Chapter 4 - A Midnight Breach
Three days had passed since the disastrous dinner party, and Ashbourne Manor had become a fortress.
Alister had dismissed half the estate staff whose loyalty was even slightly questionable, doubling the night patrols along the perimeter walls with trusted veterans who had served under his late brother in the Peninsula. Iron gates that had stood open for decades were chained shut at dusk. The grand house, once filled with the laughter of guests and the clink of crystal, was now shrouded in a tense, expectant silence.
In the nursery, however, a quiet miracle was taking place.
The swelling on Clara’s cheek had subsided to a faint yellow bruise, barely noticeable beneath her dark curls. For the first time in months, the sound of a piano echoed from the schoolroom at the end of the hall.
Abigail sat on the bench beside Clara, guiding the little girl’s fingers across the ivory keys. They played a simple nursery tune, Clara giggling whenever she hit a false note, leaning her shoulder against Abigail without a shred of hesitation.
Standing in the shadow of the doorway, Alister watched them.
He had spent the afternoon reviewing the documents Abigail had given him. The depth of Cavendish’s corruption was staggering. For two years, Cavendish and Hadlington had systematically forged documents, bribed port authorities, and manufactured artificial debts to crush the Earl of Strathmore. But even worse was the discovery of their plans for Clara: an isolated asylum in Wiltshire, notorious for its harsh treatment of mentally infirm children, where Clara would have been hidden away while Beatrice took control of the ducal trust.
Seeing Clara now—smiling, her cheeks flushed with life, her eyes bright—Alister felt a fierce, burning resolve settle in his chest.
Clara struck a triumphant final chord and looked up, spotting her father. "Papa! Listen! Miss Abigail taught me the march!"
"I heard it, my brave girl," Alister said, stepping into the room. The grimness on his face melted away as he crossed the floor and swept Clara up into his arms, kissing her forehead. "You play almost as well as your mother did."
Clara smiled, touching the black ribbon still tied in her hair. "Miss Abigail said Mama would be very proud. She said Mama is listening to every note."
Alister’s throat tightened. He looked across at Abigail, who stood respectfully by the piano, her hands folded before her. The late afternoon sunlight slanted through the window, catching the golden highlights in her chestnut hair and illuminating the delicate, aristocratic symmetry of her face.
"Thank you," Alister murmured, his voice thick with unsaid things.
"She has an innate gift for music, Your Grace," Abigail replied, her eyes warm. "She only needed someone to sit with her."
"I was not speaking only of the music," Alister said softly.
Clara yawned, the exertion of the lesson catching up with her. "Papa, can Miss Abigail read the story about the sea prince tonight?"
"Of course she will, darling," Alister said, carrying her toward the adjoining bedroom where a small bed stood under a canopy of floral chintz. "And Papa will be right downstairs in the library if you need anything."
An hour later, with Clara soundly asleep under the watchful eye of a trusted elderly nursemaid, Abigail walked down the grand staircase into the Duke's library.
The room was vast, lined with two stories of leather-bound volumes, with a roaring fire warming the leather chairs and heavy oak desk. On the desk lay an open dispatch box and several official wax seals.
Alister was standing by the tall windows that looked out over the darkened parklands, a glass of untouched port in his hand.
"The night riders have reported strange movements along the southern lane," Alister said without turning around. He had heard her light footsteps on the carpet. "Three men on horseback, scouting the perimeter wall near the old mill."
Abigail stopped beside the desk. "Cavendish’s men."
"Undoubtedly," Alister said, turning to face her. "He knows the law cannot protect him if those letters reach the King's Bench. He must destroy the evidence before I can leave for London."
He walked over to the desk and slid an official parchment across the mahogany surface toward her.
"What is this?" Abigail asked, looking down at the elegant calligraphy.
"A summons from the Court of Chancery," Alister said grimly. "Delivered by an express rider from London an hour ago. Lord Hadlington has petitioned for an emergency hearing to declare me mentally incapacitated, citing erratic behavior and the violent dismissal of his daughter. They have scheduled the session for the day after tomorrow."
Abigail’s breath caught. "They are moving faster than I anticipated. If they obtain an injunction, they can freeze your assets and seize custody of Clara before we even set foot in the capital."
"Which is why we do not wait," Alister said. His voice was steady, carrying an electric current of authority. "We ride for London at first light. I have summoned my carriage with an escort of six armed outriders. Clara will be taken to my sister’s fortified estate in Surrey under heavy guard. She will be safe there. And you and I will present these letters directly to the Lord Chief Justice."
Abigail looked up at him, her heart beating fast. "Alister... if I go to London with you, Hadlington will recognize me. The moment I enter that courtroom, I will be Lady Abigail Ravenscroft again. The scandal will be immense. They will claim I stole the papers, that I am an adventuress who seduced my way into your household."
Alister took a step toward her. The space between them shrank, the heat radiating from him breaking through the professional distance they had maintained. He reached out and gently took her hand, his warm, strong fingers closing over hers.
"Let them speak," Alister said, his dark eyes searching hers with fierce intensity. "Let all of Mayfair whisper. You are the bravest woman I have ever known, Abigail. You risked your life and your freedom to shield my daughter from cruelty. If London society dares to utter a single word against your honor, they will answer to the Duke of Ashbourne."
Abigail looked down at their joined hands, her chest aching with an emotion she had spent two years forbidding herself to feel. For so long, she had been entirely alone, carrying the crushing weight of her family’s ruin on her own shoulders, hiding in shadows, surviving on scraps. Now, standing before this powerful, wounded man, she felt an overwhelming sense of shelter.
"Alister..." she whispered, her voice trembling.
Before he could answer, the sharp, shattering crash of breaking glass echoed from the terrace below.
May you like
A second later, the sharp crack of a pistol shot ripped through the night air, followed by the urgent shout of the estate guards.
***