Loving Lady Marcia

by Kieran Kramer

  The shopkeeper scooped up the coins in a flash. “Oh, yes, my lord,” he said with enthusiasm.

  “Any idea where he might have gone?”

  “Hmmm.” The man drummed his fingers on the counter.

  Duncan locked gazes with Marcia for a fleeting moment. And it was as if all their conflict fell away. What was between them was strong and true, not that he could dwell on that glorious fact at the moment.

  “Oh!” The shopkeeper slapped his hand on the counter. “He said he was moving in with an old couple. That he figured they’d be much better to deal with than me.”

  Duncan gave a short laugh. “But he probably didn’t say it so nicely, did he?”

  The shopkeeper eyed Marcia. “No. He most certainly did not.”

  “He gave you no other details?” Marcia asked him.

  “Nope,” the man said.

  “He said something to me.” A rather raw feminine voice came from over a shelf.

  “What, love?” barked the haberdasher.

  “He said her cookin’ would be better than mine,” she called back, sounding sorely aggrieved.

  “Hey,” said the man. “That wasn’t nice. You’re the best cook in the world, love!” He winked at Duncan and grabbed his own throat.

  “I saw that,” the woman said in menacing tones.

  The shopkeeper turned beet red. “That’s it, my lord. I think you should go now.”

  “Right,” said Duncan. He took Marcia’s arm, and God, did it feel good to do so.

  She leaned into him. “Did that help?”

  “Yes, it did.” He stopped a moment and squeezed her hand. “And your being here helps, too.”

  “Thanks,” she said, her eyes so full of caring that his heart thumped painfully.

  Soon, he thought. Soon I’ll tell her everything.

  Once they were on horseback again, he said, “We’re off to the sweet little house.”

  That had been her phrase for it. He remembered how beautiful she’d looked when he’d laid her on that sapphire-quilted bed.

  “Really?” she answered him.

  He stole a glance at her. A blush tinged her cheeks, but her chin was up. Her back was straight and proud.

  “They’re an old couple,” he said. “She’s a good cook, and Finn could easily barge his way in without paying and make up some charming story so that they wouldn’t bother alerting me. He might have guessed I’d never bother checking there. And truthfully, I hadn’t even thought of it. It seemed too obvious.”

  “I hope your guess is right.”

  They fell into an awkward silence.

  “I’m sorry about all that’s happened,” he said. “From the day I saw you in that dressmaker’s shop until now, you’ve been under a great deal of stress, much of it caused by me or Finn.”

  She gave a short laugh. “Oh, that’s all right. I’m sure it’s been just as rough for you. You got roped into becoming a part of the House of Brady.”

  “I wasn’t roped in,” he told her.

  Their gazes locked. He could tell she didn’t believe him.

  “I entered into this engagement freely.” He held his reins loosely and guided them past a cart of flowers. “I want to marry you.”

  “So you’ve told me.” Her lips were pursed. “But I don’t care for the reasons why.”

  “I mentioned several to you, but I have another.” Samson’s ears twitched, as if he wanted to know what that other reason was.

  “What, then?” There was challenge in her voice.

  “I love you,” Duncan said simply. “I think I started loving you long ago, before I even knew what love was. It was the day we were on the sailing packet, and you were so full of fire and passion. You were beautiful. Since that day, I’ve always thought of you as my own, special girl-on-the-prow.”

  He heard her draw in a deep breath. “I—I have trouble believing it.”

  “Why?”

  She looked over at him. “I don’t know. Possibly it’s because you didn’t say it then—the first time I asked you why you wanted to marry me.”

  “I wish I could go back. I wasn’t ready to admit it, even to myself.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ve had weeks to think about this.” He inhaled a deep breath. “I realize now I didn’t believe I deserved you.”

  She gave a soft gasp. “Whyever not?”

  “Because you’re perfect,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Long ago, when I told you I didn’t believe in a perfect love, I meant it. Life was about enduring, fixing mistakes so that I could survive another day and then start the whole process over again. I had no hope. No joy.”

  He looked over at her, and she looked back, her expression tender.

  “But then you came along,” he said, “and everything I thought I knew was challenged. I floundered. Badly. I was afraid to believe, afraid to get hurt again.” He swallowed back bitter memories. “I’d already tried loving my family, you see.”

  “I know you did.”

  They slowed the horses to let a crowd of boys cross the street.

  “But despite all my mistakes”—they waited for the last boy to pick up the cap he’d dropped in the middle of the road—“I’m here now,” Duncan said, “telling you the truth. I want you to be my wife, Marcia, because I love you. You’ve made me believe in a perfect love.”

  “I’m glad,” she said softly when the road was clear again.

  Duncan saw her brush away a tear.

  “But I’m not perfect,” she added. “There’s something about me you should know.”

  “What?” he asked her.

  She looked over at him, raw pain in her eyes, and then she looked forward again. They were in Mayfair now and passing through a nearly empty residential street.

  “I slept with your brother,” she said loud enough for only him to hear. “On the night of my sixteenth birthday. That’s why he left for America.”

  Duncan held her gaze a moment. “I knew that,” he said quietly, and looked straight ahead again. “It doesn’t change anything.”

  “You knew?” Her voice cracked on the last word.

  He stole another glance at her and saw her blinking fast.

  “I found out the day after Finn returned from America,” he said. “It’s why he had that jaw. I have to admit, I decided to marry you that night. But I was doing so to restore the family honor.”

  She gave a shaky laugh. “You’ve tried so hard, haven’t you, to fix things?”

  “Yes, I have,” he said. “But as I got reacquainted with you, I realized how foolish I was to think I had all the answers. I fell in love with you. Hard. And now I can’t imagine living my life without you.”

  He heard her sniffling.

  “But … I was ruined,” she whispered.

  He drew his horse to a halt, forcing her to, as well. “Don’t ever say that again,” he said gently but firmly. “You weren’t ruined. You’re precious and beautiful. What was ruined was your faith in yourself. And faith in other people. But those can be restored.”

  She smiled through a few tears. “They already have. This very minute.”

  “You started that journey at Oak Hall,” he reminded her. “Let’s just say I’ve helped nudge you along.”

  “You’ve done more than nudge. I’m soaring … with happiness.” She leaned over and kissed him quickly on the mouth, then faced the road again. “But I’ll be so much happier when we find Joe,” she added somberly.

  “We will,” he said.

  They encouraged their mounts to pick up the pace, Duncan leading them through several narrow back alleys. The two riders were in perfect accord as they rode the rest of the way in purposeful silence.

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  But when they got to 12 Curzon Street, no one was in residence at the little house. It was in pristine condition, obviously uninhabited since the evening Duncan and Marcia had stayed there.

  He was beginning to seriously panic. He hoped Lord Westdale and Cousin Richard were
having better luck at the posting inns.

  They knocked on the door of the small dependency, which was locked. No one came to the door.

  “That’s odd,” Duncan said. “They’re always here.”

  He heard a bump from the second story. Marcia looked sharply at him. She’d heard it, too.

  “Something’s not right,” he said, feeling horribly grim. “Stand back.”

  She did, and he kicked in the door. They raced upstairs, he first, and what they found made his panic turn to genuine fear. Not for the poor caretakers, who were bound to chairs and gagged.

  But for Joe.

  Finn obviously meant business.

  The husband and wife had attempted to hop up and down in their chairs to capture their attention at the door.

  “Thank God,” the old woman said when Marcia removed her gag.

  “I’m so sorry this happened to you.” Marcia’s voice trembled as she helped the woman up.

  “Don’t worry about me.” Her old eyes filled with tears. “Finnian took your boy, Lord Chadwick.”

  “We know.” Duncan couldn’t keep the worry from his voice. Finn had taken extra care to bind the old man fast, another sign that he intended to follow through on whatever plan he had.

  “He’s going to Australia with him,” the old man said in a burst when Duncan finally freed him. He rubbed his mouth and chin with one hand. “He couldn’t resist bragging to us about it. He says he’s got friends there. He took as many valuables as he could from us and from your mother’s house, as well as all the money in the safe there.”

  “Was Joe all right when you saw him?” Duncan was fearful to hear the answer.

  The old couple exchanged a look.

  “He wasn’t hurt,” the woman said. “But he was angry. Very angry. He didn’t like to see us tied up. And Finnian yelled at him to shut up repeatedly.”

  “He didn’t cry,” said the old man. “He said he wanted to go see his puppy and his papa and that Finn should take him home right away. Finn just laughed and said they were going on a big ship.”

  “I’ll kill him,” Duncan said quietly.

  Marcia came to him and put her hand through his arm.

  He looked down at her. “I’ve got to leave right now in case he’s gotten past the posting inns already.”

  “What port do you think he’s most likely to use?” Marcia asked him.

  “I don’t know. He might choose the least likely. Or the obvious. I’ll think about it on the way to the house. I need to get some money and a pistol first.”

  They said quick good-byes to the couple.

  “There’s no way I can make this up to you,” Duncan told them. “I’m so sorry. But I’ll be sending you a bonus for all the misery you went through.”

  “None of this is your fault,” the old man said stoutly.

  “We’ll be sending that bonus right back,” added his wife.

  Duncan was tempted to fight with them about it. But at the last second, he decided against it—something about the gently chiding way Marcia was looking at him made him remember what she’d said about him thinking he could fix everything.

  Well, he couldn’t. He knew that. He simply needed reminding now and then. And maybe he should be willing to accept help more often—and do it graciously, too.

  So instead, he kissed the woman’s cheek and squeezed the man’s shoulder in farewell.

  On horseback again, heading home, he felt a raw fear that he’d never felt before.

  “I don’t know what to do if he gets away,” he told Marcia.

  “He won’t,” she said. “We have so many people helping.”

  “True,” he said, the worry still strong in him.

  “Don’t you understand?” She gave him a sideways glance, her mouth curved in a small smile. “You’re not alone anymore, Duncan Lattimore.”

  She reached out her hand, and he gripped it. For a few seconds, he held tight to her.

  That one gesture said everything his heart already knew, that she was his. And he was hers. Even in their darkest moments, they would stand together from then on.

  Although she still hasn’t said she’ll marry you, that old, cynical voice in his head reminded him.

  When they passed the park, they saw a small boy with tangled golden curls holding hands with Lady Jersey and another grande dame of society. They were walking toward Lady Jersey’s carriage as if the boy’s life depended on it.

  It did, actually.

  “Duncan!” Marcia’s voice broke into a sob. “There he is!”

  Duncan’s heart could start beating again.

  Joseph Henry Augustus Lattimore, the fourth, was found.

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Duncan had a split lip, but it was nothing compared to the purple bruises on Lord Westdale’s jaw and the green circle forming under his eye. Cousin Richard had one sleeve missing from his jacket, but he could have been naked for all anyone else in Duncan’s drawing room seemed to notice or care at the moment.

  And no wonder. A small boy had them enthralled.

  “Then I kicked his shins,” Joe was saying to a rapt audience from his impromptu stage, Duncan’s pianoforte bench, “the same way I saw a boy do once in the park when he was throwing a tantrum and kicked his nurse. And I ran and ran until I saw the park, and then I stopped. I knew Papa would find me in our special place between the two oak trees, where we lie down and look at the clouds.”

  Duncan’s drawing room was filled to capacity with the servants of the household, the entire Brady family, the Duke of Beauchamp, and Lady Jersey herself.

  But the premier guest was Aislinn, visiting again from Ireland. She was in the seat of honor right next to the bench, prepared to catch Joe if he fell and ready to sweep him off for chicken soup and then a warm bed. But not until after he’d gotten some of the excitement out of his wiry little body.

  Duncan was squeezed tightly next to Marcia in the corner nearest the drawing room door, which suited him very well. They held hands tightly, and nobody even knew. He didn’t want them to, either, not until they’d had a chance to talk privately.

  He didn’t know when that would be. Marcia hadn’t even spoken to her parents to say hello.

  Duncan would never know if Finn had changed his mind—figuring a small child was too much trouble, after all—and simply dumped him out of the vehicle, or if Joe had really escaped through his wits alone.

  Either way, Finn was coldhearted and culpable.

  Westdale and Richard, along with two of Duncan’s Oxford friends who’d shared their card table at White’s, had located Finn at the Swan and Duck Inn on the outskirts of London. He’d booked a coach to Southampton and had admitted he’d planned to go to Australia.

  Duncan shuddered to think that his brother might have intended to purposely lose himself with Joe on that great continent.

  It turned out that Finn’s desperation made him a challenging foe at the Swan and Duck. He’d already made some friends, a group of drunk Corinthians who’d joined in the fight, just because they could. Westdale, Richard, and the other two managed to fend them off, not without suffering first, and then they beat up Finn just enough so that he could still stay astride a horse.

  The two Oxford friends had volunteered to escort him to the seaport. They planned to travel on either side of him by day, and each night they’d take watch to ensure he never escaped. They’d observe him board the ship, watch as it set sail, and not leave for London until they saw the ship disappear over the horizon.

  Duncan’s heart swelled with gratitude, thinking about how his four friends had cornered Finn. They were good friends—excellent friends—a fact which brought him comfort.

  Because Duncan knew he’d never see his brother again.

  Funny, though, how things worked out. He realized in the drawing room, surrounded by friends and family, that his heart no longer had room for grief about Finn—not after what he’d done to Joe.

  It had been the final straw.

  I
n the corner, with Marcia’s hand in his, he made a silent intention to fill any whisper of a dark place in his heart with gratitude for the people in his life who were loving.

  “Young man, I admire your courage,” Lady Jersey was telling Joe now. “Tell me when you realized you weren’t going to Astley’s, after all.”

  Duncan’s inner alarm bells went off. This examination was getting a little too probing. Joe didn’t need to rehash every frightening detail with his adoring audience.

  “I believe Joe’s a bit more tired than he realizes, Lady Jersey,” Duncan intervened smoothly. “It’s time he had something to eat. Aislinn?”

  Aislinn immediately stood and picked Joe up from his perch. Both Marcia and Lady Brady looked highly approving of that measure. Lady Jersey’s brow puckered but then smoothed when she saw Joe lean his head against Aislinn’s shoulder.

  He was definitely a weary boy.

  But then he straightened and looked at Lady Jersey. “I knew I wasn’t going to Astley’s in the carriage when Finn told me he was my papa and that fathers and sons go see the horses together. I knew then that he was lying. Papa is my papa.”

  There was a little giggle—from Marcia! What did she know of Joe’s parentage?—but the rest of the room seemed stunned into silence.

  Joe put his head back down on Aislinn’s shoulder, and she walked calmly through the crowd, stopping for a moment when she reached the door.

  “I’m not going back to Ireland, if that’s all right with you, my lord,” she whispered to Duncan, her face bright and happy, before she entered the corridor.

  Marcia looked up at him and smiled. I’m here for you, her eyes said.

  He caressed the back of her hand with his thumb, unable to look away.

  * * *

  A half hour later, the majority of the servants were back in the kitchen and stables, Jenkins was once more by the front door, and the rest of the party was on the verge of breaking up. Joe’s last remark had thrown everyone off kilter, and so they’d quickly compensated by indulging in lively but nonthreatening conversation, which eventually dwindled down to what Marcia could only call a distinct lull.