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 9

Finally, Clara noticed the carriage herself, on a Tuesday morning.

It stood across from St. Agnes, half hidden beneath bare trees, horses steaming in the cold. She nearly dismissed it. Westbridge village saw plenty of visitors now that the railway station was open.

But the driver never moved. No passenger entered the shops. The curtain remained drawn.

The following morning, the carriage was there again. Clara slowed.

Lily, recently convinced that being carried was an insult, insisted on going the last stretch of the lane herself — one small fist locked around the hem of Clara’s skirt for balance, wobbling with every second step, the cream giraffe clamped beneath her other arm.

On Thursday, the carriage returned.

Clara told Mrs. Bellamy.

The warmth left the older woman’s face. She did not laugh, or tell Clara she was imagining things. Instead she unlocked a drawer and removed a small card Julian had given her.

Emergency only, he had said.

Mrs. Bellamy sent a boy to the estate at once.

Captain Edmund Graves arrived less than an hour later, dressed like an ordinary gentleman traveler. Two estate men had already passed the street separately on foot.

Edmund spoke to Mrs. Bellamy, then to Clara.

“Do not leave by the front door.”

Clara’s stomach tightened. “Is it that serious?”

“I do not know yet.”

“That sounds like yes.”

“It sounds like I do not guess.”

He looked toward the nursery.

“You and Lily stay inside until I return.”

Less than twenty minutes later, Edmund copied the carriage number and sent one of his men to the hiring yard.

By noon, Arthur Pembroke entered Julian’s study without knocking.

Julian was meeting with three representatives from a mining company. He looked at Arthur once, and understood.

“Gentlemen. We are finished for today.”

One of the men glanced at the documents. “Your grace. We still have—”

“We are finished.”

No one argued. The room emptied. Arthur closed the door.

“Edmund traced the carriage.” He laid a page on the desk. “It was hired through Fenwick and Sons. The payment was made by an account controlled by Vane’s solicitor.”

Julian’s eyes reached the final line.

“Where is Clara?”

“Still at St. Agnes.”

“Bring her here. Lily too. Use men Vane will not recognize.”

Clara arrived twenty-five minutes later.

Julian did not remain behind his desk. He crossed the room and took both her hands.

“Sit.”

Her fingers were already cold. He pulled a chair beside hers, rather than taking his usual place. That frightened her more than anything.

“Listen carefully. From today, you do not go anywhere alone.”

Her face changed. “What happened?”

“Captain Graves, or someone he trusts, will accompany you. You will not walk to the village alone. You will not take Lily to St. Agnes without an escort.”

“Why?”

Julian had promised himself he would never protect her with a lie.

“Because the carriage watching the nursery is connected to Lord Marcus Vane.”

Clara searched his face. “Who is he?”

“A man who has wanted something from me for many years.”

“Is he dangerous?”

“Yes.”

“Is he watching us because of you?”

Julian did not look away. “Yes.”

Her hand stopped moving inside his. The truth wounded him, because she deserved it and because it was precisely what he feared she would understand.

“So Lily may be in danger — because I am with you.”

“Possibly.”

“And me?”

“Yes.”

Clara looked toward the window.

For one terrible second, Julian thought she would stand and leave. He would not have stopped her. He would have given her money, a different house, another county, guards she never saw. He would have done anything except pretend there was no danger.

Clara turned back.

“What do we do?”

Something in Julian’s chest released.

“We make certain no one reaches either of you.”

“Can you promise that?”

Julian tightened his hands around hers.

“I can promise I will spend every acre, every pound, and every breath I have trying.”

“That is not the same thing.”

“No.”

He held her gaze. “It is the only honest promise I can make.”

Clara nodded once. Then she leaned forward and rested her forehead against his shoulder.

Julian closed his eyes.

That night, Arthur called a private meeting in the old estate office. Julian sat at the head of a long table. Arthur. Captain Graves. The chief groom. Two former soldiers employed on the estate. And Mr. Lewis, the solicitor who knew every Hawthorne deed and mortgage.

Papers covered the table. Disputed leases. Letters from Vane. Maps of the Western Ridge. Records of old lawsuits. Notes on hired men.

The pattern was ugly but clear. Vane had wanted the western mineral rights and railway route for years. He had tried money, political pressure, lawsuits, and intimidation.

Julian had no wife, no children, no living parents. Until now, there had been nothing personal to threaten.

Arthur spoke first. “Send Clara and Lily to Ashmir Lodge in Northumbria.”

Julian’s eyes shifted toward him. Ashmir was a remote Hawthorne property surrounded by forest, reachable only by one private road.

“She will hate it, probably. Lily has only just settled at St. Agnes.”

“Three days in an unfamiliar house is preferable to one hour in the wrong carriage.”

Julian hated the truth, because it was true.

“Sunday at dawn,” he said.

“Why not tomorrow?”

“Because I will not send them away without telling Clara the whole reason. And because Graves needs time to arrange the route.”

Edmund nodded slowly. “Two carriages. One decoy. Riders ahead and behind.”

“Do it.”

Arthur gathered the papers but did not look satisfied.

“Three days is too long.”

“I know.”