The double doors pulled open. A pristinely dressed butler stared at William. Up and down, his expression dubious, and his fists large enough that if he wanted to grab William by the coat and send him hurling down the steps, he probably could have.
At least today.
“I must see Lord Manigan.”
“Impossible.”
“It is a matter of great importance. I must see him imm—”
“The servant entrance is around the back of the house.” The butler wrinkled his nose. “Although you will find it futile to gain employment, you might persuade one of the scullery maids into sparing you a bite of bread.”
Indignation lightninged through him. “I did not come for bread.”
“Then it seems there is nothing we might do for you.”
“All I ask is that you tell him I am here. William Kensley of Rosenleigh. Tell him—”
“Again, impossible. I must ask you to leave immediately.”
“I shall fight my way in if I must.”
The giant hands fisted tighter. The butler motioned with his head, then a brawny footman appeared next to him in wig and livery. “An unwise decision, sir, I assure you.”
Unwise or not, he had no choice. In one swift motion, he seized the butler’s neckcloth and slung him outside, delivering a strike to his jaw and shoving him toward the stairs.
Behind, a blow landed at the base of William’s neck. He hunkered, turned, then came back up with a fist crashing into the footman’s nose.
A returning blow struck his face.
Then another.
William charged the large chest and barreled the man through the double doors, and they smacked together onto the cool marble floor. They rolled thrice. William was pinned under the huge body, his neck snapping back and forth with each punch, but he rammed his forehead into the footman’s and pushed back on top.
He raised his fist for another strike when—
Hands grabbed him from behind. Hauled him up. Slung him back out the double doors, down the steps, and into the gravelly dirt.
William swallowed blood.
The butler stood over top of him, two other footmen flanking each side. “Lock him in the tack room and send someone for the constable.” The butler wiped his busted mouth. “This insolent beggar shall be gaoled, if not worse, for such invasion and violence.”
The footmen dragged William back to his feet, took him to the stables, and threw him in a dark tack room that reeked of leather, hay, and horse manure.
The door slammed shut.
And locked.
William leaned back against the wall, draping his arms over his knees, dropping his head into his arms. Dull pain throbbed through him, but it was nothing compared to the disappointment racking his brain. What now?
Despite his efforts to keep them open, his eyes drifted shut. He might have missed a chance to see Lord Manigan, the constable may be coming for him, and he might be thrown inside a village lock-up.
But at least he could rest his eyes without fearing a bullet.
That was something.
“I am dreadfully weary, Isabella. Should we not return?”
Isabella did not so much as spare a glance at her companion trudging behind her. Nonsensical girl. Must she always be determined against adventure?
