Page 34 of Her Wily Duke

Frederick, at that point, lost his battle to control the horse, which surged forward as Frederick’s grip on the reins loosened, then, a small amount of sanity remaining to it, the horse realised that the way was blocked, and came to a stop, jinking violently to the side, barely avoiding the sharp branches. Frederick had no hope of staying with it. He sailed over its shoulder, continuing in the original direction, and collided with the forest of stakes which awaited.

Adam knew, even before he reached the spot moments later, that there was no hope. Frederick might still be alive, but the possibility of him surviving for long was vanishingly small.

As Adam dismounted, he tossed his reins to the groom, who swung down and, leading both horses, went to get the horse Frederick had ridden, which was quiet, if shaking, standing in the clearing now that there was no madman on its back, driving it on. Leaving that to the groom, Adam stepped forward, and reached out just in time to catch Frederick as he slipped backwards off the stakes which had punctured him. There was blood everywhere. Adam eased him to the ground, trying to see where the damage was, with only the occasional flash of lightning to guide him.

It was as bad as he had suspected. At least one puncture went deep into Frederick’s chest, with the end of the branch broken off and still embedded there. Other scrapes and punctures were in multiple places, but none were as bad as that one in his chest. Frederick opened his eyes then, and saw Adam. His face was filled with bitter anger, and Adam nearly flinched.

“Did you drive me out into this on purpose? Even the horse was against me! I’ll die now, won’t I? I hope you’re satisfied.”

Adam swallowed hard.

“Of course not. Now lie still, we’ll get a litter, and carry you back to the house.”

Frederick groaned, and appeared to slip into almost delirium, shaking his head, whimpering, and pulling at the branch. Adam held his hands, to stop him from hurting himself further.

The groom came back to them, leading all three horses, which snorted at the smell of blood, and skittered away a little. Adam looked up at him, shaking his head.

“Leave my mare with me – she’ll stay steady. Ride back, leading Frederick’s horse, and get four men here with something to use as a litter, as fast as they can run. We’ll have to move him carefully, and carry him back – if that branch moves too much…”

“He’ll die if he’s not tended to, won’t he?”

The groom shook his head sadly at the sight of Frederick, handed Adam the mare’s reins, and swung up onto his own horse, then set off leading the gelding that Frederick had ridden.

Around Adam, it was as if there was nothing in the world but trees, rain, and the storm above. Frederick muttered and moaned, occasionally opening his eyes and glaring at Adam, seemingly without really seeing him. It was almost as if the world’s cruelty, which he had been trying for so long to outrun, or to outdo, had finally caught up with him. He slumped back, and stopped attempting to pull at the branch which impaled him, and in Adams hands, Frederick’s fingers grew steadily colder, as if the life was seeping out of him.

Perhaps it was.

Chapter Fourteen

When the groom came riding back out of the woods at speed, leading a second horse, Wiggins knew that something very bad must have happened, and was already sending off the strongest footmen to put on outdoor suitable clothes.

After that, there was a dreadful half hour while they waited – they had sent the coachman in the closed carriage to Trenton, to fetch the physician, and the footmen and grooms had gone into the woods, following the head groom, all bearing poles, ropes, and cloth to make a litter.

Eventually, the sombre procession came out of the trees. The winds had died back, and the thunder and lightning diminished, but the unrelenting rain continued as they approached the house.

“He needs to be inside straightaway,” said Wiggins, “If there’s to be any hope at all.”

At that, Caroline gasped, took one look at Frederick, and covered her face with her hands, sobbing.

They carried him in, going to the small visitors’ parlour just off the foyer, and eased him onto the chaise longue which stood near the fire.

The housekeeper, who was also something of a herbalist, was sent for, and hurried in, but stopped dead at the sight of the Duke, her face going very pale.

“Can you do anything to ease him, Mrs Miltwood, until the physician arrives?”

Adam suspected, from the look on her face, that she thought the answer was no.

“I… I’ll try, my Lord. But…”

“Do what you can, and I’ll be grateful.”

But in spite of all their efforts, by the time the Physician arrived, it was too late, it may, indeed, have been too late from the start. The Physician rather bluntly explained that it was a matter of easing his passing, for nothing could be done – the branch had damaged too much of his internal parts, and even removing the thing would only kill him faster.

As the Physician had predicted, Frederick never recovered. By the next morning his condition had worsened - he barely became conscious for more than a few minutes - and on the day after that he was unable to wake at all.

By the third day Frederick was dead, and Adam Villiers had become the new Duke of Foxridge. The title rested upon his shoulders like a punishment for his failures – of his brother, and of the people of Foxridge, all of whom he felt he should have been able to save.

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