If the Slipper Fits (20 page)

A man who loves so deeply suffers greatly when his heart is broken. You must help him heal, my dear … I am depending upon you to bring them together.

Annabelle scowled down at the dirt path. Nearly a decade had passed since Lord Simon had been jilted by Nicholas’s mother. The man shouldn’t still be carrying a grudge—especially not toward a sweet and innocent child. But she could think of no way to broach such a delicate topic without jeopardizing her position as governess.

Heal him, indeed! Lady Milford might as well have asked Annabelle to scale the walls of the castle without rope or ladder.

To make matters worse, Lady Milford had come up to the nursery for a visit the previous afternoon. Nicholas had joined the two women for tea, and afterward, her ladyship had asked Annabelle to write to her in London.
I shall be hoping to hear of your progress with Simon,
she’d murmured on her way out the door.
Remember your promise.

Annabelle sorely disliked the prospect of disappointing Lady Milford when she owed the woman such a debt of gratitude. Somehow, there had to be a way to convince Lord Simon to spend more time with his nephew …

She suddenly noticed that Nicholas had strayed off the path. He was making his way down the forested slope rather than proceeding up toward the castle.

“Your Grace!” Annabelle called. “Where are you going?”

A rabbit bounded ahead of him into the underbrush, and Nicholas gleefully chased after it. “I need to catch the enemy,” he said over his shoulder.

“Don’t venture too far, darling.”

Annabelle assured herself he couldn’t get lost in these woods, at least not for very long. Just beyond this hill, there were meadows and farms in the valley. Above, through a break in the trees, Castle Kevern towered on the cliff.

Nevertheless, she hurried after Nicholas as he tracked his prey downhill. For too long his imagination had been stifled by the vicar. It was good for him to have the freedom to enjoy an adventure like any normal little boy.

In his knee breeches he had the advantage of her, for the abundant undergrowth kept catching at her skirts. As she bent down to unhook her hem from a clump of brambles, Annabelle heard the snap of a twig somewhere behind her.

A footstep?

Her skin crawled at the notion of being followed. Maybe she hadn’t been wrong to think someone had trained a spyglass on them from up on the cliff.

She turned to scan the area. Sunlight filtered through the tall firs and beech trees and ancient oaks, dappling the clumps of tiny blue flowers and the dense greenery. She couldn’t see a living soul on the hill above her. But the sloping woodland had numerous dips and depressions where a person might be hiding. Additionally, the huge boulders and thick tree trunks could provide cover for someone who didn’t wish to be seen.

Or perhaps it was merely a piskie.

The thought injected a bit of humor that served to dilute her unease. Maybe this was how superstitions were born, from a naturally occurring sound or sight that was misconstrued by the local folk. Logic told her that if there was another entity in these woods, it could only be human—perhaps a servant from the castle or a workman taking a shortcut.

In the kitchen, she’d heard mention of a poacher, but that had been an isolated incident at the southernmost edge of the vast estate. Besides, no one on such an illicit mission would dare to venture so close to the castle. The risk of discovery would be too great.

She and the duke were perfectly safe here.

Annabelle turned back to see that Nicholas had stopped partway down the hill. He was gazing at the ground, but she couldn’t tell at what. A wry smile tugged at her mouth. She hoped to goodness that he hadn’t managed to trap the poor rabbit. He’d want to keep it as a pet, and then she’d have to explain to him the difficulty of stuffing the squirmy, frightened animal into the gunnysack.

Oh, well. Perhaps one of the stablemen could be coaxed into building a hutch. It might be educational for Nicholas to have the responsibility of feeding and caring for a rabbit.

Pondering the matter, she gingerly made her way down the steep forest floor. A tiny stream trickled among the fallen leaves, and as she stepped over the wet rocks, the sole of her shoe slipped. She braced her hand on the nearest tree trunk to steady herself.

An angry bee whizzed past her ear. A fraction of a second later, she heard the deafening crack of a gunshot.

Far ahead of her, Nicholas fell to the ground.

Chapter 15

The shot echoed through the woods and across the valley. She froze for a split second, her mind battling disbelief.
A poacher.
There must be a poacher, after all.

Dropping the gunnysack, Annabelle spun around. “Stop!” she shouted. “Don’t shoot! There’s a child here.”

All lay silent except for her own harsh exhalations. A quick scan of the forested slope revealed no movement among the tall trees, no sign of where the gunman might be hiding.

There was no time to find him.

In a mad panic, she went scrambling down the hill, slipping and sliding on thick layers of leaves. Mud and dirt soiled her hem but she scarcely noticed. Her only thought was for Nicholas. Had he been struck?

Oh, dear God, he must have been. She had seen him go down. He had vanished from sight. Had he been badly injured … or killed?

The thought wrenched a sob of terror from her throat. It couldn’t be true. It just couldn’t. Where was he? She thought knew the place, but he wasn’t there …

A few yards ahead, Nicholas popped into view. He scrambled to his feet and stood looking down at his hands.

His fair hair was messy, his clothing dirty, but Annabelle had never seen a more welcome sight. Sinking to her knees, she caught hold of his shoulders and gave him a frantic look-over. It was a vast relief not to see blood anywhere on him.

She clutched his small, warm body close to hers. “Oh, darling, I saw you fall. Are you all right?”

He nodded, his look more curious than fearful. “Was somebody shooting?”

Annabelle wrestled her wild emotions under control. Her heart was still pounding madly. It wouldn’t do to frighten him, so she forced herself to speak calmly. “Yes, I think so. It … must have been a poacher.”

He lifted his chin. “Poachers are not allowed here. They must be made to go away so they don’t kill my rabbits.”

At his imperious frown, she swallowed a hysterical bubble of laughter. It was
he
who needed protection, not the wildlife. Thank goodness, he must not have realized just how close the shot had been. If the bullet had hit him …

Annabelle rose shakily to her feet. Though she burned to find out who had fired the gun, her first duty was to Nicholas. He must be taken straight back to the safety of the schoolroom. “You’re quite right, I’ll speak to your uncle about it as soon as possible. Now come. We must return to the castle at once.”

Slipping her arm around him, Annabelle urged him away from the area where she estimated the shooter to be, all the while keeping a sharp eye out. She felt dangerously exposed, having no means to protect the duke except to keep him close to her side as they traversed at a wide angle up the hill. The only sounds were the scuffling of their feet through the underbrush and the distant crash of the waves on the other side of the cliff. Not even the birds twittered in the treetops. It was as if a hush had fallen over the woods.

Where was the gunman? She could see no sign of him anywhere. What if he fired again?

No. No, surely he wouldn’t. When she’d shouted, he must have realized his mistake. Now he would be lying low until he could slink away without being caught. Oh, how she would love to give the coward a severe tongue-lashing!

An unwelcome suspicion wormed into her mind. What if she was wrong to think him a poacher? What if chance had had nothing to do with the incident? What if the shooting had been deliberate?

Her mind shunned the possibility. It simply couldn’t be. For what wicked purpose would anyone fire a gun at a young boy?

Except that he was no ordinary little boy. He was the wealthy Duke of Kevern, owner of this immense estate, descendant of a noble lineage that included royalty …

Nicholas tugged on her arm. “Look what I found,” he said, holding up a small object in the grimy palm of his hand.

Annabelle gave it a distracted glance. The piece was a dirt-encrusted bit of metal with some markings on it. Because she didn’t want to alarm him, she attempted to speak normally. “How remarkable. Where did you get it?”

“I picked it up back there. You know, where we heard the shot.”

Her mind resurrected that terrible moment. Annabelle realized that Nicholas had vanished from sight because he’d seen the tiny treasure lying on the ground. He must have bent down to grab it at the very instant the bullet had been fired.

She shuddered to think of what might have transpired if not for that chance action.

“I’m
very
glad you picked it up,” she said. “Very glad, indeed.”

As they emerged from the forest, they found themselves on the main drive that sloped upward to Castle Kevern. Annabelle had never been happier to see the tall gray towers and high battlements looming only a short distance away. Intent on ushering him inside those protective walls, she hurried Nicholas toward the open iron portcullis.

The drum of hoofbeats behind them caught her attention. A rider was fast approaching, though the bend in the road and the thickness of the woods hid him from view. No one was expected, the guests were gone for the day, and for all Annabelle knew it could be the gunman. On instinct, she urged the duke back toward the screen of trees.

“Where are we going?” Nicholas asked in confusion.

“Just over here for a moment.”

Before they could take shelter, however, the horseman cantered into sight. It was Lord Simon in his hunting finery: a dark burgundy coat with buckskin breeches and black knee boots. Upon seeing them on the grassy sward at the edge of the forest, he reined his large gray gelding to a halt, the animal dancing and snorting.

A vast sense of relief washed through Annabelle. Never had she been happier to see him. Then abruptly her blood ran cold as her gaze fell on the object lashed to the back of his saddle.

A hunting rifle.

His gaze intent on them, Lord Simon called out, “Why are you out here? Is something amiss?”

“His Grace and I just went for a walk,” she said, forcing a smile while keeping Nicholas close to her side. “I—I thought you would be gone all day.”

“Lady Louisa took ill so the party broke up early. The others decided to go into the village to look at the shops.” He swung down from the saddle and walked toward them, leading the horse by the reins. He was limping slightly, favoring his left leg. His sharp gray eyes studied her, and it was clear that he’d noticed her distress. “Something
is
wrong. Tell me.”

Annabelle hesitated. She hardly knew what to say. Was it mere coincidence that he had appeared so soon after the shooting and in possession of a rifle?

Until Nicholas married someday and sired a son, Lord Simon was the heir presumptive. He would become the Duke of Kevern if …

No.
To think that he might murder his nephew for personal gain was just too hideous to contemplate.

Nicholas gripped her hand. Gazing cautiously at his uncle, he said in a small voice, “There was a poacher, sir. He was shooting in the woods.”

Lord Simon’s expression darkened as he stared down at the boy. Then his gaze snapped to Annabelle’s. “Do you mean to say this happened while you two were out there just now?”

She nodded shakily, deciding to play along with the poacher explanation. “Yes, just a few minutes ago. The bullet passed rather close to where we were standing. Of course we came straight back here.”

Lord Simon’s face took on an even more thunderous look. She had never seen him so angry, not even the time when the vicar had struck Nicholas. “Who was the man? Describe him to me.”

“I can’t. I never saw him.”

“Where exactly did this occur?”

“That way,” Annabelle said, pointing into the forest. “On our return from the beach, Nicholas ventured off the path. He was … he was chasing a rabbit when—” Her voice broke and she couldn’t trust herself to say more.

Lord Simon placed his hand on her back, urging her toward the castle. “Come,” he ordered, not unkindly. “Both of you need to go inside.”

Together they hurried into the courtyard where the dolphin fountain splashed water, the merry sound a stark contrast to the darkness inside her. Lord Simon shouted for a groom to take the horse to the stables. She tried not to flinch from the warm pressure of his hand against her back. Could those fingers have held the rifle, aimed it at Nicholas, and pulled the trigger?

Did he despise his nephew that much?

Annabelle ordered herself to cease the wild speculation. All the facts had yet to be gathered. She needed time to think, to assemble the pieces and find logic in the madness. First and foremost, Nicholas must be protected from harm. Only then could she seek answers.

The duke seemed blessedly unaffected by the events, likely because he hadn’t realized just how close the bullet had come. He trotted straight to the fountain, where he leaned over the stone edge and proceeded to wash his dirty little treasure in the burbling water.

Before she could follow, Lord Simon caught hold of her wrist. “Take the boy upstairs to his nursemaid,” he said in an undertone. “Then I want you back down here at once. In the meantime, I’ll have a look around. If I’m not here when you return, wait for me.”

He turned on his heel, stalked out the massive gateway, and vanished from sight.

*   *   *

Fifteen minutes later, Annabelle paced the courtyard. It had been wrenching for her to leave Nicholas to play with his toy soldiers with only Elowen to watch over him. Annabelle had extracted a promise from the maidservant not to let him out of her sight, even for an instant.

Despite the balmy weather, she rubbed her arms in an attempt to dispel a bone-deep chill. Even the brightness of the sun couldn’t penetrate the darkness of her thoughts. Her mind kept worrying over the course of events. She felt certain someone had been spying on her and Nicholas from the cliff. If that same person had been waiting for them to leave the beach, it meant the shooting hadn’t been the act of a careless hunter.