“Yes, yes, very well.” Allan sat on the edge of the table and discarded his cue. “You fetch her. I shall read this letter from your steward again.” He pulled the letter from the pocket of his waistcoat, where he had discreetly hidden it. “Not that I take any pleasure in it.”
Alive with energy now, Stephen discarded his own cue and marched toward the door. He moved so quickly that he could practically hear his father’s words in his ear .
“A duke does not run!”
Stephen slowed his pace as he walked through the corridors, in search of Dorothy. He peered into many rooms but found various members of their party at different pastimes. Lord and Lady Webster were with Lord and Lady Sandmarsh, laughing together over some magazine article. Mr. Becker was quite peaceful, alone in a small room, reading.
Lady Charlotte and Lady Frederica were in the music room, leaning on the back of the pianoforte as they shared a pot of tea.
Stephen knocked lightly on the door, drawing their attention. “I am sorry to interrupt. Have either of you seen Dorothy?”
The two ladies looked at each other, a mix of confusion and panic on their faces.
“What is it?” he asked, stepping further into the room.
Lady Frederica reached for something on the lid of the pianoforte. It was a letter, which she held up wordlessly and thrust toward him.
“Why are you here?” Lady Charlotte asked, apparently finding it much easier to talk at this moment. “You should be in the library.”
“The library?” Stephen repeated in surprise.
She nodded at the letter, urging him to take it from Lady Frederica.
Stephen read the letter that was supposedly from him. The first time he read it, he didn’t take it in. Then, the second time, he saw everything that was wrong with it. Though it was very like his handwriting—a very good forgery—there were errors. His G’s and Y’s weren’t curved quite in the way he did them.
“I did not write this,” he muttered aloud.
“Then who did?” Lady Charlotte asked sharply. “For she has gone to meet them in private now.”
Stephen didn’t ask anymore. He stuffed the letter into his pocket and ran out of the room. This time, he didn’t hear his father’s words echoing in his ears. He just ran, even coming so close as to nearly knock the butler over in the entrance hall. He yelled his apologies as he ran to the other end of the house, heading toward the library.
* * *
Dorothy tried to read a book, but she couldn’t concentrate. Closing the cover, she dropped the book onto a table beside her chair and sat back, her spine slumped.
Is he even coming?
The longer she sat here waiting for Stephen, the more something felt wrong. She kept thinking back to the letter, how the handwriting hadn’t felt quite right.
Stephen would never miss an appointment he made with anyone. He’d be horrified at the idea of being late. It would be most… improper.
She stood up from the chair and turned on the spot, looking at every corner of the library, but it remained firmly empty.
Dorothy marched toward the door, intent on no longer waiting for him. Her hand hovered over the handle when it turned. She leaped back, scurrying to the middle of the room as the door opened.
“You came.” Lord Chilmond stood in the doorway with a satisfied smile on his face. He closed the door behind him and stepped further into the room.
Dorothy blinked, unable to make her tongue move for a second.
Him? Why is he here?
“You sent the letter,” she managed after a few seconds of bafflement.
“I did.” He nodded and walked toward her.
There was such a sudden sharpness in his movement that Dorothy felt keenly she should not let him reach her. She moved back to the armchair she had occupied a few minutes ago and stood behind it, resting her hands on the backrest calmly—though, truthfully, she intended to use it as a shield.
“We should have a chaperone, My Lord.”
