Chakrabarti, while footsteps rattled the ceiling overhead. The ball had resumed. The guests were absolutely riveted by the story of the misunderstood duke who’d saved his fiancée’s baby sister from the clutches of their crazed brother.
‘…really don’t think she should be disturbed.’
The Runner entered the library, notebook in hand. Verity and Maggie charged in after him.
‘Do you really have to do this now?’ demanded Maggie.
‘…running out of champagne.’ Lady Faye hurried in the library, two temporary kitchen servants tailing her.
‘…asking to see you.’ A gentleman dressed as a pierrot tried to cut Calum off as he too strode through the door.
‘…such red hair,’ murmured Owen, watching Sophy with wonder.
Through the crowd, Ellen watched the duke. Her breathing slowed even as her heartbeat quickened. His shoulders were beginning to fill out again and his cheeks weren’t looking so hollow. All the food and attention of the last few weeks were doing him so good.
She felt both calm and exhilarated. Was that even possible? She loved him with every fibre of her being. It wasn’t a schoolroom love as she’d felt for Gwen’s father; it was love cultivated and matured with understanding and trust. What a fool she’d been refusing his marriage proposal in her desperation to keep from letting her brother control her life. Refusing Calum because of Geoffrey was just as bad as accepting Calum because of Geoffrey. She just hadn’t realised that before today. Ironic, almost, now that Geoffrey was dead.
She swallowed, fighting back tears.
From this moment on she was going to start making her own choices. And they would be choices based purely on her own thoughts and feelings and conscience, regardless of what anyone else thought.
And her first choice… She smiled as Calum ran a hand thought his hair. It was already growing back. She’d have to cut it again for him soon—or Chakrabarti would. She rose to her feet, Gwen still clutched to her chest. ‘Will you marry me, Calum Callaghan?’
Nobody heard her speak. Nobody looked her way. Nobody paid her the slightest ounce of attention. Nobody except for Calum. He met her gaze across the crowded room, his month opening in surprise, and then he was at her side, pulling her and Gwen into his arms, bowing his head and burying his face into her shoulder.
‘Do ye mean it, lass?’ he asked, his voice muffled. ‘Don’t ask if ye’re not completely sure, because if we get married I’m never going to stop loving ye. Not for a second. Not for all of time. It’ll be ye and me and Gwen forever.’
She pulled back so she could see his face. His eyes were wide and there was a vulnerability in his gaze, as though he really were wearing his heart on his sleeve. She was going to have to take good care of his heart. It had been beaten and broken too many times before.
She stood up on her tippy toes and kissed him, claiming his mouth with her own. ‘Marry me.’