“Nothing to do with me.”
Then Theodore saw the face of the man who had come running in through the door.
“Leonard?” Theodore said his name in alarm.
“Leonard?” Cedric and Gabriel repeated in unison.
He was a frightening looking figure, almost impossibly tall and broad, his face rugged and pock marked. There was also a scar, shockingly white across his chin that was peppered with dark brown stubble.
Theodore had met him years ago in less-than-ideal circumstances. Unfortunately, he knew Leonard was a man who would sometimes bend the rules of society for the right price. It meant that Leonard was the obvious man when Theodore had wanted someone to watch over Maggie and make sure she was safe.
“I paid Leonard to watch Maggie,” Theodore said hurriedly to his friends. “Any man would struggle to beat him in a fight.”
Leonard hastened to bow, though it looked awkward, for his figure was so tall and ungainly.
“You were worried someone would hurt her?” Gabriel whispered.
“Your Grace.” Leonard stood tall, clearly out of breath from running so far. “She’s gone.”
“Gone?” Theodore repeated, not sure he understood.
“The duchess and her sister, the Lady Louisa, were attacked on the road in her carriage. Two men with pistols took her away. By the time I caught up with them, they had knocked her out and forced me away by firing madly.” Leonard shook his head. “It’s strange. They were heading toward your estate.”
Theodore was already on his feet.
No, she cannot be taken. Who would take her?
“My estate?” Theodore felt crippled by the words. There was another building on the grounds, beside the great house. It had once been called the Dowager House, though his mother had shown little liking for it over the years and had not returned for some time.
“I know where she is.” The truth struck Theodore at once as he stood tall and pulled on his frock coat. He’d been afraid of something like this, deep down. It was why he had asked Leonard to watch Margaret in the first place. “Call the constables, Leonard. Get them to meet me at my estate. Send them to the Dowager House.”
Margaret lifted her head. There was something over her eyes, something blocking her from being able to see anything. She jerked her head back and forth, feeling a great ache in the base of her skull.
She whimpered at the pain and leaned forward, painfully aware of something cutting into her arms and her wrists.
Are they… ropes?
Then a memory shot across her mind.
She had gone as far as the masked men had demanded in the snow, her whole body trembling in the cold as two pistols were forced at her back. She had jumped over ditches of water, the icereaching up her skirts and petticoats, so that her bones felt like they had been replaced with icicles.
She was certain they had been walking toward her own estate, but the snow had become so mad and swirling, she had dismissed such an idea very quickly. It was impossible to walk in the midst of that blizzard and know where she was.
Then it had happened. When she had refused to walk any further, her legs capitulating beneath her, one of them had struck her in the back of her head with his gun. She remembered starbursts of light in her vision, then darkness, as her face felt a shock of cold.
I must have fallen face first into the snow.
She jerked against the ropes that were holding her and bent her body forward. She had been forced into a chair. Now, she was able to bend forward far enough to get her forehead on her lap. It made her back ache, but she could shift enough to drag the blindfold off her eyes.
It fell limp around her neck as she sat bolt upright, looking around the room before her.
A cellar?
It had once been a wine cellar. There were racks where wine had once been, but they were now covered in webs, as if this room hadn’t been opened in years. Two lanterns sat overhead, hookedonto iron rods which had been nailed into the arched stone ceiling.
The air was as cold as the blizzard had been, meaning every time Margaret took a breath, she clouded the air around her.
“Where am I?” she whispered.
