A Question for Harry

by Angeline Fortin

Sweet Piper, where are you? You haven’t answered my letters in weeks! I shall be coming home after the Haddington ball. I promise this time.

  Have you ever wondered, dearest sister, how one could possibly be so dreadfully content in torturing oneself?

  The Glenrothes Townhouse

  117 Eaton Square

  Belgravia, London, England

  The next morning

  “She’s not at home?” Aylesbury asked. “Please tell me that is nothing more than the standard society euphemism and she really is here.”

  “I’m sure I couldn’t say, my lord,” Hobbes said unflappably.

  “Hobbes, old chap, I thought you liked me. How about a bit of appreciation for my timely intervention last night?” Aylesbury cajoled lightly.

  Hobbes relented with a sigh. “As I am quite grateful for your intervention last evening, my lord, I might recommend that it would be to your advantage to visit the Royal Wimbledon Golf Club this morning.”

  “The Roy–” the marquis parroted with brows lifted in disbelief. Bloody hell, the tournament. He couldn’t believe that she had gone after everything had happened. Well, he did believe, but he simply couldn’t believe it. And to think he had brought a carriage around for her, thinking she might be too fragile to ride this morning. Instead, she was out playing golf.

  Though dread was already tempting him to pinch the bridge of his nose, the marquis felt he had to ask. “Please tell me she didn’t go alone.”

  “I’m afraid I cannot do that, my lord.”

  Good God, she hadn’t told her brothers then. What on earth had she been thinking? Did she truly have no comprehension of how dire a threat was out there or did she think herself invincible?

  “Will there be anything else, my lord?” Hobbes asked.

  Rope to tie Fiona down until she came to her senses sounded good to Aylesbury. Handcuffs, ankle shackles. “An acknowledgement that Lady Fiona is by far the most willful, independent, careless woman in all of Britain would be nice.”

  “As you say, my lord,” the butler answered, but Aylesbury was already heading back to his carriage imagining the many different ways he might wring Fiona’s neck when he found her.

  The grace and beauty of the sight was almost enough to strip Aylesbury of his anger and fear. Fiona stood poised at the first tee box, her focus on the ball before her as she drew back her club and swung through in a smooth stroke that sent her ball sailing through the air. As still as a statue she watched it go, her body turned and arched where the swing had ended.

  Polite applause told him that the drive along the fairway at Wimbledon Commons had been a good one, but Aylesbury couldn’t take his mesmerized eyes off her. There shouldn’t have been anything alluring about her in her prim, double-breasted red linen jacket, white linen skirt, white shirt and tie done up just, so but she was oddly seductive. The narrow cut of the jacket molded to her lithe figure, the skirt clung to her hips and was hemmed well above her ankles, showing of the slender curve of her calves before they disappeared into her high leather boots. Still Fiona bucked convention even more, hatless and with her navy blue dotted tie loosened enough to leave one button on her collar open.

  She was everything that was adventurous and daring. But too daring. He still couldn’t credit that she had come here alone after all that had happened.

  He should have known she wouldn’t miss it.

  Torn between worry, annoyance and reluctant respect for her nerve, Aylesbury fell in among the group of spectators to watch the play as the four ladies in Fiona’s group finished teeing off and moved down the scenic fairway. And to keep a watchful eye on her.

  Though it was a long par three hole, Fiona’s drive had made it to the green. While other ladies stopped to play along the fairway, she didn’t take another turn until they reached the green. Making par on the hole, she was off to a great start.

  Aylesbury relaxed his guard as Fiona handed her putter off to her caddy and moved with the group to the second tee box. The nine-hole tournament had drawn a fair number of spectators, and other players surrounded Fiona as well. Though the course was bordered with mature trees, there were no dark corners, no alleys for a potential kidnapper to hide in.

  Public and full of people. Just what she had promised to seek out days ago.

  It seemed his fears had been ungrounded. Fiona likely had more to fear from the ravine that dominated the first hundred and forty yards of the second fairway.

  For the moment at least, she was safe.

  And aware of his presence.

  Having the best score on the first hole, she was the last to tee off on the second. After sending another beautifully executed drive sailing through the air and over the chasm, Fiona shot him a sidelong glance from beneath her lashes. Aylesbury wasn’t sure if she was daring him to say anything or wondering at his opinion but he gave a short nod, mouthing the word “bravo.”

  A broad, dimpled smile was his reward, along with a flush of pleasure that brought lively color to the apples of her cheeks. Just when he thought she couldn’t look more beautiful!

  Fiona traded her driver for the iron Aylesbury assumed she expected to use for her second shot and swung it merrily by her side as they moved on. After crossing the bridge that spanned the ravine, Fiona and her caddy set off for the opposite side of the fairway, searching for her ball while the others in the foursome found theirs. Aylesbury crossed his arms over his chest and watched with a grin as Fiona used her club to poke through the rough grass bordering the short fairway until they found it near the tree line.

  Apparently it hadn’t met her expectations since Fiona called for her caddy to bring her another club. Over the applause from the spectators watching as other players took their turn in play, Aylesbury couldn’t hear what she was saying from the distance but displeasure was written in every line of her body as she shook her head and handed the proffered club back to the caddy carrying her wicker golf bag.

  When he again handed her what Aylesbury could only assume was another incorrect club, Fiona stomped her foot and took the bag from the caddy. Chuckling to himself with a shake of his head, he watched as she exchanged the clubs herself while clearly scolding the man at her side. The caddy drew a handkerchief from his pocket, and though Aylesbury might have thought it might be used to do nothing more than wipe the sweat from his beleaguered brow, the caddy instead clamped it over Fiona’s mouth as his arm caught her around the waist.

  Aylesbury was sure his eyes widened the same shock and alarm as Fiona’s did as they realized instantaneously what was happening. Pushing off from the tree, he sprinted across the fairway with a shout of warning as Fiona struggled against the man’s hold, scratching at his hands but he was already pulling her away into the cover of the trees.

  Involved in their own shots, no one else had seen it. The shouts of protest and alarm that followed in his wake were directed at him for running across the field of play but Aylesbury ignored them, calling for help as he ran to help Fiona escape the villainous caddy’s grasp.

  But Fiona needed more than assistance. Real fear chilled him when she slumped like a ragdoll against the man, who, more prepared than Aylesbury for that happenstance, smoothly flung her unconscious body over his shoulder and dashed further into the trees.

  “Stop!” Aylesbury commanded, gaining ground on the man’s encumbered lurching. Thank God he hadn’t come out as unprepared as he had been the previous day, Aylesbury thought as he pulled a small pistol from his breast pocket. A lot of good it would do him though. There was no chance of firing now with Fiona slumped over the kidnapper’s shoulder and covering half of his back. Still it didn’t hurt to make the threat. “Drop her or I will shoot!”

  He didn’t stop, so Aylesbury shot, a broad warning that splintered the bark of a tree to the scoundrel's right. Veering instinctively away from it, the kidnapper’s foot slid on the grass and he was thrown off balance under Fiona’s unresisting weight. He fell to one knee and Fiona slipped from his shoulder. Hefting her up once m
ore, he sought clumsily to recover his footing. Having gained ground in the interval, Aylesbury slowed and steadied the gun on his target. “Leave her or I swear I will not miss again. Whatever you are being paid, it cannot be worth your life.”

  The grim promise in his voice caught the kidnapper’s attention but it wasn’t panic that stared up at Aylesbury but self-satisfaction. “Ye won’t shoot me, gov. Don’ wanna risk hurtin’ the little lady now, do ye?”

  “I could put a bullet in your head without splitting a hair on hers,” Aylesbury promised with unnerving matter-of-factness as he cocked the pistol. “I killed a man just yesterday for trying this very thing. I am giving you a chance to save your own life but my patience is wearing quite thin.”

  Getting back on his feet, the man had the audacity to grin impudently as he pulled out a knife. “How’s about I jus’ kill ’er right ’ere?”

  “If you did, there would be no reward and a certain death,” Aylesbury warned him, but the man cavalierly patted Fiona’s derriere like one might burp a baby. Fury ran like ice through Aylesbury’s veins and he pulled the trigger.

  The kidnapper howled with pained surprise, clenching his ear. He gaped at his bloody hand then at Aylesbury. “Yer bloody loony, ye are. Ye could ’ave killed ’er!”

  “I could have killed you. Now put. Her. Down.”

  The kidnapper paused indecisively, obviously reluctant to lose his shield. “’Ow do I know ye won’t jus’ kill me if I do?”

  “You don’t,” Aylesbury growled, pacing slowly forward. “I will give you to the count of three. One.” The would-be kidnapper looked around, assessing his options. “Two.” With wide anxious eyes, he looked back at Aylesbury. “Thr– ”

  Before Aylesbury could take the shot, the bloody scoundrel heaved Fiona off his shoulder and threw her bodily at him. Startled by the unexpected reaction, Aylesbury instinctively reached out for her. Though he caught her around the shoulders, they both fell to the ground anyway. The kidnapper fled before Aylesbury could recover his weapon. He scanned the area to assure himself that the thug was truly gone before turning Fiona in his arms.

  “Fiona?” he said urgently, patting her cheek. “Come on, darling girl. Wake up. Wake up now.” That she didn’t even stir worried Aylesbury. More than likely the handkerchief had been doused in chloroform but it might have been something else. Ether perhaps? No, she wouldn’t have succumbed so quickly to unconsciousness. “Come now, Fiona. Up you go.”

  Fiona moaned but while her eyelids fluttered and her brow furrowed, she still didn’t wake.

  “Oi there! What happened?”

  Pulling his pistol once more, Aylesbury turned and leveled the barrel at the man behind them. He was young, modestly dressed and appeared thoroughly confused. “Who are you?”

  “Peters, my lord. Please don’t shoot,” he said hurriedly, eyeing the pistol with open trepidation as he lifted his hands. “Glenrothes’ footman. Lady Fiona asked me to accompany her today. To protect her.”

  “Fine lot of good you did,” Aylesbury grumbled, lowering the gun. “Where were you when this happened?”

  “I’m still not even sure what happened, my lord,” Peters said anxiously. “One minute she was there and the next she wasn’t. To be fair, my lord, Lady Fiona didn’t tell me exactly what I was to protect her from.”

  “Of course she didn’t.” With a sigh, Aylesbury straightened Fiona’s skirts to cover her bared knees and smoothed back her hair. What was he to do with her? If she didn’t have more of a care for her own safety, she was going to be the death of him. “Peters, I want you to go fetch Lord Glenrothes and have him come to the club.”

  “No,” Fiona groaned hoarsely, blinking her eyes before squeezing them shut tightly.

  “They have to be told, Fiona,” he countered firmly.

  “I know, I know,” she sighed. “But not like this. Please.”

  Aylesbury matched her sigh. “Very well. Peters, run back to the clubhouse and have my driver bring my carriage around to street through there.” Aylesbury pointed through the trees to the road that bordered the course. “The Causeway, I believe. I will carry Lady Fiona through and meet you both there.”

  Peters nodded and dashed away while Aylesbury turned his attention back to Fiona who was finally coming around more fully. “I ought to lay my hand to your bare backside.”

  “That sounds lovely,” she said groggily.

  “This is no time for jokes, Fiona.”

  “Amusing coming from you.” Fiona rubbed her temples and tried to push herself into a sitting position. Her head swam dizzily before a fierce pounding began and Fiona felt as if her brain were knocking against her skull. “Oh, my head.”

  “Just relax against me,” Aylesbury said, lifting her into his arms as he stood. Fiona rested her cheek against his broad chest with a sigh and he looked down at her, her warm, dark hair shining in the sunlight that filtered through the treetops. Of all the times he imagined lifting her into his arms, never had he thought it would be under such circumstances.

  Something had to be done.

  “Oh, Harry,” she breathed softly.

  “Yes, my love?” he asked, brushing his lips over her hair.

  “Please don’t forget my clubs.”

  “It would serve you right if I did.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  From the journal of the Marquis of Aylesbury – May 1895

  There was a time when I believed that a perfect marriage such as the one my parents shared would be one of blissful peace, of contentment in the company of another. I never considered that contrariness might be attractive or that chaos might appeal.

  That it is the conflicts in our lives that make us feel so very alive.

  “Here, drink this.”

  Fiona took the glass Aylesbury offered her and took a sip, welcoming the burn of the whiskey as it went down her throat. Tilting back the glass, she took a larger swallow purging the last of the sickly sweet flavor of the chloroform that still seemed to coat her mouth and throat.

  “Better?”

  With a nod, Fiona finished off the three-fingered pour. Her head was abuzz again but pleasantly this time. And she was safe, locked away from the world and all the nastiness in it at Aylesbury’s townhouse.

  “Good, now I can say what’s on my mind. This whole thing has gotten out of hand, Fiona,” he scolded. “Have you no sense whatsoever? I cannot believe that after what happened only yesterday, you would be out in the open like that.”

  “I’m not entirely imprudent nor am I beyond taking precautions,” she insisted, sensitive to his display of concern. “The tournament was very public, and I was surrounded by people just as I promised. I was never alone and I had the coachman as well as two other footmen escort me there. Peters followed along with the play to protect me.”

  “And what good was he lagging a hundred years behind you?” Aylesbury fired back. “You should have brought someone else. Bugger it all, Fiona, you should have just stayed home.”

  Fiona shook her head. “How could I have anticipated this, Harry? I couldn’t have been more public! He took me right off the course with dozens witnesses about. And, for your information, I didn’t plan on going with just a footman or two. Connor promised to come along but he and Dorian came in at dawn this morning and were still sleeping off their intemperance.”

  “There are eight other men in that household who might have escorted you.”

  “Though they somehow manage to flock about at the most inconvenient times, surprisingly no one was available.” Fiona bit her lip and glanced up at him through her lashes, noting the worry darkening his brilliant eyes. “God, Harry! Do you think I haven’t thought about it? What this means? No one knew where I was going today but my own people. Or yesterday? That means there is someone out there watching me, watching my house and me every moment. Yesterday, I thought it might have been pure happenstance that they managed to follow me.”

  “And after all of that, you still weren’t afraid enoug
h for your life to be more cautious?” he almost yelled at her. “You act as if this is all a game!”

  “I know it isn’t a game! But no, you’re right. I wasn’t afraid yesterday. Not even when they were chasing us,” Fiona told him, wringing her hands. It had only been afterward that she had felt any fear, and it had all been for Harry. Harry who risked so much for her. “Because yesterday, I had some measure of control over what happened. I had you and I had the ability to fight back. Today … Today he took that from me, Harry.”

  Tears burned at Fiona’s eyes as the thought took root, stealing her breath. “He took that. When the blackness hit me and I couldn’t move or fight … Well, you got your wish, Harry, because in that moment I was truly afraid. I’ve never given up control of my actions before, never lost control of my life. Never lost my choices.”

  “My God, Fiona, you’re shaking like a leaf. Come here, come here,” he murmured, sitting beside her and drawing her into his arms. He stroked her hair softly, calming her.

  “You win, Harry,” Fiona whispered against his shirtfront, her fingers curling into his lapels.

  “Believe me, love, I don’t want to win in this. I love your strength. I love your pluck,” he whispered. “You just haven’t got a lick of sense.”

  Fiona sniffed back a watery chuckle. “Now who’s making jokes?”

  “Who says I’m joking?” he teased.

  Running her palm over his crushed lapel, Fiona shook her head against his chest. She adored the strength of that chest beneath her cheek, the strong heartbeat within. The heat radiating from him, warming her. “I hated losing control like that.”

  “Yes, I imagine you did,” Aylesbury whispered. “But you can take it back. I have enough faith in you to know that you will regain it.”

  Warming at the thought, Fiona lifted her head. “You do?”

  “I do.” Smoothing her hair back gently, he pressed a light kiss to her lips.

  Fiona melted against him, parting her lips under that tender kiss. Her hands slid up his abdomen, over the hard ripple of muscles and over his chest before she drew back with a smile. Pushing away, she stood and went to the parlor door.