Jane watched him go, heart swelling. She’d blamed him for putting his duty before his daughters, before her, yet how could she love a man who would do less? When it came to the choice of gratifying his own wishes or meeting the needs of others, he always thought of those who depended on him first. In every way, he was a hero.

Callie shivered beside her, recalling her to her own duty now. Somehow, she thought the pony Belle had been riding would make for the known, which meant back toward the stables at either the home farm or the castle. But Alaric had surely just come from that direction. He hadn’t seen Belle or Larissa. There was only one other direction they might have gone. She directed the horses away from the lock onto the road that led toward the northern edge of the island.

The rain was pounding down now, wind bending the grass and peppering drops against her face. The icy grey river streamed relentlessly along, sucking at the roots of the alders, pulling at the shore. She sent up a prayer for safety, for Belle and Larissa, for Alaric, and for her and Callie.

“There!” Callie pointed, and Jane made out two horses standing beside the bulrushes. She urged the horse closer, heart pounding.

Belle and Larissa sat huddled on the ground, the older girl’s arms around her little sister. Both clutched the reins of their mounts, which milled about behind them. Keeping her own reins in hand, Jane slid from the sidesaddle and hurried to them.

“Are you hurt?”

Larissa shook her head, rain running off her hair. “I fell, but I’m all right.”

“You fell?” She glanced from Larissa to Belle for confirmation.

Belle nodded, smile bright though her teeth chattered. “I stayed on the pony, Mrs. Kimball. I only slid down to help Larissa.”

Jane breathed a prayer of thanks as she helped both girls to their feet. Larissa did seem unhurt, for she stood and walked without limp or grimace.

“We couldn’t find a way to get back in the saddle without the grooms,” Larissa said.

“We knew you’d come,” Belle added.

Jane brushed a wet curl from her cheek. “Smart thinking. Now, we just need to get everyone home.”

Putting Larissa back in the saddle wasn’t hard. Jane cupped her hand and boosted the girl up. Belle she could just lift into place. But with no rock or fallen tree to climb up on, getting Jane reseated was another matter.

“Ride ahead,” she told Larissa and Callie. “I’ll walk with Belle until I find something to help me mount or a groom comes along.”

The girls nodded and headed off.

Belle hunched in the saddle. “Can’t I go with them? I’m cold.”

“I know, sweetheart,” Jane said, leading the horse forward. “But even though you were very brave, I don’t want you to have to ride as fast as Larissa and Callie. We’ll be home before long. Think of sitting in front of a nice warm fire.”

“With toast?” Belle asked.

Jane smiled. “Of course. What do you think we should put on it?”

As Belle debated the merits of jam, honey, or cinnamon and sugar, Jane walked as quickly as she could, always with an eye out for a rock or hump she could use to mount. Her wool riding habit soaked up the rain, sending her sagging skirts deeper into the mud. Cold settled into her bones.

She had never been so glad to hear hoofbeats approaching. Mr. Quayle rode out of the rain, more gallantly than any cavalry officer. He was down in a moment and helping her mount. Together, they started back toward the stables at a quicker pace.

“Has His Grace returned?” Jane asked.

“Not yet. But don’t you worry for him. I sent Pat and Eddie out to help, and Mr. Willard was with them.” He urged his mount closer. “Have a care, Mrs. Kimball. Some folks seem bent on blaming all this on you.”

Blaming her? What had she done? Numb inside and out, Jane accompanied him back.

It seemed half the household had come from the castle in concern. Betsy and Maud had Larissa and Callie in hand. Percy was begging for a horse, so he might go after Belle. Mr. Parsons alternated between demanding answers and ordering the remaining stable boys about. Mr. Quayle swung down and went to help Belle.

“You’d be better served to look to your own charges and leave mine alone,” he said, thrusting the shivering Belle at him.

Mr. Parsons stepped back from the wet bundle in obvious distaste. “Percy, see to her ladyship.”

Mr. Quayle handed Belle to the footman and turned to help Jane down. Mr. Parsons put out a hand to stop her before she could join the girls.

“Not so fast, you. Lady Larissa tells me you caused all this.”

Jane glanced at Larissa, who stepped closer to Betsy’s warmth even as she raised her chin.

“I told Mrs. Kimball it was too wet and cold to ride, but she wouldn’t listen. She never listens to me. She didn’t listen to Mr. Quayle either. He told her Belle shouldn’t ride alone. Belle might have been hurt because of her.”

“Mrs. Kimball wouldn’t hurt me,” Belle protested, nearly limp in the footman’s arms. “She loves me.”

“I highly question that.” Mr. Parsons’s voice was colder than the rain. “And you mentioned something about the river?”

Larissa nodded. “Father’s lock is broken. She said so.”

Gasps rang out all around, and Maud and Betsy clasped their charges closer. Mr. Quayle strode for the stable, calling for the stable boys to ride to the home farm and move the horses there to higher ground.

“Did you have anything to do with this?” Mr. Parsons demanded.

Jane stared at him. “Of course not! Simmons struck the capstan that holds the chains to open the gates. His Grace is out there attempting to fix it now.”

The butler took a step closer. “Lies. Simmons left the island days ago.”

“He didn’t!” Callie piped up. “He was there, at the gates. I saw him. He said it was Mrs. Kimball’s fault.”

Jane cringed. Everyone knew Callie reported exactly what she heard.

“It’s a mistake,” she said, struggling to keep her voice calm as faces hardened against her. “Why would I want anyone to damage a lock meant to keep us all safe?”

Mr. Parsons cut his hand through the air like a knife. “Enough. The lock is immaterial. You willfully endangered the lives of Lady Larissa and her sisters. You have refused to listen to advice and council, disobeyed His Grace and the duchess at every turn. You leave me no choice but to discharge you of your duties and demand that you leave at once.”

“No!” Callie cried. She yanked herself out of Maud’s grip and ran to Jane. “Don’t leave, Mrs. Kimball. I love you!”

“Put me down!” Belle cried, kicking in Percy’s arms. “I love her too.”

Jane gathered Callie close, mind and heart in turmoil. “Don’t worry, sweethearts. Your father will have something to say about this.”

“You continue to forget that I run this household,” Mr. Parsons said. “I’m sure His Grace will side with me when I explain the matter to him. He has known me far longer than he’s known you, and he will not countenance behavior that puts his daughters at risk. Betsy, Maud, return their ladyships to the schoolroom and await further instructions.”

Jane released Callie to an apologetic-looking Maud. Larissa hesitated.

“I didn’t mean for her to leave,” she told Mr. Parsons. “Can’t you just punish her? I’m sure she’ll learn her lesson.”

“I wish I shared that belief,” Mr. Parsons said with a nod to Betsy. The nursery maids and footman hurried the children from the yard.

Jane stood alone, bereft. That was it? She was merely to leave? She felt as if the air had vacated the yard, her lungs.

“Do not bother collecting your things,” Mr. Parsons said as if intent on heaping coals on her head. “They will be forwarded to Miss Thorn. Let’s see if she can find you another position after this.”

Very likely even Fortune would not be so accommodating. Two positions and no references? Jane was clearly damaged goods.

“You’re making a mistake,” Mr. Quayle warned Mr. Parsons as he came out of the stable leading a horse.

The butler drew himself up. “The inside of the house is mine. Your realm is the stable. See that you stay there.” With a look of disgust at Jane, he turned on his heel and strode back into the castle courtyard.

Mr. Quayle grabbed a blanket off the horse and draped it about Jane’s shoulders. “I don’t care what his nibs says. You’re welcome to stay in my stables as long as you like.”

That would be easy. Likely she could appeal to Alaric to override the butler’s edict, but to what purpose? Larissa might never respect her. Mr. Parsons would forever look for opportunities to discharge her. And she would have to watch from the schoolroom while Alaric courted and married someone else.

All her life she’d had to fight—for the right to her own opinions, for a place at Jimmy’s side, for food and water at the crowded campaign camps, for a position of dignity as a widow. Perhaps it was time she stopped fighting.

She pulled the blanket off her shoulders. “Thank you, Mr. Quayle, for everything. I think it best if I go. Might I prevail on you for a carriage to take me off the island? I believe the mail coach to London stops at Walton-on-Thames. I might just be able to catch it.”

 

~~~

 

Alaric heaved one last time, and the gates burst open, water rushing down into the channel. The grooms and tenants who had helped him pull the chain by hand straightened, clapping each other on the back.

“That’s done it,” Willard proclaimed.

“Three cheers for His Grace!” someone called, and shouts echoed against the wind.

Alaric inclined his head in thanks as he moved to where the remaining groom stood with arms folded, regarding the pitiful lump of humanity at his feet. Simmons sat hunched, muttering to himself. He’d been on his feet when Alaric had ridden up, looking as if he wanted to lash out at someone. But even he knew the penalty for striking an aristocrat. That hadn’t stopped him from speaking out instead.

“Your father caused this,” he’d said as Alaric had hurried to the gates to inspect the damage. “He turned my father out with no warning. Da and Mum died in the cold, friendless.”

“So you think to return the favor, for everyone on the island?” Alaric had shaken his head. “The important thing now is to get those gates open. We’ll have to compensate for the broken capstan by pulling the chain by hand. If you hope to avoid the noose, I’d put your back into it.”

A look had flickered across the footman’s face, and he had put his hand to his back. “Sorry, Your Grace. I must have injured myself. You’ll have to do it yourself.”

He’d started. Muscles bunching, he’d braced his feet and pulled as hard as he could. The capstan turned. The gates inched open. But not fast enough. The river was already overtopping them, bending them under the pressure. They’d stick, or worst, burst free and spill water onto the shore. Instead of keeping the island from flooding, he’d be dooming the lands across from him as well.

The arrival of the grooms and Willard had saved them all. With them had come many of his tenants—from older men whose grey hair gave testimony to their years of service to young fellows eager to prove themselves. They’d brought Mr. Harden, who Simmons had struck down to keep him from his duty. Together, they had opened the gates. Already the channel was filling, the waters lowering at the western edge of the island. Now they would have to wait to see if it was enough. In the meantime, he remanded Simmons into the care of two of his grooms to be taken to the local jail on charges of vandalism, theft, trespassing, and attempted murder.

“I’m sorry I didn’t recognize the danger sooner, Your Grace,” Willard told him as the grooms rode away. “Like you, I thought perhaps Simmons had refused to leave, but I never thought he’d do something like this. Makes me wonder about the fires this past summer.”

“And the difficulties we kept having at the castle,” Alaric agreed, looking to his horse.

“I’ll stay and make sure the channel keeps filling,” Willard offered. “You go after your girls.”

The others were ready to help as needed. With a nod of thanks, Alaric set out once more.

The ride back to the stables felt endless. He had faith that Jane would locate the girls, but part of him feared to find one or more of them hurt. At the very least they would be cold and frightened. He urged his horse faster.

Mr. Quayle met him as he rode in. “The gates?”

“Open,” he said, swinging down. “The waters are receding. Let’s hope they stay that way. The girls?”

“Safe and in the castle,” he said, following Alaric as he started for the house. “But there’s trouble. Your starch-rumped butler sacked Mrs. Kimball.”

He jerked to a stop. “What?”

Quayle nodded. “Claimed all this was her fault. Nonsense. I agreed it was fine for them to go riding, even Lady Belle. None of us had any idea Simmons was on the loose. She doesn’t deserve to be sent packing.”

“And she won’t be,” Alaric said, striding for the house. “Not while I live.”

Mr. Quayle called after him, but Alaric would not be stopped. Jane had done nothing wrong. He would stake his life on it. If anyone was leaving, it would be Parsons.

He found his daughters with the nursemaids in the schoolroom. They’d changed out of their wet habits and into nightgowns that fluttered about their stockinged feet as they ran to him.

“Father, Father, Mrs. Kimball went away!” Belle cried.

“Mr. Parsons wouldn’t even let her collect her things,” Callie said, face puckering. “She’ll need her nightgown. She was wetter than I was because she walked with Belle while we rode ahead.”

She would have. Jane ever did what was best for her girls.

Larissa was white. “I don’t want her leave. She’s not a very good governess, but she cares about us.”

“About all of us,” he assured her. He gathered them close a moment. “Don’t worry, girls. I’ll see that she returns.”

“How?” Callie asked, damp curl brushing his chin. “Betsy said that Mr. Parsons said that she would be lucky to catch the mail coach to London.”

Belle nodded. “Mail coaches go very fast.”

He could go faster. Decatur and some of the other horses might be spent, but Belle’s unicorn could catch the mail coach, rain or no rain. Yet what would he say to Jane? Come back, the girls need you.

Come back, I need you.

Come back, I love you.

“Father?” Callie asked, tugging on his sleeve. “Don’t you want Mrs. Kimball to come back?”

More than anything in the world.

He straightened. “I’ll see what I can do. For now, mind Betsy and Maud.” He strode from the room.

His mother met him on the stair. “I just heard. Are the girls all right?”

“Fine,” he said. “I’m going after Jane. Parsons discharged her.”

She nodded. “Terribly high-handed. I’ll speak to him. What are you going to do?”

“Ride after her. Tell her how much she means to his household.” He drew in a breath and met Her Grace’s gaze. “And Mother, I intend to ask her to marry me.”

He waited for the disappointed look, the resignation to her social ruin. His mother snapped a nod. “Good.”

He reared back. “Good? I was under the impression you would take her only under duress. What of your position in Society?”

She looked down her nose. “Who would dare question that?”

No one seeing her now. “And what of the skills you expect in a good duchess?”

His mother waved a hand. “Skills can be taught. Jane is clever; she’ll learn. What’s more important is she makes the girls happy. She makes you happy. Now, go! Bring home your bride.”