“My gut is telling me that anything I care about is at risk, Fergus,” Maximilian replied. “I am merely taking extra precautions.”
“I will tell the lads to keep their eyes open for any trouble, Your Grace.”
“Excellent. You are doing a wonderful job here, Fergus. Thank you.”
“My thanks, Your Grace.”
After admonishing the other head grooms to order the men under their charge to be cautious and on the lookout for anything troublesome or unusual, Maximilian returned to the castle. Limping to his study, he closed the door behind him and sat behind his desk with a sigh. More than any of the sordid injuries, his ankle bothered him the worst. Though it had been tightly wrapped by Mr. Leary, it throbbed and pained him something terrible.
Muttering choice words under his breath, he reached for quill pen and paper, and wrote a quick letter to Edmund Felton, Viscount of Mallen.
My dear Mallen, I would like to pay a call on you if it is not inconvenient. I will arrive in three days. Please reply by this messenger. Yours, Bromenville.
Folding the paper, then sealing it with wax and his seal, Maximilian limped his way from his study and closed the door behind him. Handing the missive to a nearby footman, he said, “Carry this to the Mallen estates, and wait for the Viscount’s reply.”
“Very good, Your Grace.” The footman bowed and departed on his errand.
Returning to his study, Maximilian sat back in his chair and absorbed himself into examining Nigel’s ledgers and reports regarding the running of his estates. Bemused by the income generated by the latest sale of horses to the army, he whistled under his breath and penned a note to Nigel about buying more broodmares. Busy at his work, he had little idea how quickly the time passed until a discreet knock sounded at his door.
“Come,” he called, sitting back in his chair.
Nigel entered and with him a young man in the dark homespun wool of a farmer. Both bowed low as Maximilian gestured for them to come inside. “Close the door,” he said.
“Your Grace,” Nigel began, gesturing toward the youth. “This is Durwin Oldman. He has agreed to work as a guard to Miss Betham.”
“Most excellent.” Maximilian steepled his fingers and eyed the young man up and down. He carried himself like a soldier, his body straight, his eyes clear and unwavering on Maximilian’s. “You were a soldier, Mr. Oldman?”
“Yes, Your Grace,” he answered, his voice firm without the usual awe most non-aristocrats held upon meeting him. “I served two years in France.”
“And survived,” Maximilian added. “I believe you have some wits about you. No doubt Nigel here has informed you of my present difficulties?”
“He has.”
“I want you armed, Mr. Oldman, but discreetly. Nigel will find you a pistol you will carry beneath your livery. He will give you the basic duties of a footman in my household, but you will attend Miss Betham and her mistress, Lady Helena, exclusively.”
“I understand, Your Grace.”
“As a soldier, you have no doubt experienced much discomfort,” Maximilian added, his tone dry, “but it should be little hardship to you to sleep on the floor outside Lady Helena's chambers at night. You will be paid quite well for your services.”
Durwin Oldman smiled. “Believe me, Your Grace, sleeping on a stone floor in a castle is little compared to the places I slept while in France. At least, inside I am sheltered from the weather.”
“Good. Now I wish I had more information to give you on what threats you may face. But all I can say is be alert and watchful. If you must use your weapon, I would ask, if possible, that you shoot to wound only. Not kill. I want to question, at length, whoever is behind this. Are we clear?”
“Perfectly, Your Grace.”
“Then Nigel will obtain for you your livery and the pistol,” Maximilian said. “He will show you Miss Betham and Lady Helena, so you will begin your new duties as soon as you are fitted with everything. Remember, I want discretion. No informing the other servants what you are doing. You were merely ordered to wait upon the two women.”
“Understood, Your Grace.”
Nodding their dismissal, Maximilian watched them bow and depart, feeling better about Eugenia’s and even Lady Helena's safety. Though he doubted Lady Helena was a target, and Eugenia was only attacked because of his liking and interest in her, having both of them guarded lifted a weight from his shoulders.
* * *
An hour or so after supper, as the castle’s inhabitants settled into their own private quarters for the night, Maximilian limped into the garden. The night was cool, and he felt grateful he wore his coat. The pistol rested comfortably in his inner pocket, within easy reach if needed, and none at supper commented on the bulge. Eugenia, wearing a heavy wool cloak against the chill night air, stood talking in quiet tones with Lady Helena.
Startled to see the two of them instead of just Eugenia, Maximilian thought Lady Helena made an excellent chaperone. She, too, wore a warm cloak, the hood pulled over her red locks, and the pair ceased their conversation and curtseyed as he approached. A short distance away, Mr. Oldman, in his new livery and powdered wig, bowed low.
Eugenia gestured toward her mistress. “Lady Helena agreed to act as our chaperone, Your Grace.”
