The Duke's Daughter and the Stable Hand

The first sign that everything was about to fall apart was the ring itself. Small, gold, set with a garnet the color of dried blood. I had seen it on my brother William's finger a hundred times, watched it catch the candlelight as he gestured across the dinner table, heard my father say it would one day pass to the eldest son. It was a nobleman's ring, an Ashworth family heirloom, and it had absolutely no business being in the straw beside Thomas's sleeping pallet in the stable loft. But there it was. Glinting up at me like an accusation. I had climbed those loft stairs a thousand times in the past six months, always at dusk when the last of the stable hands had gone to supper, always with my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. Thomas always waited for me in that same spot, in that same loft, and when I pushed open the wooden hatch and saw the ring for the first time, I felt the floor drop out from under me. "Thomas," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "What is this?" He looked up from the leather strap he was mending, his dark eyes catching the dim light from the single lantern. He was sitting on a bale of hay, his shirtsleeves rolled to the elbow, his hands rough and calloused in a way that made my chest ache. He followed my gaze to the ring, and his expression didn't change. That was the first thing that scared me. "Where did you find it?" he asked. "In your bed. In the straw." I held it up, the gold warm from my palm. "This is William's ring. You know it's William's ring. What is it doing here?" Thomas set down the strap. He stood slowly, and even in the low light, he was taller than me by half a foot, his shoulders broad from years of lifting saddles and shoveling grain. He had a beautiful face, the kind that made the kitchen maids whisper when they thought no one was listening, and he had been my secret for six months. But in that moment, I didn't recognize the look in his eyes. "I didn't steal it," he said. "I didn't say you did." "You're holding it like you think I did." I looked down at the ring. I thought about my brother William, who wore his privilege like a coat he never had to take off, who had mocked me at dinner three nights ago for reading too many books, who had never once in his twenty-four years shown an ounce of kindness to anyone below his station. I thought about my father, the Duke of Ashworth, who would sooner burn his own library than see a stable hand touch a piece of family jewelry. And I thought about the fact that the ring was here, in Thomas's bed, and there was no explanation that would make anyone in the manor believe it wasn't stolen. "Why didn't you tell me?" I asked. "Because I found it this morning, and I was going to give it back." He reached for the ring, but I pulled my hand away. "Sophia, you know me. You know I wouldn't do this." "I don't know anything right now," I said, and the words tasted like ash. That was when we heard the hoofbeats. A dozen horses at least, pounding up the gravel drive toward the manor. Thomas and I both turned toward the loft window, which overlooked the courtyard, and what I saw made my blood go cold. Men in Ashworth colors. My father's guards, riding hard, their torches cutting streaks of orange through the twilight. And behind them, a carriage I didn't recognize, black and gold and ornate, bearing a crest I had never seen before. "Get back inside," Thomas said. "Go to your room. Lock the door." "What? Why?" "Because they're here, Sophia. Someone sent for them." "Sent for who?" He didn't answer. He just pressed his hand to my cheek for one terrible second, then he was moving past me, down the ladder, out into the stable yard. I stood frozen in the loft, the ring still clutched in my fist, and I heard the guards shouting, heard Thomas's voice rising in protest, heard the sickening thud of something heavy hitting flesh. By the time I made it down the ladder, they had him on his knees in the mud, and there was blood on his mouth. "What are you doing?" I screamed, and the guards turned to look at me. I knew some of them, had grown up with them, and I saw the flicker of surprise on their faces when they saw me coming out of the stable at dusk, my hair loose, my dress wrinkled. I saw them draw conclusions. "Let him go! What are you doing?" "Miss Sophia," said one of them, a man named Harris who had taught me to ride when I was nine. "Your father's orders. The boy's been caught with stolen goods." "He hasn't stolen anything!" But they were already dragging Thomas to his feet, and more men were coming from the manor, and then I heard a voice I knew too well. My brother William, striding across the courtyard with a cold smile on his face. "Ah, little sister," he said. "I was wondering where you'd gotten to. Seems you've found my ring." I looked at him, and I looked at the ring in my hand, and I understood. Not all of it, not the shape of it, but enough. William had put the ring in Thomas's bed. William had sent for the guards. William had known I would be there to see it. "Why?" I asked. "Because you're an embarrassment," he said, softly, so only I could hear. "And Father needed a reason to be rid of him." He turned and walked back toward the manor, and the guards dragged Thomas behind him, and I followed because I had no choice. The carriage in the drive opened its doors, and a man stepped out, a man with a pinched face and cold eyes, dressed in black and gold. "Miss Ashworth," he said, bowing slightly. "I am Lord Percival, envoy to the Duke of Ashford. I was told there was an urgent matter to attend." My father appeared in the doorway of the manor, his face a mask of polite welcome. "Lord Percival, forgive the disturbance. We have a thief to deal with, nothing more." "A thief," Lord Percival echoed, looking at Thomas, who was still being held by the guards. "I was told there was a matter of a compromised young lady." The courtyard went very quiet. I felt every eye turn toward me, felt the weight of my family's silence, and I understood that the trap had closed. Not just around Thomas. Around me. "I see," Lord Percival said, and his thin mouth curved into a smile that made me want to scream. My father didn't look at me. "Bring them both inside," he said. "We'll settle this in the hall."