“Forgive the intrusion, Your Grace, but the steward, Mr. Curry, is here to see you.”
“At this late hour? Inform him I will grant him an audience in the morning.”
“He tells me it is an emergency, Your Grace,” she said, her tone frightened. “Something has happened to His Grace the Duke.”
“What?” Augusta set aside her book and rose from the bed. “Help me get myself presentable. That robe should do.”
Thus, clad in a loose-fitting robe tied around her waist, her hair pinned up, Augusta gestured for Eloise to open the door and permit Mr. Curry to enter. He bowed low, his expression grim.
“I fear I have bad news, Your Grace,” he said. “It appears the Duke has fallen down a flight of stairs.”
“Why, that is ridiculous. How can he possibly fall?”
“I know this for a fact, as I caught him before he broke his neck.”
“Tell meexactlywhat happened, Mr. Curry.”
“I wished to speak with him, and knew he had recently left his study,” Mr. Curry said, his hands behind his back as though reciting in school. “I went up the stairs, hurrying, trying to catch up to him. I heard a shout, and here he comes, tumbling over and over down. I braced myself so he would not take me with him; thus I broke his fall.”
“Well, thank goodness you were there,” Augusta said. “If that is all, I will return to my bed.”
“Are you not the least bit interested in hearing about his injuries?”
Augusta scowled. “Watch your tone, Mr. Curry.”
Nigel Curry bowed his head for a moment. “Fortunately, Your Grace, he was not too badly hurt. The stairs bruised him rather badly, and he has a twisted ankle and wrist. The most interesting portion of what happened is that he says he was pushed.”
“Pushed!”
“Indeed, yes, Your Grace,” Mr. Curry went on, his expression tight. “A person in a dark hood.”
“That is preposterous, Mr. Curry,” Augusta snapped. “No one is trying to kill him. All this is in his head. It almost sounds like he fell while intoxicated and is trying to explain away his stupidity.”
“Yes, His Grace had been drinking.”
“There you have it.” Augusta gestured toward Eloise to show Mr. Curry to the door. “I will hear no more of this nonsense tonight. If my stepson lost his balance while drunk, it is certainly none of my concern. Good night.”
Mr. Curry bowed and retreated, permitting Eloise to show him to the door. Augusta sniffed at his departing back, then returned to her bedchamber. Sitting down at her dressing table, she stared at her reflection in the looking glass, observing more lines around her mouth and eyes than she remembered having. When Eloise returned, she stood up to slap the girl for no reason, then disrobed and ordered Eloise braid her hair for bed.
Yet, after turning out the lamp, it was a long time before Augusta slept.
* * *
At breakfast the next morning, with Maximilian’s chair glaringly empty, Augusta chatted gaily with the Whitingtons, told Wilmot to straighten his back, and ordered the meal served.
“Should we not wait for His Grace?” Lady Helena asked, her voice timid.
“He will not be joining us, my dear,” Augusta replied as the butler served her porridge with cinnamon. “He had a bit of an accident while drinking last night.”
“What happened, Your Grace?” The Earl of Whitington asked.
“Silly man.” Augusta tittered. “He simply fell down the steps while drunk. Naturally, we cannot expect him this morning.”
“Was he injured, Your Grace?” Lady Helena asked.
Augusta itched to slap some backbone into the girl but decided that would have to wait until she was a full member of the family. “No, he was not badly injured, Lady Helena. It issolovely to see your concern for him when he has treated you so horridly.”
Lady Helena stared at her full bowl. “He has not mistreated me, Your Grace. He refuses to marry me. There is a difference.”
