The Duke's Bidding

Chapter 23

John took the steps two at a time. He hoped that the intruder remained fascinated enough to continue observing the sparring match. His luck, it was probably one of the servants sneaking around to see what they were up to. He didn't imagine Watson would allow them to come by on their breaks. Nevertheless, he took the steps in quick succession. He released the latch to the wall panel and quietly stepped into the dark passageway. Hovering at the inner door he listened for any sign of his intruder. Nothing.

Was the intruder still in the room? With no other way than to walk in, John released the door, stepping into the loft. The sight of the empty room was disappointing. He missed the intruder. So much for rushing up here.

On his way to the desk, John noted the bare footprints on the dusty floor. The back and forth pattern suggested that the intruder was familiar with the room. The desk with satinwood inlay was recently wiped. He followed the footprints to the chest and checked inside. It was mostly empty. A blanket, a few sheets of paper, a slingshot, and a few other knick knacks. Nothing that seemed important. Closing the chest, John returned to the desk. He opened the drawer to check its contents. The papers were neatly stacked, all except one. The crumbled paper showed marks of time, and if he was not mistaken, anger. He took the paper and gently flattened it. He could see that the crumpling was new, but the creases through the paper suggested that it was perused often. More curious of its content, John read the familiar scrawl of his mother's handwriting. There was no mistaking it—the bloody list. He remembered regretting that he left it behind, a last reminder of his mother's wishes.

From the looks of it, the years were unkind to the list. He could just imagine the hoyden crumbling the note, once and for all. A smile twitched at his lips, as he remembered his mother recounting her virtues to him. He would bet his fortune that she had turned the ton on its ear. In hind sight, being married to her might not have been so bad.

Slightly spooked by his last thought, John folded the paper and placed it back into the drawer. He should pay another visit to his guest. That should prove sufficiently distracting.

Remembering his conversation with Mrs. Watson, the housekeeper, John grabbed two Minerva Press novels for the girl. When he released the panel to step into the staircase, a sliver of light shone on the steps. He could see footprints headed up to the nursery. It was some time now since he entered the loft, and reluctantly John acknowledged that he missed the intruder. He figured that he or she was one of the staff anyway. Not many people knew of this staircase.

John headed for the girl's room. He rapped gently at the door, in case she was sleeping as he was told earlier. When no one answered, he opened the door and quietly stepped inside. The curtains were pulled back giving the room a bright and airy feel. In the middle of the bed, a large lump hinted that the girl was sleeping. John placed the books on the bedside table and found himself strangely observant of the lump, watching for the slightest movement signaling her presence. Nothing.

For crying out loud, what now? John hesitated for one instant, as the possibility popped into his mind. Is she even there? He pulled back the covers—hells bells—so much for being in her room—resting. He checked the connected rooms, no sign of the girl. He was ready to give chase when he heard footsteps approaching the double doors. He stepped behind the right door, leaning into the wall. The door knob turned, no knocks or vacillation. The door swung partially back, as a young man carrying books stepped into the room. John was ready to confront her and was surprised to see the boy. The young man closed the door with the heel of his foot and marched right over to the small desk. His attire was entirely too large for him, shirt sleeves covering most of the youth's hands and the pant legs lapped around his ankles. , . The boy placed the books down, straightening the stack of books without any care to the ruckus he was causing.

Curious, John watched as the young man stacked the books, then reorganized them, one by one perusing each title. He rearranged the books two more times, in different variations before he finally selected the one. There must have been some logic in his sorting but John was far more interested in why he was still in the room. Right at that moment, the boy removed his cap and with it released stream of beautiful long brown curls. He was a girl.

Her stature, the rounded bottom and narrow waist, the oversized clothes. Her every step was determined, no sign of fear or caution. She was used to dressing this way. This new discovery sparked an old memory. The Hoyden.

The universe worked in mysterious ways. What were the odds that this woman was her? He should have thought it odd that she shared the same name, and was around the same age. But considering the condition in which he found her, he never imagined that this Elizabeth could be the same girl from his youth.

She took her book over to the open window. She stretched a few times and leaned over the window sill. John could tell that she was planning on sitting up there, on the ledge, to read. Surprised at her bravado, he decided to intercede.

"I hope you don't plan on escaping through the window?"

Elizabeth swung around, her eyes searching the room until they focused on John. He walked over shortening the distance between them until she was now within arm's reach.

"I don't have a death wish," she said.

"No," John looked down at her attire, "but, you do have a penchant for—trouble." Her eyes flared at that. There it was, if John had not already surmised her identity, her eyes would have given her away.

"All right, I admit. I was not going to go exploring in my shift. This seemed more—practical." She shrugged, as if that explained it all. Her nonchalant manner was a mechanism. He could tell she was embarrassed that he found her dressed this way.

John purposefully stepped closer, forcing Elizabeth to step back and lean against the window sill. He lowered himself down, to her eye level, and whispered "I like your practical side."

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Author's Note... What do you guys think about the pace of the story? Is it moving along and interesting? I would love to hear what you guys think.