“He is quite handsome, My Lady!” Diana, remembering her mistress’ betrothal, turned serious before adding, “But that is not what makes a good measure of a man, of course. One’s appearance comes and goes at nature’s whim, but the true mark of a man is what is in his countenance and compassion.”
“Yes, it’s true,” Marjorie replied somberly. She too, remembered her own circumstances. Men such as the Earl might be pleasing to behold and enticing to dream about, but the reality was a far more dreary truth. The Duke of Fenworth was her betrothed, and nothing short of scandal would put a stop to it.
His scandal, that is. My own would only ruin me, she thought sadly.
With great difficulty, Marjorie made it to the top of the stairs with her maid’s help. Diana left to fetch some hot water for Marjorie to wash with and promised to bring her something to eat as well. When the door closed behind Diana, Marjorie hobbled to the corner to retrieve her shift, only to be surprised by a woman’s scream of terror.
“Help! Who are you? What are you doing in here?” Harriet screamed from the safety of the doorway. “Get out! Help, someone!”
Marjorie turned and stared at her sister in surprise, then hurried over as fast as her injured leg would carry her. She grabbed Harriet by the arm and pulled her into the room, closing and locking the door behind her.
“Harriet, keep your voice down, for heaven’s sake!” Marjorie insisted, struggling with her sister who kept fighting back against her hands.
“Wait… Marjorie? What are you… why are you dressed this way?” she asked, stopping and taking in her sister’s appearance. “And what happened to your face? You’re bleeding!”
“I will explain everything in due course, but you must keep your voice down!” Marjorie answered in a low voice, still listening in case anyone had heard and responded to Harriet’s cries for help.
“I think it’s safe,” Harriet said tearfully. “Father hasn’t been at home all evening, he’s been away somewhere unexpectedly. And heaven knows there are no servants nearby, not with Father sending practically all of them packing.”
“Oh, that is good news,” Marjorie said, sinking into a chair and sighing with relief. “On top of all else, I do not need to explain to anyone what I’ve been up to.”
“But dearest Marjorie, whathaveyou been up to? Please, tell me quickly or I might go mad! It’s been a fright of an evening and I don’t know how much more I can stand!”
“What? What’s wrong?” Marjorie asked, concern coloring her features. She came and sat beside Harriet and held her hand as the girl relayed the frightening events of the evening.
“Oh poor Harriet!” Marjorie cried, pulling her sister into her embrace and fighting back tears of her own. “How could I have let this happen?”
“What? It’s certainly not your fault,” Harriet answered, sitting up and looking at her. “I’m the ninny who honestly believed that you’d somehow run away from home and that a horse thief would take me to you!”
Marjorie closed her eyes and felt a flood of anguish along with her own shame. Harriet’s words only became real at that moment: someone had stolen Valiant.
“Are you sure that was who he took away?” she asked.
“I beg your pardon!” Harriet replied with a bitter laugh. “I tell you that someone absconded with me and your very own betrothed had to come to my rescue—meaning Father will surely hear of this, along with the rest of the ton when that horrid sister of his gets wind of it—and you’re worried about a horse?”
“Of course not! That was very silly of me, I only meant was it possible that he’d stolen others, or was it a different one,” Marjorie answered, patting Harriet’s hand. “While I’ve been… away… I discovered Mother’s own favorite horse on someone else’s property. For a moment, I was honestly hoping that someone had stolen Hermia rather than believe that Father would be so cruel as to sell her off.”
Harriet nodded quietly. “Remember, dear sister, that I often sit and attend Father with my company while he conducts business. I know nothing of Hermia, but after all that has transpired in the past few months, nothing he does would surprise me anymore.”
“The time has come, I’m afraid, for drastic measures,” Marjorie announced, but Harriet gave her a questioning look.
“More drastic than dressing as a boy and seeking employment as a common farm boy?” Harriet said gravely.
“Apparently, yes! Strange things are happening, and if I don’t do something equally strange, then we all may face certain devastation.”
* * *
At home that evening, Evan could hardly think. He sent his dinner away untouched, uninterested in anything resembling an appetite. Someone had waged war on his estate, on his very name, and he knew not where to begin seeking the culprit.
But weighing just as heavily on his mind were the thoughts of a certain lady whom he had no right thinking of. The Marquess of Mortham’s daughter was not only someone he’d had no proper introduction to, but was also someone many would find wholly unsuitable. Her affinity for horses and riding was unnatural, to say the least, but to have been traipsing about his property in disguise, answering to the name “Jonathan,” all of it was behavior that no lady of breeding would engage in.
So why then could he not stop thinking of her?
Her rare beauty aside, perhaps her most alluring physical quality was not physical in nature at all: she seemed to care not for what others thought of her looks, and did not seem to be the kind to fret and simper for a compliment. Instead, her beauty seemed to start within and naturally appear on the outside, although Evan might be biased due to how well he knew her.
But did he know her so well? Evan furrowed his brow, concentrating on each time they’d chanced to speak. He’d only had one occasion for a polite, acceptable conversation with her, and his temper flared when he thought back to how coarsely he’d behaved. True, his mind and worries had been elsewhere when he’d been seated with her at his mother’s dinner, but he grew furious with himself when he realized how he’d squandered the opportunity to know her better that evening.
“My son! I’m glad to see you home but I didn’t hear you come in!” his mother called from the drawing room as Evan passed on his way to his apartments. “How were the races this evening?”
