Chapter Eighteen
GRACE HAD BEENjumping up and down to attempt to settle her dizziness when she’d heard the creak of the door.
She could not see the face clearly, but she knew it was a man. Had she been foolish to steal off alone and put herself in a compromising position?
Such was her surprise and confusion, she stumbled and knocked over a candelabra.
The candles seemed to fly everywhere!
She beat at the netting of her dress, as that was the most urgent of the flames. As she did so, her mind raced—what was she to tell everyone? Her dress was burnt beyond repair, was she to say she’d been jumping up and down alone because she was dizzy and knocked over candles? It was too absurd.
As all of that was racing through her mind, the curtains caught fire.
Grace was momentarily frozen. Was she in the midst of burning down a lady’s house?
She needed help. She could not rectify this on her own, the flames had grown too high.
Grace raced to the door to fling it open and call for assistance.
And found it locked.
At first, she was convinced she was mistaken. She was not turning the latch correctly.
It did finally dawn on her that she was locked in. The smoke was filling the room. Grace raced to the set of windows away from the flames and threw the sash open. She gasped the cool night air into her lungs. But so did the fire take in the night air. It seemed to feed on the air rushing into the room.
She put her head out the window and looked down. Should she jump?
She might not survive the fall and if she did, might be seriously maimed. Grace shouted for help as loud as she could. Had anyone heard her? Was anybody coming?
*
WHENMILES HEARDthe shout of fire, his first thought was to get Lady Grace to safety. These old piles of stone were filled to the brim with wood that could go up in a flash.
Where was she?
He searched the room and began to think she might have gone to the lady’s retiring room when the duke approached.
“Have you seen my daughter?” he asked.
“No, Your Grace, she is not in the ballroom.”
“I do not like this,” the duke said gravely. “If she could, she would find me. Come with me, we’d better assist in fighting back whatever has been set afire—probably a chimney that was not cleaned as it should have been.”
They pushed their way through the throng, most of whom were leaving the premises. The male staff of the house, along with some of Lady Montague’s guests were handing sand buckets in a line. Further down the corridor, two burly men Miles took to be coachmen were throwing their weight against a door.
Then he heard it. The faint cry for help. It was unmistakable. It was Lady Grace.
“Your Grace,” he said, catching at the duke’s arm, “this way.”
He practically dragged the duke forward. As he did so, Lady Grace’s cries became clearer. Somehow, she was locked behind a door, and that room was where the smoke was coming from.
“Out of the way,” Miles shouted. He threw himself at the door. It did not budge an inch. He did not know what he’d been expecting, the two men who were trying to get it open were veritable giants and had not seen success.
He turned to the men. “It feels like a deadbolt. Try working on the hinges. Your Grace, let us see if we can get in another way.”
The duke nodded. Miles raced to the next door in the corridor, throwing it open in hopes of finding a connecting door.
There was none.
