The Duke’s Runaway Maid (Preview)

Chapter One

“Look at this dress!” Lady Eleanor Blackwood gushed as she stared down at the pages of Belle Assemblée that she and her friend Miss Emily Dutton were browsing together. “Isn’t that the most gorgeous dress you’ve ever seen?”

“It’s beautiful,” Emily whispered, her eyes becoming round as saucers as she gazed at it too. “You’re lucky, your family can afford a dress like that for your debut. Mine will probably tell me that the money is better spent on educating little George. As if he already doesn’t have the best tutors!” Emily sighed and shook her head. “You’re lucky you don’t have a brother.”

“I don’t know about that,” Eleanor said, her eyes still fixed on the fashion plate. It showed a beautiful green dress with a V-neck neckline she had never seen before that tied in the front. It must be French, she thought.

Only the French would do something so daring! Wrenching her eyes away from the fashion plate, she looked at Emily. “Not having a brother means our estate is prejudiced against the female line. My parents never miss an opportunity to bemoan the fact that I was not born a boy, or that they were not able to have any other children. Not that I blame them,” she added quickly, as Emily’s eyes grew even wider. “I can understand how fearful my mama is of being tossed out by my cousin Henry and having nowhere to live. I can only hope I will be married by then and have a good husband who will let her stay with us.”

“Of course you will,” Emily said at once, her eyes flickering enviously over Eleanor’s face. “You are so beautiful! You will marry the most handsome, wealthy, and kind man in England!”

Eleanor flushed and looked away. This was not the first time her friend had mentioned her looks. Her parents also went out of their way to commend Eleanor on what they considered her “only asset” – she was slender and dainty, had a fashionable cupid’s bow mouth, and long brown hair that curled into ringlets without her even trying. But each time someone brought it up, she never felt flattered. She only felt deeply uncomfortable.

For one thing, Eleanor didn’t find it possible to be proud of something that she couldn’t help. The things she loved – reading, fashion, and dancing – were all things she took pride in. But her looks were something she couldn’t help.

For another, it made Eleanor feel uncomfortable. She didn’t want Emily, or any of her friends, to be jealous of her, and certainly not over something so superficial. 

And thirdly, she sometimes worried that gentlemen would only see her looks and not spend time actually getting to know her. And all she wanted was a gentleman to court her because he was drawn to her personality and character. 

But that was still ahead of her. The London Season was beginning in a week, and she would make her debut and finally have a chance to live out all the fantasies that had been building in her mind about the London Season all these years. 

“I know we will both make excellent matches,” she said, smiling warmly at Emily. “And we will both have kind, wealthy, handsome husbands in no time.”

“I hope so,” Emily said, her eyes sparkling. “I was wondering: do you think we should wear diamonds at Almack’s, or stick with pearls to begin with?”

“Pearls,” Eleanor said at once. “We don’t want the matrons at Almack’s to think the rules of Society don’t apply to us. If they do, they won’t let us dance the waltz!”

“Oh, and we must dance the waltz,” Emily said, leaning back against the sofa and staring dreamily into space. “There is nothing I want more than to dance the waltz with a handsome gentleman!”

“Me neither.” Eleanor giggled. 

Just then, there was a sharp knock on the parlour door, and Eleanor and Emily looked up to see Eleanor’s mother, Lady Helen Blackwood, Viscountess of Twickenham, standing in the doorway, a highly displeased look on her face. 

Sensing that something was wrong, Eleanor stood up at once and curtsied. 

“Good afternoon, Mama,” she said. “How are you today? Miss Dutton and I were just going over the newest fashion plates.”

Lady Twickenham’s look of disapproval only deepened. “I am afraid I must ask Miss Dutton to leave,” Lady Twickenham said. “There is something quite serious that your father and I need to discuss with you, Eleanor.”

Eleanor looked at her friend, whose expression was shocked; this was quite understandable, as Lady Twickenham was being exceedingly rude. 

“I will go then,” Emily said, shaking herself and glancing at Eleanor. “I should be getting home anyway.”

Emily stood, and Eleanor hugged her goodbye. Then her friend left the parlour, her lady’s maid, who had been waiting in the corner, trailing behind her. Eleanor waited until both were gone and the door was closed before rounding on her mother. 

“Mama! That was awfully rude,” she chided. Lady Twickenham was not the most polite or tactful lady of the ton, but she was not usually this outright rude, and she had nothing against Emily, although she had remarked on a few occasions that Eleanor ought to have more lady friends instead of those who were merely misses. 

“And you can apologize to Miss Dutton later for me,” Lady Twickenham snapped. “But right now, there is something far more pressing and urgent than your little friend’s feelings.” She paused, and for a moment, she looked as if she were about to faint. She swayed on her feet, and all the blood drained from her face. 

“Mama! Are you alright?” Eleanor hurried forward to help her mother, who had reached out to steady herself against the back of the nearest sofa. 

“Yes, I am alright …” Lady Twickenham closed her eyes briefly, swallowed, and opened them again. “But it has been a severe shock. I will not lie that things are about to change for us in ways that will forever affect our family.”

Eleanor felt her blood run cold. “W-what are you talking about?” 

Lady Twickenham’s eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Eleanor,” she sobbed and threw herself forward into her daughter’s arms. Eleanor patted her mother’s back as her dread grew. “We’re ruined, we are all ruined! And only you can save us!”

“Mama, you need to tell me what is going on right now,” Eleanor said, taking her mother by the arms and holding her at arm’s length. Tears were still streaming down her mother’s cheeks, and she had a wild, almost mad look in her eyes. But she swallowed and nodded, then stood up a little straighter. 

“Your father has lost everything,” she whispered. “And the only way to save our family from ruin is for you to marry Mr Thomas Barrett.”

Eleanor felt as if someone had just punched her in the chest. All the air left her lungs. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t see straight. She was dizzy. Releasing her mother’s arms, she stumbled to the left, then sat down with a hard thud on the sofa that just moments ago, she had occupied with Emily as they had dreamed of the handsome, kind men they would marry. 

There will be no kind, handsome man now. There will only be the man that my parents chose for me. 

Eleanor still could barely think straight as she looked back up at her mother. Lady Twickenham had stopped crying, but she was watching Eleanor apprehensively. Eleanor unstuck her throat. 

“Who is Mr Thomas Barrett?” she whispered. She had never heard of him, never seen his name in any of the gossip sheets and never been told to memorize information about him so that she might charm him at Almack’s. He was a complete stranger to her. 

“Mr Barrett is one of your father’s business associates,” Lady Twickenham murmured. “Your father owes him … the point is, the only way we will not lose everything–the house, the business, the London house as well–is if you marry him.”

“What did father do?” Eleanor demanded. As the reality of the situation hit her, so did her anger and indignation. She was not going to marry some man she had never met just because her father had managed to lose everything in the textile business he had invested in several years previously, when the land at Twickenham Place began to lose value and had to be sold off. 

“How should I know?” Lady Twickenham said, suddenly defensive. “Your father is a great businessman, and I do not ask any questions!”

“He clearly is not a good businessman,” Eleanor said, as calmly as she could, “if he has lost everything and now is trying to sell me in marriage.”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” Lady Twickenham snapped. “You are not being sold in marriage. 

“That is exactly what this is!” Eleanor cried. She forced herself to stand again so that she and her mother would be on the same level. “What would you call it?”

“I would say it is a daughter doing her duty and helping her family by marrying a man of great fortune.” Lady Twickenham drew herself up. “Which is no different than I did when I married your father.”

“You had met Papa before you married him,” Eleanor snapped. “Your parents did not try to force you into it because of their mistakes.”

“No, but he was a viscount, and I was a knight’s daughter. Our courtship had been brief, but I married your father when he asked because I knew it would advance my family’s position in the world.”

Eleanor stared blankly at her mother. “But it was your choice,” she said after a long moment. “And I simply ask for the same right: to make my own choice in my marriage.”

But Lady Twickenham was already shaking her head. “I’m sorry, Eleanor, but the marriage contract has already been signed.”

“What?!” Eleanor’s mouth fell open. “How is that possible? And you’re just telling me about this right now?”

“This is what we have to do to save our family.” Lady Twickenham’s eyes filled with tears, but Eleanor couldn’t stand to see them.

“Don’t cry to me over something that is your doing!” she cried. “Tell Papa he cannot do this! Please, Mama, take pity on me! I am about to start my first Season–please, do not let Papa do this! I deserve to choose my own husband. I deserve happiness in my marriage. You and Papa cannot sell me to someone as if I were a horse!”

Lady Twickenham’s jaw hardened, and she stopped crying. Her eyes, which had been full of guilt before, became cold and unfeeling. She stepped back, her arms crossing in front of her chest. “Your father and I can do whatever we want regarding your marriage,” she hissed. “You are not yet twenty-one, and this is our decision. It is not one we make lightly, but it will ensure that we do not end up penniless and on the streets. Don’t you care about that, Eleanor? Don’t you care about making sure your parents don’t end up in a workhouse, starving and in rags? Do you think that without this marriage, you would have a Season full of new dresses and jewels? No, there is no money. It is all gone. If you do not marry Mr Barrett, then you will also end up on the streets, or darning some lady’s socks. Is that the life you would prefer?”

Eleanor set her jaw and drew herself up. “I would rather choose my life, no matter the consequences.”

“Then you are as much of a fool as I always suspected,” Lady Twickenham spat. “And a spoiled brat on top of it. You will marry Mr Barrett tomorrow, and that is the end of it.”

“Tomorrow?” Eleanor felt her knees grow weak. She really thought she might faint. “How can the wedding be tomorrow?”

“A special licence was obtained,” her mother said gruffly. But Eleanor knew what that meant: it meant that this plan had been hatched several days ago. Her father and mother had been deciding Eleanor’s fate for probably a week without her input. It was enough to make her want to scream.

But she didn’t scream. Well brought-up ladies did not scream, even in the privacy of their own homes. They stood there, mute and furious, while their parents told them how they would live their lives.

“I do not want to have this conversation again,” Lady Twickenham continued coldly. “And I assure you, you do not want to have it with your father. He will not be as understanding as I am. I will see you on the morrow for your wedding day.”

And with that, Lady Twickenham turned and swept from the room, leaving Eleanor staring after her, horror filling up every inch of her. 

***

On the other side of Surrey, Marcus Pembroke, Duke of Thornfield, felt a different kind of horror. The horror of not knowing what he was doing with his life. 

For most dukes, the answer would have been obvious: you get to a certain age, you decide to marry, you find a perfect Society lady and marry her, and then you produce heirs. But for Marcus, nothing seemed that simple. 

He nudged the reins of his horse, hoping that she might move a little bit faster. He was anxious to get home. It had been several weeks since he’d last been in Surrey–several weeks that he’d been in London, trying to hammer out a deal with the other members of his party to require inspections in factories.

Another fire in a factory in Ipswich last month resulted in many deaths. Marcus and the other Whigs were fighting to improve things, but it had been hard to get anything done when he’d had to spend so much time fending off the marriage-minded mamas, who seemed intent on him marrying one of their daughters.

 And then, of course, there was Lady Harriet. 

His stomach curled slightly as he thought about Lady Harriet. They had been fighting when he’d left London, and he didn’t know when they would make up. If they ever did. The last six months had been little but fighting. It was making him wonder if any of it was worth it. Perhaps he should relent and give in to the pressure of Society, take a wife, and produce a few heirs. 

But when Marcus thought about marriage, he thought about his parents’–frosty and distant, or his sister’s–loveless and mercenary. He wasn’t particularly excited to be part of it. 

But you can’t go on like this, either, he told himself, as the horse mounted the top of the bluff. You are acting like an unforgivable rake. 

But Marcus wasn’t really a rake. He just had a mistress. And they’d been companions for quite some time now. It had never been the most passionate arrangement, more one of mutual satisfaction for both. Lady Harriet was a widow and did not want someone deeply involved in her life.

Becoming Marcus’s mistress had been a way for her to keep all the gentlemen at bay who hoped to remarry her and claim her fortune. And Marcus … Well, Marcus supposed he had been searching for someone to keep him from looking for a wife. 

But she disapproved of his career’s political turn, seeming to think that he should stick to balls and parties only, and not author bills to improve working conditions. It made him feel lonely, that she didn’t support him, while she said he endangered her reputation.

As the horse crested the top of the bluff, and Thornfield Manor came into full view, Marcus’s heart was filled with such a dizzying excitement that he had to rein her in before he fell out of his seat.

The sight that greeted him below was mesmerizing. Thornfield Manor was the most beautiful country estate in England if you asked him. Of course, he was biased, but it really was spectacular, with its honey-coloured brick and large, resplendent gardens stretching far around the estate. It was nestled below the hill along the edge of a forest, through which a brook ran.

Marcus had spent his childhood running through this forest and fishing in the brook. Being back here now, after weeks in town, filled him with peacefulness and ease he hadn’t felt in a long time. 

I never want to leave again, he thought, gazing down through the afternoon sunshine at his estate. Of course, he knew he would have to. He’d have to return to London to make things right with Lady Harriet–or end it entirely. But as he looked down at his home with a warm feeling of contentment and love in his chest, it crossed his mind to wonder what it might feel like to look at a woman similarly. 

What might it feel like, he wondered, to fall in love?

The thought felt taboo, and he immediately brushed it away. Dukes did not think such silly, romantic thoughts. Still, he could feel it there, in the back of his mind, burning a hole in him, and as he urged the horse down the slope, he had a feeling that on his next visit to London, he was going to end things with Lady Harriet once and for all. 

Chapter Two

“The worst part is, I don’t know anything about him,” Eleanor murmured as she lay face down on her bed, her eyes puffy from crying. She could hardly move. After her conversation with her mother, she had been overcome by such a strong fatigue that she’d had to go upstairs and lie down. She suspected it had something to do with the weight of what she was facing: marriage to a complete stranger, who might treat her terribly, and whom she knew she would never love. 

She looked up now at her maid, Mary, who was sitting on the edge of the bed and stroking Eleanor’s hair. 

“Do you know of Mr Barrett?” Eleanor asked cautiously. “Perhaps he has been to the house before, and I just didn’t notice? Or have you heard something from the other servants? 

Mary hesitated. She was a sweet girl, about ten years older than Eleanor, and had been her lady’s maid for many years now. They were close, as close as a maid and lady could be, and Eleanor trusted her opinion implicitly. She knew that Mary was always on her side. Mary was also well-connected with the other servants of the great houses. If there were rumours about Mr Barrett, she would know them.

“I know Mr Barrett a little,” Mary said at last, looking away from Eleanor as she continued to stroke her hair. “He is well-known as a businessman, and one of my brothers used to work for him as a footman.”

“Really?” Eleanor sat up, dislodging Mary’s hand, and staring at her maid with renewed interest. “And what do you know about him? What does he look like? What is he like? Is he someone I could have a happy marriage with?”

Mary swallowed, and dread pooled in Eleanor’s stomach. 

“Mr Barrett is older than you,” Mary began slowly. “He is in his early forties, I believe, and a very powerful businessman in the mercantile trade.”

“And?” Eleanor demanded when she saw Mary hesitate. “There’s more you’re not telling me.”

Mary lowered her eyes. “The rumour is that he is one of the cruellest and most cutthroat businessmen. He was a Navy captain before he became a tradesman and was well known for his cruelty to his sailors. As a tradesman, it’s common knowledge that he’s had more ships and sailors lose their lives because he pushes his men to travel even in dangerous conditions. He’s had many deaths in his factories as well because of poor working conditions.”

Eleanor stared at her maid in horror. “My parents want me to marry someone known for his cruelty? If he treats his workers abominably, there is no reason to believe he will treat a wife any differently!”

Mary shook her head, clearly at a loss for words. Eleanor felt as if she was going to be sick. She couldn’t marry someone who was known throughout England for his cruelty. It flew against all her values.

She read reformer newspapers whenever she could get her hands on them and believed in improving working conditions in the factories, raising the minimum age of workers, and raising wages.  But if she were married to Mr Barrett, he would crush every single one of her ideals and force her to adopt his opinions and beliefs, at least in public. It would be the end of her …

Not to mention, she could never respect or care for a man involved in such travesties. 

“I can’t do this,” she whispered, staring straight ahead at her bedroom wall. “I cannot marry this man.”

“You can refuse to marry him?” Mary asked quietly. “Your father has signed the contract. Perhaps it would be better to try to speak with his lordship, convince him to change his mind, to let you try and find someone else …?”

Eleanor shook her head. Lord Twickenham was not the kind of man who changed his mind, especially when it was Eleanor who was asking. The two of them had never got along, and Eleanor knew he wouldn’t blink twice at the thought of selling Eleanor off to a man she would undoubtedly despise. 

And she didn’t think she could convince him to let her find some other rich husband. It wasn’t just about the money. This was some specific deal that Mr Barrett had made with her father. Papa owes him money, and this is his way to marry up–to go from a merchant to an aristocrat. With me as his wife, his sons will be the grandsons of a viscount. 

Her stomach curled. His sons. No, she would not have sons with a man whose values she held in such low regard. She couldn’t. Every feeling inside of her forbade it. 

“Thank you for your counsel, Mary,” she said, turning away from her maid. “I think I would like to be alone for now.”

“Very well, My Lady,” Mary said, rising from the bed. “My deepest apologies for the situation you find yourself in. I wish there were something I could do …”

Mary left the room, leaving Eleanor alone to contemplate her fate. All her fatigue from earlier was gone. Now, her body was buzzing, as if filled with energy that nothing could tamp down. She stood up and began to pace around the room. 

There has to be something I can do … I cannot allow my father to sell me off like this. 

But who would protect her? She was her father’s legal property, at least until she married, and then she would be her husband’s.

Maybe Grandmama can help me … 

It was a stretch, but it might be Eleanor’s only chance. Her grandmother–her father’s mother–lived in Harrogate, all the way in Northern Yorkshire, in her dower house.

She was still very sound of mind, despite her age, and was always complaining to her son that she needed a companion–someone who could help ease her into her old age. She also deeply disliked her son and had said so to Eleanor on many occasions. She found him “feckless, selfish, and cruel.” And while Grandmama herself was a hard lady, she was fair and kind. Most importantly, she had always been fond of Eleanor. 

Maybe I can convince her to help me. I can offer to be her companion, and in exchange, she will hide me from Papa. Or somehow convince him not to do this …

It wasn’t a great plan, but it might just be Eleanor’s only hope. But how would she pull this off? Her grandmother lived miles and miles away. It would take days, maybe weeks, to get there, or for a letter to reach her, and the wedding was, apparently, tomorrow. 

And then her lady’s maid’s words came back to her: I wish there were something I could do…

Maybe there was something Mary could do. Something inadvertent, at least. It would be dangerous, and take every ounce of courage that Eleanor had, but it might just be the only way to save herself from a fate worse than death. 

***

The wind was howling against the windows, hitting them with such gusto that it made the hall chandelier rattle, as Eleanor crept through the house many hours later. It was the witching hour, and everyone was asleep. There wasn’t a sound in the house, but outside, the storm raged.

This was good. It would keep anyone from hearing an errant floorboard that creaked as Eleanor tiptoed through the house, down the stairs to the hall, then down the servants’ staircase to the laundry room on the bottom floor. 

Eleanor had only been in this room once or twice before when she was a child and playing hide-and-seek with one of her friends. But she remembered where it was. Now, as she crept through the dark house, she relied on her instincts and memory to guide her. 

At last, she found her way to the laundry room, where the fresh, clean smell of soap and cotton greeted her. It was a wonderful smell, and she stopped for a moment to breathe it in. But she didn’t allow herself to linger long. Quickly, she stepped to the laundry baskets and began to search through them. It didn’t take her long to find what she was looking for.

She recognized it easily, as she’d seen Mary wearing it every day for the past five years: a plain black dress, embroidered with the initials MP on the collars, a black mop cap, and a white pinafore. It was Mary’s uniform. 

“I’m sorry,” Eleanor whispered as she quickly threw off her night rail, threw that in with the other clothes that still had to be washed, and then pulled on her maid’s uniform. “But this is how you can help me.”

Mary, of course, was upstairs asleep, and couldn’t hear her, but Eleanor felt the need to apologize anyway as she stole her uniform. 

Once she was in her maid’s clothes–they fit relatively well–she threw back on the old cloak she’d brought and the worn pair of riding gloves. In the cloak pocket was a small purse with a few coins–the only money Eleanor had in the world, which her mother had given her as pin money the last time they were in London. It wouldn’t be enough to get her to Harrogate, but she had a plan. 

Eleanor swallowed. This wasn’t going to be an easy journey. 

But it was better than the alternative, and even as fear welled inside her, she pushed it down. I cannot lose my resolve. 

Eleanor then turned and headed out of the laundry room, down the servants’ corridor, past the kitchen, and out the back door to the back of the estate. Fortunately, this door was near the stables, and Eleanor hurried quickly and stealthily across the lawn.

The wind was still strong, but hopefully this would convince the housekeeper tomorrow that Mary’s clothes had simply been blown away while they were drying on the line earlier. Hopefully, no one would suspect that Eleanor had stolen them. If they knew what she was wearing, it would make it easier for them to find her. 

Eleanor was a good rider, and she selected the fastest and lightest of her father’s horses from the stables to steal. She saddled him quickly, then led him out of the stables and pulled herself onto his back. 

“Fly like the wind, Apollo,” she whispered in his ears as she dug her feet into his sides. “We have a long way to go.”

Apollo obeyed her, and soon, he was cantering down the long road that led up to her parents’ estate, down through the village, out the other side, and along the road that led north, out of Surrey, and towards London. She wouldn’t take Apollo all the way to Yorkshire, of course.

She would simply take him as far as London, where she would have to sell him to get enough money to buy a seat on a coach heading to Yorkshire. This would allow her to travel in relative safety. She’d be able to afford to stay at some of the nicer inns and avoid the ones with more dangerous clientele. 

But regardless, it would not be easy for her to travel the length of the country as a woman alone. Her stomach churned with nerves whenever she thought about it, but she just had to stay strong. 

Eleanor had been riding hard for about an hour when she thought she heard the sound of horse hooves behind her. 

No, I have to be imagining it, she thought, glancing over her shoulder. It was late now, probably almost two in the morning, and the road behind her was pitch black. Even worse, she was passing through a wooded area, which meant that the trees obscured any moonlight and made it even harder to see. 

Eleanor tightened her grip on the reins and turned back to face ahead of her. She had surely just imagined the hoofbeats. It was late at night, and no one else was out on the roads. And she was sure she hadn’t woken anyone back home. They won’t be after me yet. 

She was still in Surrey, of that, she was sure. In fact, she was near the Duke of Thornfield’s lands, if she wasn’t much mistaken. That was a good sign, as it was near the northern edge of Surrey, and meant that she was growing nearer to her destination. 

Just then, she heard them again: the sound of hoofbeats. Eleanor’s heart leapt. 

Is there any chance the Duke of Thornfield is out riding at two in the morning? Although she had never met him, it was not entirely impossible. He was known for being a passionate rider and sportsman–as well as a lady’s man. 

Or, worse, still, was she falling asleep in the saddle and beginning to dream of horse’s hoofbeats? 

She glanced once more over her shoulder, and this time, she saw it: a horse, with a man on horseback. Eleanor’s heart leapt into her throat. No matter who it was, this could not be good. The horse was moving fast–faster than she was–and as she watched, she realized he wasn’t alone. There was another rider behind him, and they seemed hell-bent on reaching her. 

Eleanor turned back around and dug her feet into Apollo’s sides. “Hurry!” she shouted. “We have to move!”

The horse gave a whinny and sped up, but he was tired. They’d been riding hard for an hour, and he couldn’t move as fast as her pursuers, no matter how hard he tried. Eleanor felt as if she were going to be sick. Fear seized her. Someone was chasing her, and they would catch her within seconds. 

“Stop!” A shout came from behind her, and Eleanor looked back. Her pursuers were almost upon her. They were not anyone she recognized. Both men looked very rough, with wild hair and dirty clothing that told her at once they were not in her father’s employ. If she had to guess–and her heart nearly fell out of her as she realized it–they were bandits. Ruffians. 

One of them slipped a hand down to the side of his horse and brought out a rope. As she watched, the man raised the rope over his head and began to swing it round and round. There was a loop at the end,  perfect for slipping around her horse’s neck. 

And then it hit her: they were horse thieves. 

Eleanor had only one choice. She couldn’t outrun the thieves on horseback. They were probably on fresh horses, whereas Apollo was completely fatigued. The best she could hope for was that if she abandoned the horse, they wouldn’t come after her as well. 

She made the decision in a split second. 

Pulling back on the reins, she stopped Apollo so suddenly that neither of the thieves had time to stop as well. Both of them shot past her, although she knew it would be just seconds before they had stopped and turned as well. With all her strength, she leapt from the back of the horse, then, turning his reins so that he was facing towards home, she slapped his rear end hard. 

“Run!” she shouted at him. “Run home!”

Apollo didn’t need telling twice. He began to gallop back in the direction of Twickenham Place. And now that he was without a rider, he was lighter and could move faster. Behind her, Eleanor heard the thieves shout in anger and swear. She turned and saw that they had pulled their horses around and begun to canter back towards her. 

She didn’t hesitate a moment longer. Turning, she leapt off the road and into the forest and sprinted through the trees. She heard one of the men swear loudly. 

“She went into the forest!” he shouted to his companion.

“Leave her!” the other shouted back. “The horse is getting away!”

Eleanor felt a momentary shock of victory go through her. Her plan had worked! The men were pursuing the horse and not her! They might catch him eventually, but by then, she would be long gone, hidden somewhere on the Duke of Thornfield’s estate. Maybe she could even find her way to his stables and steal one of his horses. Perhaps she could still make it to London tonight–

Eleanor didn’t particularly like the idea of stealing from someone who had not wronged her. But she didn’t know what choice she had. There were now horse thieves after her, and she had to get out of Surrey fast. Her father would be awake in a few hours, and then he would realize what she had done and send men after her. 

Turning, Eleanor scanned the skyline, trying to see if she could spot the duke’s house. She thought she glimpsed a turret in the distance and began running that way. It was hard to see where she was going, and the foliage was thick; it kept clawing at her skirts and slowing her down.

But her heart was beating so wildly she didn’t dare slow down. Not when the horse thieves might be coming back for her at any moment.

But just as Eleanor reached the top of a small embankment, below which she heard the sound of a stream, her ankle twisted and gave way beneath her. She let out a cry as the pain seared up through her ankle to her leg. She tripped and fell forward.

The ground came rushing up towards her, and she hit it hard. Then she was rolling down, down the embankment, gathering speed. She wanted to scream but feared the horse thieves would hear her. She was heading straight towards the rocks along the stream edge below–

The last thing she thought, before her head hit the rocks, was that if she died, at least she wouldn’t have to marry Mr Barrett. Then her head hit the rocks with a sickening crunch, and everything went black.