The Duke Found His Maid’s Secret Baby in the Gallery No One Was Allowed to Enter—Then She Raised Both Arms Toward Him. He Had Come to Fire Her Mother, but for the First Time in Years, He Lowered Himself to His Knees.

 PART 10

Friday morning looked ordinary.

That was what made it cruel.

Clara took Lily to St. Agnes with two estate riders, Captain Graves driving the closed carriage himself. Mrs. Bellamy met Lily at the door. Lily lifted the giraffe and shouted something incomprehensible.

Clara kissed her daughter and left for the manor.

Julian spent the afternoon reviewing the route to Ashmir.

Shortly before four, Hollis — a junior estate clerk Clara had known by sight for nearly two years — hurried into the servants’ hall carrying a folded letter sealed with the Hawthorne crest.

He was pale and breathless, his coat damp from the road.

“Miss Ellison. His grace has changed the plan. Captain Graves has been sent to the north bridge. There has been an accident with one of the estate wagons. His grace wants you and Lily moved to Ashmir before dark.”

Clara did not take the letter immediately.

“He told me I was not to travel without Captain Graves.”

“I know. That is why he sent me.” Hollis held out the note. “I am to accompany you to St. Agnes. One of the old Hawthorne carriages is waiting there, with a driver from the west stable. His grace said there was no time to bring you back through the main gate.”

Clara broke the seal. The paper bore the crest used by the estate office. The signature was Julian’s.

The wording sounded like him. Brief. Direct. Impatient with explanation. Even the instruction that Lily’s traveling things were to be packed later by Mrs. Finch seemed plausible.

Clara read it twice.

“Why did he not send Arthur?”

Hollis swallowed. “Mr. Pembroke is with him at the bridge.”

The lie worked because Hollis was not a stranger. Clara had passed him at the estate office, seen him deliver ledgers to Arthur, watched him eat in the lower hall with the other clerks.

If a strange man had brought the message, she would never have gone. A familiar face, carrying Julian’s paper and Julian’s seal, was different.

She collected her cloak but kept her unease.

“You are coming with me.”

“Those are my orders.”

They went to St. Agnes together. At four-ten, Clara signed Lily out.

Mrs. Bellamy wrapped the child in her red coat.

Outside waited an older Hawthorne carriage, normally used for luggage and estate errands. Its crest was genuine, because the vehicle itself had been taken from a secondary coach house that morning.

The driver wore Westbridge livery. Clara recognized the coat, though not the man wearing it.

“Where is Mr. Bell?” she asked.

Hollis answered too quickly. “Sent ahead.”

Clara’s unease sharpened. She climbed in only because Hollis climbed in opposite her.

Lily settled against her chest. The carriage moved.

For several minutes, it followed the proper road.

Then, beyond the last cottages, it turned east instead of west.

Clara looked through the window.

“This is not the Ashmir road.”

Hollis said nothing. His face had gone gray.

Clara reached for the door. He caught her wrist.

“I am sorry.”

The words told her everything.

“Hollis. I had debts. Vane knew about them. He said no one would be hurt.”

Clara struck his hand away. Lily began to cry.

The carriage slowed beside a hedgerow, and another man climbed in, a pistol visible beneath his coat.

Clara pulled Lily tight against her chest. “Do not touch her.”

The man sat opposite and closed the door.

“Then do exactly as you were told.”

Clara looked at Hollis. Whatever sympathy she might once have had for his fear disappeared.

“When the Duke finds us,” she said quietly, “your debts will be the least important thing in your life.”

Hollis looked away.

Back at Westbridge, Julian was halfway through a conversation with Arthur when the door burst open.

Mrs. Finch stood there, white-faced, holding a duplicate of the message sent to Clara.

“Your grace. Did you write this?”

Julian took the paper. He read it once.

Every trace of color left his face.

“Where is Clara?”

“She left more than half an hour ago.”

Arthur was already standing.

Julian examined the seal. Perfect.

The signature was almost perfect.

Almost.

Julian never crossed the final stroke of his H that way.

“Get Graves.” His voice was quiet.

“Mrs. Finch did not move.”

“Now.”

Ten minutes later, a rider arrived from St. Agnes at full gallop. The Hawthorne carriage had collected Clara and Lily. Mrs. Bellamy thought it genuine.

It had gone east.

Captain Graves appeared in the doorway at the same moment, fury in his face.

“The Westgate carriage is still in our yard. One sealing stamp is missing from the estate office. The old luggage carriage is gone from the secondary coach house — and Hollis has disappeared with it.”

Julian set the forged letter carefully on the desk.

He did not shout.

Arthur had seen him angry many times. He had never seen this expression.

“Fine,” Julian said.

“Vane. Every property. Every man. Every hunting lodge, every mill, every stable he has used in the last ten years.”

Arthur reached for the maps. Graves turned toward the door.

Julian stopped him.

“And find Hollis alive, if possible.”

“Why alive?”

“Because I want to know who gave him the courage to put my seal on a lie.”

By nightfall, Westbridge Manor had become a map of possibilities.