ELIZABETHAPPLETON. 1815.
“Uncle Marmaduke?”
“Yes, Charlotte?”
“Why are you wandering in the duke’s rose garden?” With one hand, she wrenched her cloak tight against the teeth of bitter cold that sought to nip her. With the other, she lifted her lantern. “It’s almost midnight.”
Wearing a green woollen banyan, Marmaduke frowned, twisting his beard to a spiral. “I must find Martha. Before it snows.”
In sadness, Charlotte smiled and brought a hand to his arm. “I do not believe she is here, Uncle.”
A dejected sigh flowed from him. “I am beginning to fear the same. Perhaps…perhaps she is no more.”
“Perhaps so.” She squeezed his arm. “Shall we go home now?”
Marmaduke shivered. “’Tis rather nippy, isn’t it? Colder than the Himalayas, I’d say. And darker.” He twisted and held her freezing cheek. “You are the best sister I have, Mary.”
“Mary is your only sister.”
“Isn’t she just.” He chuckled to himself. “Oh, look. Who’s that? And what’s she doing out in this frosty weather, eh? She’ll catch her death.”
Wrapped up in a housecoat, two cloaks and a scarf, Hannah Munro came dashing into the rose garden, lantern swinging. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Miss Webster. He must have left through the kitchen door. The latch has come away where the frame’s rotted.”
Marmaduke tutted.
Charlotte closed her eyes. “It’s my fault, Hannah. I’ll…I’ll try to fix it in the New Year.”
“Don’t yer fret, miss. I’ll have one of my lads nail it back on further up. They’re home for Christmas.”
“Thank you, Hannah, you’re a blessing. I’ll walk you back and–”
“No need,” came a low rumble from the darkness. “I’ve instructed the stablemen to ready a carriage to take Mr Wainwright and Mrs Munro home.”
Charlotte swallowed.Oh no. He’s seen Uncle.
“Your Grace!” gushed Hannah. “Thank you, but you mustn’t put your stablemen out this late. ’Tis not far if we nip through the hedge and we’ve done it a few times now.”
Charlotte winced while the duke frowned.
Uncle Marmaduke merely raised a bushy white brow. “I remember you,” he said to the duke. “Such a thoughtful lad. Nice to see you haven’t changed.”
The thoughtful lad nodded. “Charlotte, go to my study as the fire there is still lit. The terrace doors are unlocked. Mr Wainwright, Mrs Munro, it’s no bother at all and a carriage will be warmer. If I may escort you to the stables? This way.”
Hannah beamed while Marmaduke followed along, enquiring if the duke had seen his beloved Martha anywhere about the place.
Charlotte loitered, watching their lanterns disappear into the dark before, with a weary trudge, she made for the duke’s terrace. A gust of wind blew, chill and bitter, and she paused to stare into the foreboding night sky that brooded with the scent of snow.
What was she to do about Uncle?
Some quarter of an hour ago, she’d been lying in bed upstairs in her governess chamber unable to sleep, when she’d heard footfall on the gravel of the duke’s garden outside.
A thief? A badger?
She’d crept to the window, drawn back the shutter, and in the weak moonlight that seeped through the soft clouds, she’d spied her uncle, looking somewhat like St Nicholas on his Christmas rounds.
Throwing on her woollen cloak, she’d prayed the duke was safely tucked up in bed as she still worried he may use Uncle’s trespass in his gardens to tell her she should sell the house to him and use the money for Uncle’s care at some asylum.
Or tell her the obvious: that her precious home was crumbling away.
