“My Lord!” Mrs. Bancroft said, pressing a hand to her heart in shock. “Do you truly believe it to be so?”
“There is no other explanation, I’m afraid. She has three sons, in fact, and only one of them will inherit his father’s lands and title. The others will be forced to live off the good graces of the eldest. And I needn’t remind you that things are not going well for the nobility in France at the moment.”
Mrs. Bancroft looked horrified at what the Duke was suggesting, but then she pressed her lips together and nodded woefully. The Duke coughed lightly, but continued.
“When my sister recently realized that I was quite steadfast in my plan to marry Lady Marjorie and that she could not dissuade either of us, she sought to ruin my name and have me removed from my own house under threat of law. She’ll either pack her things or buy new garments after I’ve burned all of hers in the rubbish heap! I do trust that you will keep this between us as well, at least until after I am safely and irrevocably wed.”
“Of course, My Lord. You have my word,” Mrs. Bancroft said, nodding. “Anything that I can do to help, you know that you have my assurance.”
“Thank you,” he replied gratefully. “I know not what I would have done at a time such as this—no, all these years, rather—without my loyal household.”
“Think nothing of it, My Lord,” Mrs. Bancroft replied urgently. “Ours is a life of dedicated service, one that many of us prepared for since our own parents and their parents before them sought positions with the best families. Why, I know not what I would do with myself if I were not keeping this household! There’s some that may not understand and appreciate the roles of the upstairs and the downstairs, My Lord, but your household… well, they know their place and they are grateful for those whom they serve.”
Mrs. Bancroft nodded firmly, stood up, and curtseyed lightly before taking her leave. The Duke sat back in his chair, his steadfast resolve about Angeline both threatening to wane yet somehow sturdier than ever. There was nothing to be done about her except to be rid of her, and the only way he could do that was to replace her as the mistress of this household. Like it or not—prepared or not, reputable or not—he would marry Lady Marjorie tomorrow and finally be rid of this cancer upon his soul.
* * *
Smoke filled the stables as every possible wooden fixture crackled with fire. Marjorie looked up in dismay and saw that the flames had already reached the roof overhead, dropping charred, molten chunks of black cinders down around her.
She was wracked with a spine-twisting cough when she took a breath and tried to call for Donohue. Raising the front of her shirt over her mouth and nose, she tried again.
“Mr. Donohue! Are you here?” Marjorie cried out, dropping to her hands and knees to search for him on the ground. The air was slightly clearer there, so she chanced to call his name again.
Looking left and right, she could see only a few paces in either direction. Marjorie remembered that the fire had started at the far end to her left and that they’d brought those horses to safety first. That must mean he was somewhere to her right.
She crawled over the stone floor, ignoring the burning tufts of hay that singed her hands and shirt sleeves. It felt like hours but was only minutes later that her hand brushed against something that felt out of place.
“Mr. Donohue! Can you hear me?” she yelled in the man’s ear, but his eyes didn’t so much as flutter. She felt along his neck and was grateful that there was a pulse, even though it was thin.
A loud crack behind her startled Marjorie. She turned to see the roof fall away, the piles of burning timbers laying askew in front of her, blocking her way out of the stable. Even if she could have moved Donohue—a feat which would have required superhuman strength—there was no way for either of them to escape now.
“All is lost,” she said quietly, placing her hand on Donohue’s hand and squeezing his fingers kindly. Her sudden tears smudged her cheeks, leaving rivers of black soot to run down her face. “I shall not leave you though. Even though I want to, I’m not ashamed to say!”
Marjorie’s mind flashed to Harriet, and she felt a physical sensation of her own heart breaking for her sister. To have lost their mother and now her sister would be too much for Harriet to bear. Briefly, she thought of the scandal her family would endure, how her body would be discovered in the remnants of this once-grand stable.
Perhaps I will burn so fully that no one will ever know, she thought, amazed that such a clear thought would jar her sadness at this moment.
The vision of her poor sister swam before her eyes in the smoke, and at that moment, she even felt something of a sympathetic pang for her father. She did not pretend to understand what he had done these past few years, but in these final moments, she chose to forgive those hurts and remember only that he was a widow, flailing like a fish that has been suddenly thrust upon the dry sand. It could not have been easy to love his wife so desperately and then lose her, leaving him to make every decision without her counsel.
My dearest Mother, Marjorie thought suddenly, another hand of smoke snaking towards her, choking her as she tried in vain to cover her face,I shall get to see you soon.
As the space around her became more smoke than air, Marjorie almost thought she could see her mother’s face. Instead of the loving expression of adoring approval that her mother had always worn in Marjorie’s presence, the ghostly image bore a sad smile.
Not yet, my child, the image spoke as clearly as if she had been standing in the smoke-filled barn,it is not yet the time.
Only then did Marjorie begin to cry, great sobs that only succeeded in trapping more smoke in her lungs. Despite the burning deep in her chest, she couldn’t stop.
“No, it isn’t time!” Marjorie said fiercely, coughing and wiping at the burning in her eyes. “This is not our time, Mr. Donohue! We will find a way!”
Marjorie crawled to the closest stall that wasn’t completely ablaze and kicked aside what burning straw she encountered on the floor. Wrapping her hand securely in her cap, she pushed as hard as she might on the wooden shutters, preventing the flames from touching her skin. The rush of fresh air was tempting, but she knew better than to breathe too deeply lest the smoke fill her lungs again.
“Help! Is there anyone who can hear me?” she called out, realizing she had left the assembled stable hands on the other side of the stone barn. “Please, someone help us!”
A wonderfully familiar face appeared in the window.
“My Lady! Here, give me your hand!” the Earl said as he reached for her. Marjorie shook her head.
“No! It’s Mr. Donohue! He’s trapped inside and unmoving. I will not leave him, and you cannot lift him alone. Help me carry him to the window!”
