The Accidental Duke (The Mad Matchmaking Men of Waterloo Book 1) by Devlin, Barbara (the best electronic book reader .txt) 📗

The world tilted in that moment, and Arabella’s ears rang like the bells in a Wren steeple. At her side, Anthony tensed. In her mind, she counted the weeks, and her knees buckled. The upset stomach. The nausea. The general feeling of weakness in the morning. It all made sense in light of Emily’s observation.

“You are with child.” Anthony put Arabella’s immediate thoughts into words. “That is why you fell ill.”

“Did it not occur to you?” Emily asked in an unnaturally high pitch. She bowed her head and cleared her throat. “Again, forgive my discourtesy, my lady.”

“To be honest, no.” But she should have known, given Anthony’s nocturnal games, and it wasn’t as though she knew nothing of the consequences of their behavior. “I presumed we were safe, because we were not consistent in our…activities.”

“My lady, I change your linens.” Emily averted her stare and said in a low voice, “I knew it was a possibility.”

“Oh, good heavens, how could I have missed it.” Well, it was no great mystery. Although Arabella could count, she focused her attentions on her husband in the months since they were confined at Sanderstead. Her days were spent either perusing the library or reviewing Larrey’s book. She never spared a second thought for the unused strips of fabric. “What can we do?”

“Wait, because there is more.” Anthony rested his hand on his hip. “Emily, you mentioned that Shaw has plans for Lady Rockingham. What can you tell us?”

“Well, one of my duties is dusting the library and the study, and what falls under my eyes falls under my eyes, if you take my meaning.” The maid checked over her shoulder and then looked at Arabella. “I found a letter from Dr. Shaw to His Grace. In it, he advised His Grace of a new plan. After Lord Rockingham is locked away in an asylum, and Lady Rockingham increases, Dr. Shaw intends to supervise Lady Rockingham’s confinement and the babe’s birth. Her ladyship will not be returning to London, even after providing an heir.”

The room seemed to spin out of control, and Arabella feared she might swoon.

“Bastard,” Anthony muttered under his breath and supported her. “This cannot happen. I will never allow that blackguard to put his hands on you.”

“Neither will I, Lord Rockingham.” Emily folded her arms. “Since you came to Sanderstead, your lordships have been naught but kind to me. You speak to me like a grown person and not a child, and for that I am grateful. But Lady Rockingham has bestowed upon me the honor of her friendship, and I could not call myself a friend if I stood by and let Dr. Shaw have his way.”

“Thank you, Emily.” Moved by the lofty speech, Arabella fought tears and guilt, because she deliberately manipulated the young woman. “You are a right and true friend. What do you recommend?”

“First, you must write your letter.” Emily squared her shoulders. “There is only one problem. The post could take a sennight to deliver the correspondence to your family, but a messenger could take it straightaway.”

“Then we use a messenger,” Anthony replied. “Do you know someone?”

“I do, my lord.” Emily compressed her lips, and again Arabella sensed a problem. “Mr. Parker, the local merchant who supplies the estate. He rides to London, every sennight, to purchase excess goods and produce on the docks, but he requires payment.”

“How much?” Arabella asked.

“My dear, I apologize, but I haven’t dealt in coin since before the war.” Anthony rubbed his chin and paced the length of the hearth. “But we must reach Beaulieu if we are to have any chance of success.”

“My lord, my mother taught me never to leave the house without money to pay for a hack, in the event I needed to make my own way home, and I am always prepared.” Arabella turned to Emily. “What is the messenger’s price?”

“A guinea, my lady,” the maid replied. “No more or less.”

“Where is my reticule?” Arabella tapped her cheek. “The one with the seed pearls and embroidered lace?”

“The top drawer of the tallboy, my lady. Permit me to fetch it for you.” The maid strode to the mahogany dresser and retrieved the item in question. As she handed Arabella the frilly indispensable, Emily said, “Have the letter ready when I return to clear the dishes from your noon meal. I will meet with Mr. Parker, tonight, and he departs on the morrow.”

“I know there is one here, somewhere.” Arabella sifted through the coins and located a shiny, gold guinea, which she passed to Emily. “This should satisfy Mr. Parker.”

“With any luck, the missive should reach the city in the afternoon.” Anthony frowned. “Now, how are we to escape? And where do we go?”

“Well, as with any cobbled together plan, we require a little luck, but I know the guards’ schedule. The one named Fergus is grimy and shiftless, and he often falls asleep when he is on duty. He will be watching your door, overnight, Thursday next.” Emily neared. “That is when we make our break for Weybridge, where we might meet your rescuers.”

“And you will come with us, to London.” Arabella clutched Emily’s hands. “I will not leave you to face the consequences, when you have done us such a service.”

“Thank you, my lady.” The maid sniffed. “You should eat, because the food gets cold, and you must keep up your strength.”

“I will.” Arabella pressed a chaste kiss to Emily’s cheek. “I am in your debit, my friend. And I will repay you.”

“Live free and take care of your babe, and that is repayment enough, my lady.” Emily curtseyed and said aloud, “Ring when you are ready for me to clear the dishes.”

Too anxious to even think about eating, Arabella sat at the small table and lifted the silver cover from her plate. A healthy portion of bread, a thick slab of cold ham, a square of cheese, and grapes left her wrinkling her nose, as her belly rebelled. “I am not sure this is a good