There was no need for that, however. Cecily had already thrust her coat and bag at one of her favorite maids as soon as they arrived home, telling her to take them to her bedroom and put them in the wardrobe. Mary’s food would be waiting upstairs.
Their uncle was thankfully not yet back from dinner at his club, so after bidding goodnight to her grandmother, she was free to go to bed and find her sister. As she climbed the staircase, candle in hand, her mind drifted back to the strange but fascinating Duke of Greyhaven.
She wished there was someone she could confide in about the events of the night and ask for their opinion. Mary was too young, both in years and in spirit, to truly understand or offer any sensible advice. Nor was her discretion guaranteed, despite her best intentions. She was quite capable of speaking too loudly on delicate subjects, forgetting that their grandmother’s ears were still sharp.
Of the young women Cecily knew from all her years in London, most now married, there were none to whom she could admither shameful behavior at Mildenhall House. Knowing that her uncle opened her correspondence at will, she had never really made close friends or shared confidences with anyone.
The Duke’s manner of speech, and certainly his actions, were out of kilter with what was normal and acceptable in society. He had admitted that he didn’t care about what he should or shouldn’t do.
What did his wife think of such goings-on?
Annoyed, Cecily shook her head. How he conducted his marriage was really none of her business, and if the Duke attended events as rarely as her grandmother said, there was a high chance that they would never meet again.
With this reassuring thought in her mind, she went to her room and retrieved the bag of food before tiptoeing two doors down to Mary’s bedroom and rapping lightly on the door.
“Mary?” she said quietly after receiving no answer.
Under different circumstances, Cecily would just have assumed that her sister had gone to sleep early, but this was not a regular week, and Mary was scarcely sleeping for worry that their uncle would force her into such a disgusting marriage.
Quietly turning the handle, she stepped inside with her candle, grateful that no one had locked Mary in. At least they had avoided that indignity, so far.
In the bed, a person’s shape was visible beneath the blankets, very still and unmoving. Perhaps she was mistaken, and Mary really had gone to sleep early. However, something about that shape drew her attention, and she moved closer for a better look.
“Mary?” she whispered, already suspecting what she would find when she whipped back the covers a few seconds later.
Beneath the sheets lay only a pile of pillows arranged in the shape of a human body.
Mary is gone!
CHAPTER 4
“Oh God, Mary!” Cecily choked out after standing by the empty bed with her candle for some minutes, her heart and mind both racing.
Mary was gone, but where? And how? Had she left of her own free will? Or was she forced? What if their uncle had dragged her into a carriage and sent her to the Earl of Ashworth while Cecily was away? What if, even now, some unprincipled priest was performing a ceremony to bind poor Mary to that wicked old man forever?
No, the tidiness of the room did not support the theory of an abduction, nor did the placement of the pillows. Why should her uncle bother with such deception when Cecily would be powerless to challenge afait accompli? Knowing him, he would have been more likely to goad Cecily with what he had done.
Cecily thought again of her sister’s desperate, frightened words when she had first learned of their uncle’s arrangement with Lord Ashworth.
“You can starve me to death if you want to. I will never, ever marry that rotten old man.”
Desperate Mary had run away, and she had arranged her bed so that anyone who looked in from the door would think she was still in it, giving her more time to make her escape.
The idea seemed true. It matched the facts and Mary’s impulsive personality. But what was Cecily supposed to do about it?
After replacing the pillows and covers as they had been before, she closed the door and hurried out into the corridor again. There, she almost bumped into one of the maids who was bringing up a warming pan for her grandmother’s bed, despite the summer weather.
“Oh! Do excuse me, miss,” the maid cried out and then dropped her voice to a whisper. “I’m so sorry. You’re not hurt, are you?”
Cecily tried to speak, but only a strangled sound escaped her lips. Clearing her throat, she tried again.
“No, I was the one who ran into you, Betsy. You need not apologize, but let us not talk out here. Mary is fast asleep.”
“Apologies,” the maid offered, now looking guiltily at the door. “I’m so sorry if I’ve woken Miss Mary, after all that’s been going on…”
“I’m sure she’s still sleeping. She didn’t even hear me knocking on her door. Now, you’d better run along to my grandmother’s room with that pan, or the bed will be cold when she comes upstairs, and I wouldn’t want you in trouble.”
“No, miss. Thank you, miss.”
