“If I may venture an opinion, Miss Betham?” Keeping his voice low, he gazed down at her with a smile playing around his mouth. “You are doing the right thing here.”
“I wish I could be sure of that.”
“You are. Love knows no boundaries, nor should you place any upon it. What you have here is real, honest love, Miss Betham. The kind that few people ever encounter in their lives.”
“You might be right, Mr. Oldman.” She took a deep breath. “But love is also sacrifice. I cannot place His Grace’s social status in jeopardy.”
“Somehow,” Mr. Oldman said, his brow quirked, “I do not believe you can displace a Duke from his position in society that easily. If you perpetuated a scandal, maybe. But not by being your sweet self.”
His words and emotional support heartened her. She whispered, “Thank you.”
Deryn set full plates in front of them and departed at high speed. Like old friends, Eugenia and Mr. Oldman shared a meal of lamb stew with fresh hot bread and honey. With the high number of guests who still remained in the castle, the kitchen staff rushed to fulfill the needs of the aristocrats dining in the vast hall with the Duke. The place was hot and noisy, and Eugenia finished her meal quickly in order to get out of the cramped kitchen.
Lady Helena was still engaged at the supper table and would be for a while. So, Eugenia decided to go outside to the garden. With Mr. Oldman faithfully following as always, she strolled amid the trees and shrubbery, the enchanting flower beds, and sat on the edge of the fountain. The sun westered over the moors, setting loose a faint chill on the light evening breeze. Though growing uncomfortably cold without her cloak, Eugenia felt reluctant to return to the warmer castle.
Just a few more minutes.
She was lost in her thoughts of Maximilian and what sort of future they might have if he offered to marry her, when the sound of running feet alarmed her. She remembered all the attacks and ducked into an opening in the hedgerow. Silent, covered in shadows, she headed toward the footsteps. She jumped when Mr. Oldman spoke from behind her
“Where are you going?”
She pointed. “Someone is headed toward the stables,” she whispered. “I heard it.”
“Come away,” he ordered at once. “Let us go back to the castle, and we will inform His Grace.”
Eugenia hesitated to peer through the stiff branches of the hedgerow. A shadow darted from the concealing darkness between the carriage house and structure that housed the hay and straw. It ran toward the foaling stable, and Eugenia gasped when she saw the low hood and flapping cloak. “It is him! It is our villain. We must go after him.”
Mr. Oldman blocked her path. “You will go find the Duke. I will see what he is up to.”
“Catch him,” she said urgently. “But be careful.”
“Just fetch His Grace.”
She spun on her heels. Holding her skirts so she wouldn’t trip, she ran back through the garden toward the castle, over them. She rushed past startled footmen, ignoring their called questions and dodging a few housemaids with linens in their arms. She hoped Maximilian was still in the vicinity of the dining room and ran in that direction. She found him with a few other male guests – one she recognized as the Duke of Dentonshire – heading toward the drawing room for port.
In spite of her haste, Eugena stopped a short distance from him. “Your Grace.”
Maximilian turned, still smiling from something Dentonshire had said and saw her. His smile rapidly faded as he recognized the urgency in her expression, the shortness in her breath from running. “Excuse me,” he said to his guests, then walked with long hurried strides toward her. “What is it?” he asked, his voice low.
“I saw him,” Eugenia exclaimed, also keeping her voice pitched low. “The man in the hood and cloak. He was going to the foaling stable.”
Maximilian grimaced, running his hand through his hair. “You stay here.”
“Mr. Oldman went after him,” she said. Maximilian, despite his formal supper attire, trotted toward the closest doors that led out of the castle. Watching him go, biting her lip, Eugenia felt indecisive. The need to obey him and stay where he told her warred with her worry over his safety. “Hang it all,” she muttered, then hiked her skirts again and ran in his wake.
Amidst yells and shouts, she burst through the door outside the castle. Flames lit the night sky. “Oh, my God,” she whispered, aghast at the scene before her.
The foaling stable was on fire. Grooms were running, shouting at one another, and grabbing buckets to fill and throw on the flames. Others were leading mares, babies at their sides, from the burning building. She saw Maximilian hesitate, yelling something to the grooms, then dashed inside.
“No, Max,” she moaned. “Do not go in there.”
Running toward where he disappeared, Eugenia felt the intense heat of the fire, even from the distance she was from the inferno. Horses screamed over the roar of the flames, making her heart race in panic.
No, not the horses. Those beautiful babies.
Grooms were throwing bucket after bucket of water on the blaze, smoke boiling up into the night sky. People were running from the castle to help, seizing buckets, filling them from the wells, dashing the water onto the flames. Thinking she should also grab a bucket to help douse the fires spreading to the roof, she spared a thought for Mr. Oldman.
Where is he?
