How to Marry an Earl (A Cinderella Society 1)

“He does that.” The footman reached out to open her door. “Thank you.” She hauled John inside while he was too off balance to fight her and pushed him down into the nearest chair.

“I can’t be in your bedroom, my lady!” he squeaked in alarm. “’Tisn’t proper.”

She nearly grinned. “You’re worse than the dowagers. Who would have thought it?” She saw the tea tray on the table and poured him a cup. “It’s nice and strong. It should help.” She forced his fingers around the warm porcelain. “I told you you’d take a cup from me, didn’t I?” She saw the tightness around his mouth. “Your head must be throbbing. Let me fetch Northwyck and some willow bark powder.”

Nerves hit her in the hall, once she realized the wound was bleeding less and she didn’t have to put up a front for John. Her hands trembled when she knocked on Conall’s door softly. No response. Perhaps he was sleeping too soundly to have heard her. She knocked loudly, firmly. Chartreuse barked once, followed by her grandmother’s shout from her chambers: “Stop that banging!”

At least her grandmother was safe. Whatever was happening now had not touched her. But still no response from Conall. The worry that nibbled at her turned to large, toothy bites. She pushed the door open. “Conall? That is, Lord Northwyck?”

A single oil lamp burned on the window ledge. His bed was empty, coverlet still perfectly tucked. A dreadful feeling uncurled in the pit of her stomach, even as she tried to tell herself that there were dozens of perfectly good reasons why he might not be here. The footman hadn’t heard anything unusual, after all. Still, he might have found a clue and gone off alone. She darted back across the hall to her chambers. John was slumped over, having lost consciousness. He jerked up as she reached him. Right. Priya could send for the doctor without awakening the household or worrying the duke while Persephone sat with John and tried to think what to do next. And she might know where her brother was. It wasn’t much of a plan, but it would do for the next five minutes.

She ran down the hall, grateful that Priya hadn’t been housed in a different wing. She knocked once and then burst through the door. “Priya, come quick.”

Priya, bless her, was on her feet and coherent in moments. Her hair was thickly braided down her back, her eyes barely bleary. “Who’s on fire?”

“We need a doctor for John,” Persephone explained as Priya grabbed her dressing gown and followed her. “And do you happen to know where your brother is?”

Priya paused before quickening her steps again. “If he’s not with you and he’s not in his bed….”

“That’s what I was afraid of.” Back at her rooms, she knelt in front of John. “John, wake up.”

He lifted his head. “Not sleeping.”

“Good.”

“What happened?” Priya asked.

“He was hit from behind.”

“I see.” They exchanged a look of worry and forcibly restrained panic. Priya examined John’s head and the bloody gash. “You won’t need a doctor,” she said. “When my husband was ill, he lost his balance frequently. He hit his head a lot.” She smiled faintly. “Head wounds always look worse than they are, and they bleed like the dickens. You’ll have a goose egg and a sore head, and you’ll need to rest. An ice pack wouldn’t go amiss.”

“I’ll get some,” he said, making to stand up.

Priya pushed him back down. “You will not. I will fetch the ice.”

“But… you’re a lady. You can’t.”

Poor John. He was learning rather quickly about the not-so-hidden autocratic nature of the Cinderellas. “Priya will fetch the ice and I will start searching for Conall. Perhaps the footman at the front door saw him go out. He may have wanted fresh ai—.”

She froze, going hot and cold all at once so that all of her skin prickled painfully.

A letter lay on her bed.

She approached it cautiously, feeling as though it were more akin to a venomous snake than a simple piece of parchment. She didn’t want to touch it. She snatched it up all the same and broke the seal. There was no design to it, no helpful family crest, only a blank circle on red wax.

“What does it say?” Priya asked sharply.

Persephone swallowed hard. “He’s got Conall.”

Priya rushed to her side to read over her shoulder. “Does he say who he is? A ridiculous question,” she added immediately. “Of course, he doesn’t.”

“He wants me to bring the third letter. Or he’ll kill Conall.”

Priya straightened her shoulders. “I think not.”

“He thinks I already know who he is,” Persephone said, her brain running in wild circles like a ferret with a burning tail. “That I have the letter. Conall’s ruse worked too well.” She crumpled up the letter and tossed it to the floor, striding toward her wardrobe.

“What are you doing?” Priya asked.