Phoebe’s eyes widened. “C…could we go with Auntie?”
Theodore opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, the sound of muffled running footsteps caught his attention. He put the books he was holding down, moving instinctively between Phoebe and whoever was approaching, one hand outstretched.
Mrs. Morton was holding her skirts, panting as she ran towards them. She clutched at her side as she swept into a clumsy curtsey.
“Mrs. Morton? What is the matter?” Theodore reached towards her.
Mrs. Morton pressed the letter into his hand, her chest heaving as she leaned against a nearby table, trying to catch her breath. “The Duchess is hurt.”
Time froze and the world fell away as Theodore took a step towards the woman. “How do you know this? Where is she?”
“A messenger from Coldmere castle. She is staying with them. The Duchess fell. Hit her head, she-” Theodore did not hear the rest of Mrs. Morton’s sentence; he was sprinting past her out into the drive.
As he hoped, the messenger was still there, no doubt waiting to be dismissed. He stood beside a glossy black horse, that nickered at Theodore’s approach.
“Your Grace, I-” the messenger began but Theodore cut him off. “- your horse, how much is left in it?”
“I can get your message back to the duchess by this evening at the latest.” The messenger’s voice shone with pride. “If I ride him hard, I can be there in hours.”
“Then I will take him and my message myself.” Theodore saw the man’s eyes widen, but he did not care.
Every second felt like hours and as he adjusted the stirrups, a voice screamed in his mind that he was wasting time. He had to get to Harriet.
I will do her no good if I die on the way.
He swung himself into the saddle and threw a guinea over his shoulder. He glanced behind to see Mr. Grimsby striding towards the man, and Phoebe standing in the doorway.
“Look after her.” Theodore wheeled the horse around. “I am going to get my wife.”
The horse reared and then they were off. He rode it hard, and it seemed to sense his urgency. It was already warm from its journey to him, and he was grateful for it.
He rode like a demon loosed from hell. Wind tore at him. He cut across country, taking short cuts and cursing anyone who got in his way. His heart thundered in time with the horse’s galloping hooves.
He barely slowed as he approached the door of Coldmere castle, dropping into a trot so that he could fling himself from the horse and slam his fist against the heavy doors.
“Propriety be damned,” he swore, raising his fist to hammer at the thick door again.
It swung open and he found himself face to face with a butler. The man’s eyes went wide at the sight of Theodore, but he did not get out of his way.
“May I ask who is calling?” the man questioned with affronted dignity, bearing up against Theodore.
In other circumstances, Theodore might have been impressed. But in that moment, the man was an obstacle. He needed to find Harriet.
“I believe it is the Duke of Irondale.” A voice said from behind the butler and the Duke of Coldmere stood before Theodore. “I see my wife’s message was delivered. And it would appear I owe her a guinea.”
Theodore did not have time to ponder at the man’s words. He took a step towards him. “Where is she? Where is Harriet?”
“She is in the guest bedroom. I will show you the way.” The Duke turned on his heel and Theodore followed him.
The only thing that stopped Theodore from sprinting past the Duke was that he knew he would be lost without the other man’s guidance. Coldmere Castle was a maze of corridors, and he could not afford a second’s delay.
They reached a large wooden door, and Theodore found himself face-to-face with the Duchess of Coldmere, Lady Fiona, and Lady Louisa. All were watching him like hawks.
“I want to see Harriet.” Theodore would fight the women if he had to.
The three exchanged a look and Theodore stiffened.
“She is resting,” Lady Fiona said.
