My Aunt Abandoned Me In The Freezing Storm — Then The Duke Opened His Front Door
Part 1
The freezing mud sucked my left boot right off my foot.
I didn’t bother trying to dig it out.
The rain was slicing sideways across the Blackwood estate, turning the immaculate stone courtyard into a filthy swamp.
My thin gray cloak clung to my shoulders like wet iron.
I wedged my bare, numb toes against the heavy wooden spoke of the carriage wheel.
Aunt Barbara was inside the warm, dry drawing room above, sipping port and trying to sell my cousin Megan to the Duke of Blackwood.
I was outside in the storm because Megan had forgotten her lucky smelling salts.
My fingers scrambled blindly over the plush leather seat inside the carriage.
The wind howled, whipping my soaked hair across my eyes.
I slipped.
My knees slammed hard into the cobblestones beneath the mud.
I grabbed the carriage door, hauling myself back up with stiff, raw hands.
The urge to cry rose in my throat.
I swallowed it down.
Tears wouldn’t warm me up, and they certainly wouldn’t retrieve the velvet pouch.
I planted my ruined, stockinged foot directly onto the gold-painted step and lunged inside.
My fingers finally closed around the velvet bag.
I backed out, dragging my muddy skirts across the expensive upholstery.
My foot slipped again.
I caught myself against the wheel, a sharp spike of pure frustration boiling over.
I drew back my bare foot and kicked the solid iron rim as hard as I could.
Pain jarred up my leg, accomplishing absolutely nothing.
I clutched the velvet pouch to my chest and glared up at the imposing stone facade of Blackwood Hall.
Golden light spilled from the third-story windows.
Someone had shoved one of the tall glass panes wide open.
A man stood framed in the light, looking directly down at me.
He wasn’t a servant.
His white cravat hung undone against a dark coat.
I had just kicked his guest’s carriage and cursed loudly enough to wake the dead.
I lifted my chin, staring back at him with pure, unmasked hostility.
He didn’t yell for a footman.
He simply stared, a long, heavy beat of silence passing between us through the rain.
Then he vanished back into the light.
I shivered violently, my lips turning numb.
The heavy oak front doors of the hall suddenly swung open.
The wind shrieked into the grand foyer, blowing out the candles in the chandelier.
The man from the window strode over the threshold.
He walked straight into the storm without a coat.
The rain instantly plastered his linen shirt to his chest.
His expensive leather boots sank deep into the freezing mud.
He stopped three feet away from me.
Water dripped from his dark hair, carving paths through the grime on his jaw.
I tightened my grip on the velvet pouch.
“Are you lost?”
I shouted over the wind.
He reached out slowly and closed his large, warm hand over my freezing fingers.
“No.”
His voice was a low rumble that somehow cut entirely through the gale.
“I am exactly where I need to be.”
I snatched my hand back, slipping backward in the treacherous slop.
He caught me by the elbow.
His grip was hard and bracing, entirely devoid of polite delicacy.
“Let go of me,” I hissed through chattering teeth.
He hooked his arm firmly around my waist and hoisted me out of the deepest mud.
Panic spiked in my chest.
I kicked my one boot against his shin.
Aunt Barbara would skin me alive for smearing mud on this madman’s trousers.
“Stop thrashing,” he ordered.
He practically dragged me across the courtyard.
We crossed the threshold into the blindingly bright, painfully warm foyer of Blackwood Hall.
He let go of my waist.
I stumbled, my bare foot slapping wetly against the pristine white marble floor.
Three footmen stood frozen in the corners, staring at the filthy puddle dripping from my cloak.
I recognized the crest carved into the grand staircase.
My stomach bottomed out.
This wasn’t a drunken guest.
This was Thomas, the Duke of Blackwood.
Footsteps shattered the fragile silence.
Aunt Barbara marched down the stairs, flanked by Megan and a dozen other horrified women.
She stopped on the landing, her knuckles white as she gripped the carved railing.
Her gaze slid from the soaked Duke to me.
“What is the meaning of this?” she breathed.
Her voice dropped to a dangerous whisper.
“Why is that creature dripping on the marble?”
Thomas stepped between us, his broad shoulders forming a literal wall.
“That creature is freezing to death in my courtyard because she was sent out in a gale.”
His voice was heavy and cold as iron.
Aunt Barbara flushed an ugly, mottled red.
“She is a servant.”
“Send her to the kitchens.”
Thomas didn’t look at her.
“Jenkins.”
The stoic butler stepped forward.
“Summon Mrs. Davies.”
“Tell her to prepare the blue room.”
A collective gasp echoed from the stairs.
The blue room was reserved for visiting dignitaries.
Thomas offered me his hand.
I looked at the furious faces of my aunt and cousin.
My fingers trembled as I placed them in his palm.
He led me past the horrified guests, leaving a trail of dirty water in our wake.
The heat of the guest room felt like needles driving into my frozen skin.
Mrs. Davies stripped away my ruined clothes and pushed me into a copper tub filled with steaming water.
I scrubbed viciously at the mud caked on my arms.
Dukes did not pluck penniless companions out of storms.
Morning broke with a flat, bruise-colored sky.
I stood near the window wearing a borrowed green wool dress.
Below, heavy carriages were lined up on the gravel drive.
Thomas had ordered everyone to leave.
The adrenaline was completely gone, leaving only a cold knot of dread.
I walked out into the empty hallway.
Aunt Barbara emerged from the corridor below.
The dark circles under her eyes were a testament to a sleepless night of humiliation.
She saw me standing at the top of the stairs.
“Get your things,” she hissed.
“You have five minutes before the carriage leaves.”
I gripped the banister.
I had spent six years making myself small for this woman.
“No.”
Aunt Barbara stopped dead on the second step.
“I am not getting my bag, and I am not riding outside with the coachman.”
She lunged up the stairs, her hand raised to strike me.
I braced myself for the blow.
“Lady Barbara.”
Thomas stood in the archway below, wearing dark riding leathers.
He tapped a pair of gloves rhythmically against his thigh.
Aunt Barbara froze, slowly lowering her hand.
“Your niece is remaining here.”
