Fortune's Flower

by Mary Ellen Boyd

  At least there was the small comfort that, between Fitz and their own efforts, the news of Damon’s marriage was well known among all his friends and acquaintances in town.

  He said little after the performance began, but he held her hand. A memory came back, sweet now, of him holding her hand just like this at their wedding. There had not been much hand-holding since then, and her fingers curled around his as they had not that day.

  If she had known this emotion was in store for her then, she would have clung to his hand with all her might. There was no going back, but the going forward – ah, what fun they would have together.

  She hoped.

  She still did not know what he thought of her, but if this evening’s quiet contentment was any indication, telling him how she felt would not be so very hard.

  One of them had to speak first. Cowardice did not suit her.

  The music swelled, carrying her to a place she had never known existed before, rich, complex, filled with subtle shades that could never come out of the church piano. Voices filled the huge room, soaring above the swelling notes.. In the carriage on the way here, Damon had said, “You have not heard music or singing until you have been to the opera. It can’t be described, it has to be experienced.” How right he was. Verbena felt goosepimples rise on her arms, and she shivered with delight.

  Damon turned around, she noticed his movement out of the corner of her eye, but could not take her gaze from the stage. He rose and slipped from the box, his sudden absence breaking the spell around her.

  She turned to see him whispering to an attendant through the curtain opening. She could not hear their words, but felt his alarm. He took a small scrap of paper from the man and read it, and his face lost color.

  Verbena rose. He turned to look at her. She had never seen him like this, not even the day Andrew died.

  Without being told, she grabbed her fur cloak and his greatcoat. Damon flung her cloak over her shoulders, and headed down the stairs, putting his own coat on as they went.

  “What is it? What happened?”

  “Roderick is gone. Stolen. Someone came in and took him from his crib.”

  “No! Please, no!” Verbena grabbed at his arm, clinging tight. A name pushed at her lips, but she dared not say it.

  His jaw was tight, and his shoulders tense even through the layers of his coat.

  Would they go this far?

  CHAPTER 29

  Where was Roderick?

  The horses’ hooves pounded on the dark cobbled streets, a frantic rhythm that matched the beat of Verbena’s heart. Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up. The wheels slipped as they turned a corner, then caught and the carriage rattled on. Damon’s eyes were grim and cold.

  The carriage stopped, rocking as it settled into place, and Damon did not wait for the coachman to lower the steps, just vaulted out, stumbling as his bad leg hit the sidewalk. He reached back for Verbena. Her skirts got in the way, tangling around her legs, but finally she kicked herself free and, holding Damon’s hand, raced with him up to the door.

  Samuels had it open. The house was ablaze with light, it streamed through the windows, and out the opened door. It seemed the entire household staff stood there, and behind them Julius, Matthew, Lizabeth and Annabelle. The boys had their arms around their sisters. They were all crying.

  Off to one side, she saw Mrs. Smythe holding a cloth to her face. Little Alice stood by her, patting her awkwardly on the shoulder. Verbena did not have a chance to go over and see what had happened, the group was pressed so close together, like a wall of concern.

  Everyone had red-rimmed eyes, or fists clenched in impotent rage. Voices rang out around them. “We found the window he got in.” “He took everything out of the cradle.” “Mrs. Smythe is hurt!” “There are tracks beneath the window.”

  The villain had not come through the door, but the window. Their window. Damon and Verbena exchanged glances.

  They had not been home.

  Mrs. Smythe had been asleep. She spoke around the snow-filled cloth, but more than pain muffled her words. Verbena knew how much her every heartbeat must hurt, and how the screams were locked in her throat.

  Across the hallway, she and Mrs. Smythe locked gazes, seeing their own despair in the other’s eyes.

  Little Roderick.

  Who could do such a thing?

  They needed answers, and the questions had to be asked. No, Mrs. Smythe said, she did not know what had awakened her. A shape, definitely a man, but it had been dark. She did not remember the blow.

  “I could not have been insensible long.” Her eyes begged for belief. “As soon as I was aware, I sounded the alarm.”

  Samuels’ face was grey. Lines Verbena had never seen before etched his face. “I had to send for you.” His eyes filled. “Someone got into a house under my care.”

  Damon put a hand on the man’s shoulder. “This is not your fault.” His voice was calm, but she knew her husband’s fear was as great as her own. “Whoever did this would have found a way in. He planned well.”

  Damon gestured to the other men, down to the lowest footman, Julius and Matthew included. They clustered in a group by the foyer wall, talking urgently in low tones.

  Lizabeth and Annabelle ran across the foyer to Verbena. She wrapped them in her arms even as she wanted to go over and find out every step the men planned to take, but her legs had gone weak and she looked around for a chair. One appeared beside her, she did not know who put it there.

  Ringing began in her ears. Perhaps Damon could hear it, too, because he suddenly broke off talking and looked over at her. Faster than she thought he could move, he was at her side, and knelt on the floor to look into her eyes. Warmth flowed into her icy hands from his large ones.

  “Verbena? Are you all right?” His dark eyes held hers, and with a sudden cry, she fell forward onto his broad chest. He caught her with a muffled “oof,” and she felt him steady himself, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tight. She did not care if the whole house saw, she could not bear it without his strength. Whatever happened tomorrow or the next day, right now he held her, and she wept her fear and pain onto his shoulder.

  Warm lips touched her ear, her eyelids, her cheeks, her mouth, whisper touches, each kiss a gift, balm on her crushed heart. Finally he eased her back onto the chair, and cradled her face in his big hands. “Verbena, listen to me.”

  She nodded, and sniffed the tears back, drawing the girls into her arms again. Which of them needed the hold more, she did not know.

  “I’m taking one of the footmen. Julius and Samuels will stay here with you and the girls.” He stood up, but something in that expression, the same one she had seen on his face all night, told her where he planned to start.

  He was going to question his parents. Verbena ached for him. They had not fought over his family for days, but Mrs. Thern’s visits had become more frequent since that first time.

  My Andrew, Mrs. Thern had said. Had she learned they would be at the theater tonight?

  Nothing had alarmed Verbena for the last few visits. Mrs. Thern had even met the other children. Not happily, but at least with courtesy. Had the Therns been biding their time?

  But what would be the point? Where would they go? Would they dare risk the scandal when they could see him whenever they wished? It made no sense. They loved Roderick. They would never consider anything that would hurt him.

  But if not them, who?

  Damon was going to question them, she was certain. He rose and Verbena stood up with him as if they were connected. Movement behind him caught her eye. Mrs. Smythe lowered the cloth she had held on her face. Verbena gasped at the swelling there, the color that was already starting down her cheek.

  Her legs suddenly remembered how to move and she rushed over to the wet nurse’s side. “Oh, my goodness! How are you? Is anything broken?”

  Mrs. Smythe tried to smile. “Not broken, but it hurts.” The words were barely audible.

  “More snow, please,
Alice,” Verbena ordered, glad for something to keep her busy. She felt Damon’s gaze on her, and turned. He gave her a nod before he and the footman left, shutting the door tightly behind them.

  The house felt empty, despite the people still clustered in the foyer, all because Damon was gone.

  He had smiled at her, nodded to her in perfect understanding, kissed her. How different from her actions all along toward his family. She had not been able to separate Edeline’s difficult life from Damon. He was a Thern, and therefore unworthy.

  She was a Barnes, and he had not given, by word or deed, any blame to her. To any of them.

  When Damon came back, with or God forbid without Roderick, she would tell him she loved him. He had ‘valued’ her, she would take the leap and expose her heart. The words had been building, the feeling growing unknown, unacknowledged. Now in this time of fear and pain, they had to come together.

  Who else did they have to lean on?

  *

  Damon looked out the carriage window as they pulled up in front of the family home. Candles flickered against the curtains upstairs in his sisters’ bedrooms. Downstairs, shadows moved behind the parlor curtains. He climbed out of the carriage and strode firmly up to the door, his greatcoat swirling around him. The door was opened to his pounding by the butler, awake and at his post despite the time of night.

  “Sir Damon. What a surprise,” Adams said, but Damon, for the first time in his life, ignored him, marched toward the parlor and flung the door open. It slammed back against the wall.

  “Where is Roderick?” His voice thundered in the room. His father stood by the fireplace, a beautiful cut crystal glass in his hand. The liquid sloshed as Edward jerked in surprise at his loud entrance.

  “What is this about Roderick? What is going on?” His mother whirled around in the tufted chair that faced the fireplace. Her hand pressed against her heart. Damon could see the pulse beating in her neck from where he stood. “What has happened?”

  “Someone stole Roderick from his crib tonight. He is gone and his nurse was injured. I want to know if you had anything to do with this!” Damon stood there, his legs braced, fury heating his body, and glared from one parent to the other. “Is he here? Did you take him?”

  His parents exchanged alarmed glances. His mother covered her mouth with a shaking hand, and her eyes filled with tears. She looked from Damon to his father, just as Edward dropped down into the nearest chair. Her voice wavered. “Edward?” Not blame, but a cry for help.

  It was no act. Damon saw his own terror reflected in his mother’s face and felt his rage drain away.

  He father’s face was suddenly haggard. “Son, tell us everything. Everything.”

  Damon felt his own legs shake. “I hardly know where to start. Someone opened a window and got into our house tonight. Our wet nurse was attacked. All she remembers is seeing a man in the room. Verbena and I were summoned from the theatre. The whole house is in an uproar. Mrs. Smythe does not think she was insensible long but we still do not know how much time passed before the kidnapping was discovered.”

  If not his family, then who?

  Damon ran a shaking hand over his face. “I owe you both my deepest apologies. I know how attached you are to Roderick.”

  “Oh, Damon.” The hurt in his mother’s eyes was reproach in itself. “How could you have thought that? We would never, never do anything to hurt Roderick.”

  “Mother, I do apologize.” He braced his hands on the wooden frame of his mother’s chair back and locked his knees. “Where do we go now? Who did this? How did he find us? What does he want from us?”

  “Nothing else was taken?” His mother’s voice was soft, breathless, as if there was no air to fill her lungs.

  “No. Just Roderick and his blankets.”

  “Who would want him? He is so little, just a baby.” Shudders shook her breath, sobs held in the barest check. “I must go there. I must be there.” She twisted to look up at Damon. “You will find whoever did this! Pay whatever he wants! If you need more, come to us.”

  “There was no note?” His father’s eyes were hollow with fear.

  “Nothing.” His hands clenched on the wood beneath them. Odd that he did not dent it, his grip was so tight.

  “Sir?” A respectful voice came from the doorway. Adams stood there. A worried frown pleated his forehead.

  Damon did not wait for his father. “Yes, what is it?”

  “If you will forgive me for overhearing, I think I might know a possible suspect.”

  Three pairs of eyes fixed on him. Edward found his voice first. “Well, who, man? Speak!”

  “A rather rough-looking elderly man was here days ago.”

  His mother interrupted, her voice going shrill, “What help is that? That could be anyone, a beggar from the street.”

  “Except he demanded to see his daughter. He tried to get in twice, pounding on the door, but at the time I thought him . . . confused and I sent him off. Although,” Adams seemed to be searching his memory, “he did know your name, and he did mention his children. I believe he was the late Mrs. Thern’s father.”

  “Did anyone else see him? Might he have talked to any of the other servants?” Damon knew if he himself had been the one turned away, if Verbena and the children had been kept from him, he would have found another way in, even if it meant climbing through a window. Barnes was a sailor, and if Adams was right, newly returned from the sea.

  “Not that I have heard, but I will ask.”

  “Now, Adams.” Edward took back the responsibility of giving orders. “Wake them all. Immediately.”

  With a single nod, the butler turned and left.

  Damon wanted to follow Adams and shake the poor servants awake himself. Under normal circumstances he would show more compassion, but this was not a normal circumstance and the life of a tiny baby was at stake. That was worth a few hours of lost sleep.

  The room went quiet, only the sound of harsh breathing.

  “I am sorry I suspected you.”

  Edward shook his head. “I’m glad you came. Now there are twice as many on the trail. Between us we will move heaven and earth to find him.”

  The room went quiet again. An eternity later, when his skin was crawling with the need to do something, anything, Adams came back with a small maid blinking sleep from her eyes. Damon did not know her name, she must be new to the house.

  “Lily says she saw the letter boy talking to an old man a few days ago. I might venture a guess that it was the very day I sent the man away. She says they talked for several minutes and the man tossed the boy a coin.”

  Damon turned to Lily. “Can you describe him?”

  “’Is hair was pulled back in a queue, like, down his neck, and it was grey. ’E was all thin, but tough, and ’is skin was all dark and tanned an’ yellow, like. ’E looked like a farmer, kind of. ’E weren’t too tall, but ’e weren’t short, neither. ’E looked shaky-like, though, an ’e kept rubbin ’is side liken it hurt ’im.”

  Tanned skin, not like a farmer but a sailor, Damon thought. And tough from months, years out at sea in the biting salt winds. Tanned and yellow and rubbing his side – was the man ill?

  A footman skidded to a halt in the doorway. “We just got a note!”

  Damon held out his hand, hope and rage in equal parts. “Let me see it.” He unfolded the paper and read aloud, “Bring $1000 pounds to the Cock and Bull in Cheapside tomorrow at noon, and I will return the babe.” Roderick’s tiny life reduced to cold coin. It was unsigned, but Damon knew they must be right, it had to be Barnes. “When did this come?”

  “Just now,” the footman said. “A little boy brought it to the back door.”

  What would Verbena think when she found out it was her very own father? “At least we know Roderick is still alive. We are not going to wait for tomorrow. He no doubt is not at the Cock and Bull, but I am going to wager everything that he will be someplace close.”

  “But this late? And in Cheapside?
It is not safe!” Imogene put one hand on his where it still held the chair back. “No doubt that is why he set the time for noon. He knows it is too dangerous a trip for anyone to take across London.” She cleared her throat, and said almost under her breath, “I have lost one son, I do not intend to lose another.”

  “Why did he send it to us?” Edward rose at last. “Why not to you, since he knows where you live?”

  Damon shook his head. “I don’t know. I believe he holds your wealth against you. He would have no reason to blame me. But why so little? A thousand pounds? Why not five? If he really wanted to hurt us, why not ten thousand?”

  “I doubt the man can think so high,” Edward said with the scorn that had been missing until now. “To him a thousand pounds must seem like a lifetime’s wages.”

  A lifetime’s wages. His father might be right.

  Edward rested his hand on Damon’s shoulder. In an almost soundless voice, he said, “This is against me.”

  Damon bent his head closer. “Why do you say that?”

  His father drew him to one side. “Think, Damon. He only went to your house to get the child. The threat came to me. He hates me. He wants to meet you tomorrow for the ransom. I believe he will come here tonight. Take your mother to your home for safety. Gather the footmen and find that man as quickly as possible, before he comes back.”

  “I will. Are you certain you can spare your staff?”

  “Adams and I will sit up a watch. Besides,” his father nodded toward the wall where two dueling pistols hung, “we will be well protected.”

  Damon stared at the guns. A horrible image formed in his mind. “Promise me that you will not point that at anyone holding Roderick.”

  Edward grimaced. “Have some faith in me, son. But if you need it, I give you my word. I will take no chances. Just bring Andrew’s son back.”

  Time was slipping by. Damon held out his hand. “Thank you, Father. Verbena needs to know the plan. I will not sleep until I have Roderick back.”

  Imogene rose. “I am coming, too. I won’t wait here. I need to be where Roderick last was.” She hesitated. “I should keep Verbena company. She needs me right now.”