When someone loves you

by Susan Johnson

  But once he returned to his study, he shut the door, and, leaning back against it, felt the blood literally drain from his face. He stood very still for a brief time, silently rendering thanks to all the divinities on high, grateful to the depths of his soul that his son still lived. Then, drawing in a sustaining breath, he absently ran his hands down the front of his waistcoat, pushed away from the door, and left his study. Elspeth must be told. The question was how best to tell her. As he debated his options, he took the stairs to the first floor, walked to the back of the house where his wife’s sitting room overlooked the garden, and opened the door.

  The duchess looked up from her letter writing as Julius walked in. “Have you seen a ghost?” she asked, immediately coming to her feet. “It’s Duff, isn’t it? Tell me, tell me this instant—is he alive?”

  “He’s alive.” He didn’t question how she knew. She had a sixth sense about their children.

  “Thank God,” she whispered, sitting down suddenly as though her legs had given way, the frothy blue muslin of her gown following her down in a pouf.

  “But he’s been shot,” Julius said, moving toward her.

  Her gaze came up. “Shot?” While she’d always feared her son’s involvement in dueling, Duff was never hurt. “It could only have been treachery. It was, wasn’t it?”

  “Walingame shot Duff, and yes, treachery was involved. The earl is dead by other hands, I was told.”

  “Good. He deserves to die,” the duchess said with steely resolve. “Not just for harming our son, but for a lifetime of infamy.” The duchess was a lioness when it came to her children. “Where is Duff? How is he?” She seemed to rally herself in order to ask, in a very small voice, “Tell me honestly—how grievous are his wounds?”

  Having reached his wife, the duke bent down and scooped her into his arms. “He’s alive—that’s all that matters.” Sitting down on her chair, he settled her on his lap and held her close. “He’s at Abby Fleming’s gambling house, where this disgrace took place. I’m having the carriage brought around and we’ll go and fetch him.”

  “Isn’t Miss Fleming Duff’s friend from years ago?” Elspeth said as though she needed to make mindless conversation in order to keep her fears at bay. “I remember him speaking of her just recently. Or was it—”

  “She is an old friend,” the duke interposed soothingly. “But not a woman of conventional form,” he added guardedly.

  “You needn’t be so cautious, Julius. I know who my son’s friends are. Oh, dear,” Elspeth softly exclaimed, feeling as though the angel of death had suddenly entered the room. “Tell me our boy is going to be fine.”

  “He will be, darling. Don’t worry.”

  “Promise me?” Her eyes were huge with worry. “You must promise. I just felt the most terrible sensation.”

  “I promise,” he murmured, dropping a light kiss on her forehead.

  “Thank you, darling,” Elspeth whispered, resting her head on his shoulder. Julius always dealt with the world with such certainty. He was her unassailable refuge, and always had been. “And forgive my nerves. But Duff has skirted death so many times, one wonders when fate might turn on him. However, today is not the day, is it?” she said more briskly, sitting up again. “There now—I’m better,” she added, patting her cheeks to bring back the color.

  For a moment Julius was reminded of the first time he called on her at her first husband’s home. Ultimately, she’d dismissed her apprehensions in the same determined way. “We have had our share of crises, darling,” he said with a faint smile. “And we’ve survived them all.”

  “This too will pass, won’t it?” And before he could answer, she jumped to her feet. “Do let’s go and bring our boy home.”

  Rising from the chair, he took her hand in his and moved toward the door. “I also called for a dray wagon,” he said. “I doubt Duff’s in any condition to sit in a carriage.”

  The duchess smiled. “And think—we’ll have our darling boy back home by the time the rest of the family returns from their shopping and clubs. Although, I’m not taking this lightly,” she attested. “I’m just vastly pleased our Duff is alive.”

  “As am I, darling,” the duke agreed. “He took two shots very near to his heart, though, so there’s still a certain element of danger.”

  “Eddie’s with him now?”

  “Yes, of course,” he replied as they moved out into the hallway. “And Dr. Stewart tended his wounds.”

  Elspeth gave her husband a fleeting look of reproach. “Why didn’t you say Dr. Stewart was with him? Really, my dear, you could have saved me considerable apprehension.” Then her tone brightened. “Young James is quite extraordinary, though, so all is well. He will have Duff back in good health in no time.”

  Not inclined to argue with his wife, the duke only smiled. “I’m sure you’re right, my dear.” Although the messenger had conveyed a more sobering report. But sober or not, Julius was sanguine about his son’s recovery. After what Duff had survived at Waterloo, clearly, he wasn’t a man who would ease into his grave with any complacency.

  And on another positive note, the duke mused, with Walingame dead, he was saved the trouble of killing him.

  ———

  At the same time the Duke and Duchess of Westerlands were en route to King’s Place, Annabelle Foster and her family were aboard a ferry taking them from the mainland to the Isle of Wight. They’d pressed straight through on their journey south, sleeping and eating as best they could in the coach. Concerned with possible pursuit by Walingame, Annabelle refused to tarry any longer than it took to change horses at the post stops.

  It was a glorious, sunny day, with a light breeze off the sea, the docks at Ryde in sight across the sparkling water. With luck, they would find a cottage to rent on the far side of the island where they could settle in and enjoy the summer. Molly’s beau Tom had come with them, both for Molly’s comfort and as a male escort to the small group of females. He was young, strong, and devoted to Molly and his daughter. As for Anna-belle, she welcomed the protection he offered.

  She was hoping, of course, that Walingame would relinquish his pursuit. But knowing him as she did, she didn’t allow herself to let down her guard. Constant vigilance was called for when dealing with a man like the earl.

  ———

  Duff was lightly sedated when the duke and duchess arrived. While Dr. Stewart had returned home that morning, he’d left instructions for the care of his patient. The doctor was of the opinion that the body healed best when not constantly battling pain, and with the severity of Duff’s wounds, he’d prescribed a mild narcotic regimen.

  At the sound of his mother’s voice, Duff’s eyelids fluttered open and he came awake enough to recognize his parents.

  “We’re going to take you home, darling,” Elspeth said, leaning in to kiss him gently on the cheek.

  He smiled faintly before returning to his morphine-induced doze.

  Turning from the bed, the duchess offered her hand to Abby. “I wish to thank you for helping save our son’s life. We are most grateful. Duff always speaks highly of you, Miss Fleming.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Abby replied, blushing when she hadn’t known herself to blush in years. In fact, if Eddie hadn’t insisted she stay, she would have been elsewhere. “Lord Darley is a very special man.”

  “We think so as well, don’t we, Julius?” The duchess addressed her husband informally when most in the fashionable world didn’t.

  “Yes, my dear. He’s very special. And allow me to express my gratitude as well, Miss Fleming,” the duke said, bowing faintly to Abby. “We are in your debt.”

  “Feel free to come and visit Duff whenever you wish,” Elspeth offered, smiling brightly. “I’m sure he would enjoy seeing you.”

  “I would like that very much.” Abby understood from whom Duff had inherited his great charm. His parents were uncommonly genuine for persons of wealth and rank.

  ———

  In due course, Duf
f was conveyed downstairs on a stretcher, and placed in the wagon that had been cushioned with feather beds. After taking leave of Miss Fleming with further promises to see each other again, the Westerlands made their way home.

  Duff, still dozing, was installed in his former rooms. Eddie went off to sleep for the first time in two days. And the duke and duchess retired to an adjacent sitting room so they would be near their son should he wake.

  “Dr. Stewart will come to check on Duff tonight,” Julius noted. “He sent a message.”

  “Eddie says there was no question that Dr. Stewart saved Duff’s life.” Elspeth exhaled softly. “How fortunate for Duff that he was in the city when this terrible event transpired.”

  “Yes, it was fortunate indeed. But, as you suspected, he was in London looking for Miss Foster. He wants us to find her. You heard him as he was being placed in the wagon.”

  “The sweet boy could barely speak or think and yet he insisted she be found,” the duchess said with a benevolent smile. “How like Duff to be so single-minded,” she added like a doting mother, questioning neither her son’s motives nor reasons. “Naturally, we must find her.”

  “I assume she ran from Walingame. Or so I gathered from Miss Fleming.”

  “Is that what you two were talking about so earnestly while Duff was being carried downstairs?”

  “Duff confided in her about his feelings for Annabelle Foster. He talked of being in love. Miss Fleming was surprised, naturally.”

  “I should think so. You must admit, the word love and Duff have not had even a nodding acquaintance all these many years.”

  “You know Annabelle Foster has a certain reputation,” the duke cautiously pointed out.

  “Of course she has a reputation. She’s an actress. As was Lady Derby before she married the earl, and Mrs. Jordan even as she presented the Duke of Clarence with his tenth child. I must say, I’ve never liked the disparity between the scandals of the aristocracy and those of people of lesser means. It’s quite unfair.”

  The duke’s heavy-lidded gaze was measured. “Nevertheless, it exists.”

  “Pshaw. I care nothing for scandal.” Elspeth cast an amused look her husband’s way. “If I did, would I have fallen in love with you? Really, darling, your scandalous reputation was quite enticing, if you must know. Or perhaps you did know.”

  The duke met her gaze with a look of improbable innocence. “All I knew, my dear, was that my pursuit of you was in the way of a force majeure. You enchanted me completely.”

  “How very pretty of you,” Elspeth said with a grin. “And do 1 still enchant you?”

  “Need you ask? It’s quite unfashionable to be in love with one’s wife and yet I am, still and always.”

  “We are very lucky, are we not?” Elspeth softly murmured. “Do you think,” she went on in a musing tone, “that Duff might truly be in love with Miss Foster?”

  The duke had his doubts, but he said instead, “He seems to think so.”

  “Well, then, we must bring her to him. How do you propose to find her?”

  The duke shrugged faintly. “England is large and it appears she doesn’t wish to be found.”

  “Surely you’re not going to let a little difficulty like that deter you,” his wife said with a challenging look.

  The duke laughed. “I gather I’m not.”

  “No, of course you’re not. If our darling boy thinks he’s in love with Miss Foster, surely you understand what a boon her presence would be to his recovery. I daresay, just seeing her will immediately revive his spirits.”

  “No doubt,” the duke replied dryly. “In any event, I propose to hire some Bow Street Runners. They have contacts throughout the country. And with Miss Foster’s celebrity, she will find it more difficult to hide. In fact, the next time Duff wakens, I shall ask him how many people might be in Miss Foster’s party. Although, in the way of a small warning, my dear—the lady may not wish to see Duff.”

  “Surely, you jest. Our son? You are quite mistaken, my dear. And didn’t you say that she was running from Walingame, not Duff?”

  “It was information I received third-hand from Miss Fleming. I can’t be certain of its accuracy.”

  “Well, I am most certain. Mark my words, she will be overjoyed to see Duff again.”

  “And you are prescient in all things?” he said with amusement.

  “When it comes to our children, I am, my dear, as you well know. Speaking of children, we must decide how much or how little to tell the girls and Giles. Until Miss Foster is found, I suggest we say nothing about her. Gossip will be rampant enough about this terrible shooting without adding more salacious details to the mix. And it does no good to ask people to keep such things confidential. Even if the children scrupulously adhere to our wishes, the servants hear everything. If we tell anyone that we are looking for Miss Foster, the news will be bruited about at every breakfast table in London tomorrow.” She lifted one brow. “If not sooner.”

  “I agree.”

  “You always agree,” she said with a teasing smile. “That must be why we get along so well.”

  He winked. “It’s exactly why we get along so well.”

  Chapter 24

  A week later, Annabelle answered a knock on the door of their rented cottage and blanched. From the parlor window, she’d watched a single man walk up the path to the door. But now, standing in the open doorway, she found not one but six men in her small yard, five of them sporting the red vests of Bow Street Runners.

  That five large men could have so effectively concealed themselves from sight was both awe-inspiring and frightening.

  And even more frightening, they looked grave.

  “Miss Foster?”

  While the spokesman’s voice was polite, he wasn’t asking a question. It was obvious he knew who she was. “I am Miss Foster,” she said in her best Lady MacBeth manner.

  “The Duke of Westerlands has commissioned us to deliver this note to you.” He offered a sealed letter that had clearly suffered in transit, the superior paper much creased and wrinkled. “If you please, we’ll wait for your reply.”

  Not wishing to give anything away, Annabelle allowed herself only the smallest sigh of relief. At least she was not to be carried off by Walingame’s men. Nor by Westerlands’. Perhaps she yet had choices, despite the six Bow Street Runners in her garden. “Allow me a moment to read this,” she directed, and with a nod, she turned and walked back inside, shutting the door behind her.

  “Who is it, Belle?” her mother called out from the kitchen.

  “Nothing, Mother. I’ll be right there.” Tearing the seal open, she unfolded the letter and read:

  My dear Miss Foster,

  Our son, Duff, was shot by Walingame. He is asking for you. The state of his health is serious, but not, at this moment, critical. However, if you would be kind enough to return with the runners, we would be very grateful. Also, Walingame is dead, should you be concerned for your safety. He is no longer a danger to anyone.

  It was signed Westerlands, and a postscript had been added by the duchess imploring Annabelle to come to London with all possible speed.

  Stunned and confounded, her thoughts in a tumult, Anna-belle stood frozen in place. Not only shocked by the events disclosed in the letter, she was disquieted at the seriousness of Duff’s condition, not to mention having to make a decision concerning this information and her family. Did she tell them or not?

  As if the choice had been taken from her by the hand of fate, another rap on the door echoed in the hall just as her mother appeared carrying a plate of piping-hot scones.

  Her mother dipped her head toward the door. “Open the door, dear. And invite whoever it is in. Hetty just made the most delicious scones we can share with company. Is that a letter?” she inquired, indicating the sheet in Annabelle’s hand with another nod.

  “A bit of a crisis has arisen, Mother.” It was impossible to dissemble at this point.

  “You do look a bit harried, my dear.
Is it something I can help you with?”

  Her mother’s senses were completely normal once again, Duff’s initial visit having been the opening breach, as it were, toward a full recovery. Since then, her mother had steadily improved—a veritable blessing for which she owed Duff her thanks. “I just received a letter from the Duke of Westerlands— Duff’s father,” Annabelle announced. “It was brought here by men he’d hired to locate us.”

  “And they’re knocking at the door? Why don’t you invite them in?”

  For any number of reasons, none of which she chose to mention to her mother. Could she return to London without her family? Or would her mother insist on going with her once she heard of Duff’s condition? Would her entire life come tumbling down around her ears if her mother accompanied her to London? Did she have to go at all?

  “Really, dear,” her mother admonished. “Open the door. Never mind, I shall.” And to the very large man who was standing on her stoop, she cheerfully inquired, “Would you like a scone? And do bring in your friends,” she added. “You’re Bow Street Runners, aren’t you? How very exciting.”

  If her options weren’t so fearsome, Annabelle might have been tempted to laugh at her mother’s delight in meeting the men who might turn out to be her warders. But at the moment there was nothing to do but play her role calmly. While her mother served the six men tea and scones and asked them myriad questions about London, Annabelle sat quietly in a corner of the parlor, debating how to deal with the duke’s letter. Until her mother suddenly came to her feet, said, “I shall get us another pot of hot tea,” sent a piercing gaze her daughter’s way, and added, “Do help me, dear.” Then, her mother nodded toward the kitchen and winked as though she was participating in a broad farce.

  There was nothing to do but try not to blush too noticeably and follow her mother into the kitchen.

  “Now, tell me this instant what is going on,” Mrs. Foster insisted, pointing her finger at Annabelle as she had when her daughter had been caught in some mischief as a child. “You have a letter from the Duke of Westerlands. That, however, does not require six men to deliver it, when England has a very reliable post.”