His half-brother, Humphrey was reared for his role as the Duke of Banfield.
He would give Humphrey the most precious love of his life.
He eased himself from the bed and stood barefoot gazing out the transom windows. He watched the pale surf appear in an endless roll and crash. When he returned to the bedside, Jacob’s breath caught, air hooking painfully into his chest. He lingered a few moments longer. The room lightened with a golden dawn. He told himself he should leave, ordered it, but still waited, caught up in horrific fascination. The delicate beauty was blatant, taunting. A test−to see if he was strong enough to resist an angel’s face? She shifted and he observed the way she rested across the bed in comfortable abandonment, one of the quilts had fallen in a heap on the floor. He picked it up and covered her then soothed back her hair as she slept and knew if he were God he would have made the world just so and no different.
She awoke, sensing his hesitation. “What’s wrong?”
Unbearable pain hammered into him, shattering through his ribcage like a mortal blow. “You will go home and marry Humphrey.”
Abby burst into mad laughter. “Humphrey? Humphrey is like my brother, my best friend. I could never−”
His hand reached up to stroke her cheek. “You will wed Humphrey. You will become the Duchess of Banfield…have children−”
“No I will not.”
His hand suddenly fell away. “We are not fated to be together. You are meant to live the life you are meant to live.”
So the mask was back. Abby gripped her hands together to keep them from shaking as the hope for a life together which had so suddenly risen, hung in the air. What was wrong? His implacable expression did not falter. Was she losing him? You want me. Admit it. Alarm bells clanged. “In my family’s gardens, I told you I wanted adventure.”
“And I told you adventure is just a romantic name for trouble. It sounds exciting when you think about it, but to set your life on the cast of dice is hazardous.”
He remembered what he had told her and her heart soared. “I told you that the purpose of life was to live it, to taste, to experience, to reach out without fear for newer and richer experiences. It’s not adventure I want,” she said with complete honesty. “Only love would ever induce me to marry. Jacob, I know you feel the same way.”
He shook his head. “That’s where you are wrong. I don’t love you, Abby.”
Blood drained from her face. The door closed. She could not save him. He would destroy himself no matter how much she tried. He held the scarred bitterness in his soul like a drowning sailor grasping at flotsam in a turbulent sea. With a small cry, she buried her face in her hands, recognizing once again where she was−once again at a crossroads. It was dark and she could not see her way. A dense fog ascended, shrouding her, blinding her. She could not fight it. Where was the resourceful Abby? Where was that infallible sense of logic, that strength on which she prided herself? She searched frantically, despairingly; she could not locate either of them.
She hadn’t moved from her spot at the edge of the stern. Her gaze turned out to sea, her thoughts a stark statement of everything wrong between them. Love was not an emotion which Jacob could find again. His heart was closed. No matter what she did, there was no unlocking it.
Thorne had not spoken to her again. Enos remained his messenger. She tossed back her head with her face into the sea breeze, the wind shearing cold from the north. That poisoned darkness inside him rang with undeniable truth. She had opened her heart to experience a love and joy she never dreamed possible and to know it had been shoved away like so much refuse.
She had cast the die and lost.
For three mornings, she had awakened and purged her insides into a bucket. Now she knew. In her womb, she carried Jacob Thorne’s child and with it, the horrors of what that meant for her future.
The crew roared with excitement as they neared home, passing an American Naval flotilla. Along the shore of the Charles River, the Americans had made their defenses. Men rowed out to guide the Vengeance and Solebay. Local militias had set up channel obstructions near the city, making navigation hazardous for British vessels. Unwary ships might become impaled or receive a heavy dose of American hospitality from the entrenched shore batteries.
Captain Jacob Thorne was a returning hero. His harassment of British Naval vessels around England had reached the ears of Boston. There would be celebration tonight.
The wind streamed through his hair and caught at his shirt, plastering the fabric to his chest and causing the sleeves to billow around his shoulders. She could imagine the joy on his face of finally being home. He glanced to her as if he knew she was looking at him. Regret? She swiped slim fingers against the sides of her skirts. For a moment, she felt quite breathless as if he was drawing the soul from her body. A cannon blast saluted them from shore and his attention was diverted. She forced herself to look away.
His denial scourged her like a knotted whip. Tears stung her eyes, but she refused to shed them, refused to let Jacob have the satisfaction of his denial of her.
As the Vengeance neared Boston, they passed a massive shipyard. Steeples of the city’s churches rose above a tight cluster of wood frame houses wrapped in a blanket of snow. Cheers and shouts ascended from the docks, and ashore there were crowds amassed to celebrate the return of their loved ones and heroes.
From now on, she would control her own destiny. No one noticed her disappearing into the cabin below. No one noticed the slim lad in the oversize coat emerge onto the deck. And no one noted the boy moving across the gangplank and disappearing into the busy Boston streets.
Chapter 24
Abby had spent hours wandering the streets of Boston, asking residents if they knew of Thomas Hansford’s residence. A merchant knew her uncle and travelling to that end of town offered the lad a ride. In her Uncle Thomas Hanford’s parlor, she recanted the truth of her journey and how she showed up on his doorstep far from home. He listened with gravity. Against her ribs, Abby’s heart thudded and the sweat on her clasped palms felt cold.
“I am pregnant.”
He did not judge her. She thanked providence, finding relief in confessing her difficulty. When he hugged her like her papa and told her not to worry, everything went from a blur to a full-blown weeping.
“I am a powerful and wealthy merchant in Boston. You tell me the man’s name, and−”
“No.” She swallowed hard with the shame she must further admit to her mother’s sweet brother. “It is as much as my fault as it is his. Besides, he does not love me and I refused to be tethered to a man who does not. You must promise on your honor not to pursue this any further.”
“Does not love you? Impossible? Have you thought of the child?” He let go of her, frowned beneath a perfectly coifed white periwig, his shrewd brain churning away like flood waters over river rock. No doubt the questions being tossed about in the whirlpools would be reexamined in the future. He dropped the subject.
“You can’t go back to England. There is the issue of your confinement. It will be too dangerous for you to travel further on the seas in your condition. I forbade it.”
Her child would be the bastard of a bastard. “I cannot allow my child to be subjected to the brutal rages of social vultures ready to pick at any flesh that will provide an entertainment for gossip. No doubt they will pick clean whatever remains on my bones. I must marry and soon.”
He shifted to the fireplace and studied the flames as if conjuring some magical solution to an irresolvable crisis. “I will need help to pull you out of this predicament. I have a widow friend who is very discreet.” He glanced at her questioningly.
Abby nodded. “I put my complete trust in you.”
He waved her off. “I’m a lonely old man and excited at the prospect of having a grandniece or nephew to spoil. That said; the easiest solution to the situation is to launch you into Boston society, in style and let you pick, hurriedly, of course, an acceptable suitor. You may marry and go back
to England after the baby is born and time is appropriate. Or…you may be so entranced with Boston, you may wish to remain. This old and lonely bachelor’s heart would be filled with joy if you chose to do so.”
“It would have to be someone I respect.”
“I expect nothing less. I have received missives from your father via a mutual friend, in New York regarding what happened to your family. It is the only way to get family messages through in these times. The spineless acts against your family are mindboggling. I will pen him a letter immediately to let him know you are safe with me in Boston and that you are here for an extended stay.”
Abby nodded. “Did my father’s letters contain any idea who was responsible? There is more than one man. The whole crime was well planned and could not be acted on alone. Captain Davenport told me his name was Percy Devol and he had a vendetta against my grandfather. He also told me that my father had said that Percy had fled England. Simeon, the man traveling with me said he heard a cultured gentleman in the room next to mine before I was taken aboard the Civis. He was making the directives. I cannot imagine who would hate our family enough to destroy us. I will also pen a letter to my father if you would be so kind to include it in your dispatch. These men are dangerous and must be stopped. If only I could travel to England to help and…have you any word of Joshua?”
He shook his head sadly. “I’m sorry. The frontier is as uncertain as it is dangerous during these times. I fear for his survival despite his expert skills in those conditions. You are aware he works for General Washington?”
Abby widened her eyes. Her brother a patriot?
“As ardent as I am. We have something special going on here in the Colonies. Our bid for freedom has blown into a full raging fire, a contagion that you may even come to appreciate.” He coughed and eyed her attire. “Tomorrow after you’ve rested we will see about your wardrobe. There will be no catching any suitable husband in that garb. You need rest.” He rang the bell. A maid entered and her eyebrows rose with the boy-woman sitting across from her employer.
“Bridget. This is my niece, Abigail. Show her to the pink suite, a bath, something to eat, make her as comfortable as possible. She is to have the best of care.”
Abby melted. How she loved this man for taking control of her life.
Very late on the fifth night after the Vengeance’s arrival, as he stood staring out the window of his dining room overlooking a fog-shrouded harbor, Jacob thought he had died a hundred deaths. Where in the hell was she? Discreetly, he had commandeered his search. With patriotism running high, any person related to the King would be at risk. If she fell into the wrong hands...Jacob shook his head. He didn’t even want to contemplate what could happen to her. He checked the White Horse, Cole’s, the Green Dragon, every inn, tavern and coffee house. All fourteen churches had been searched. The docks had been scoured and witnesses questioned.
Nothing.
When he had first discovered her disappearance, he was in a mood for murder, figuring she had holed up somewhere and would reveal her location after being frightened in a foreign city. When she had not been found after the first night, he lost his anger and his thoughts gave way to guilt. He had broken her spirit and defeated her and she had reacted to that hurt.
Thorne paced. So much damned spirit. No one had seen a woman. He let out a maniacal bark of laughter. But had anyone seen a boy? He stumbled into a chair and kicked it−of course, the ever-resourceful Abby.
When she had not returned by the third night he was in a frenzied state of alarm. Did some drunk get her? Was she lying hurt and cold off some roadway? She had to come back. After all, who would shelter her, an enemy of the colonies? Except she wasn’t an enemy. Yet her distinctive cultured voice could get her in trouble. It would lead to questions.
“If you don’t get any sleep cousin, you’ll be good to no one and least of all, finding her,” Ethan said from the doorway. He moved into the room, put a log on the grate, and pushed the coals around until a fire brewed. “Thought I’d never see this room again. The simple things you take for granted.” He righted the chair Thorne had kicked over and sat, hooking his leg over the arm while Thorne paced.
Thorne cursed. “So you know.”
Ethan leaned back on his chair. “With Enos, Ben and you running around Boston at all hours? Did you really think you could keep her a secret?”
“I was going to trade her for you. Once I arrived in Boston, I had decided to send her back without the trade and substitute someone else.”
“A trade? Had to be someone important. Who is she?” Ethan gave him a lopsided grin.
Ethan’s cheerful demeanor wore on Jacob’s ragged nerves. “Lady Abigail Rutland. The Duke of Rutland’s daughter, neighbor to my father and Humphrey’s fiancée.”
Ethan let out a shrill whistle. “No wonder you’re in a lather. I learned she had been kidnapped while hiding at your father’s estate after he arranged my escape. Dastardly thing what happened to her family. How did she end up with you?”
“It’s difficult and boring.”
“No doubt. But I’m in the mood to be difficult and nothing about you is boring.”
“Rachel must not hear of a word of it.”
Ethan clapped his hands together in prayerful repose and pointed to the heavens. “May I suffer eternal fires, not a word from my lips.”
Thorne directed a look of such rigid warning that Ethan’s smile froze. Keeping out certain particulars, Jacob plunged into his story. When he was done, Ethan dropped his chair to all fours.
“You have it bad. You’re in love, admit it.” He whooped.
“I’m not of that world.”
“No, you are not,” Ethan nodded slowly. “Ever think she might be part of your world?”
Thorne glared at his cousin.
“This is my night to be annoying and you have put me off long enough. When your father helped me escape from Old Mill Prison in Southern England, and believe me it was a bold plan, he secreted me to his estate north of London. There I witnessed a starved man who could not stop talking about his son. Can you imagine my surprise to learn of your heritage, that your father is a duke?”
Thorne grunted.
“I learned things about you that I didn’t even know. Did you really steal Mrs. Crowder’s chickens? Did you really nail the parson’s boots to the floor? And then the fact that you took the silversmith’s white dog and dyed it red. I got the whipping for that.”
“The duke knew all that?”
“And more. He had you trailed from the time he discovered you on your ninth summer, reports given all the time, drawings made of everything you did. His way of protecting and learning about you. Apparently, he was all set to marry your mother but she left England, left him heartbroken. He knew why she left, that she didn’t want him to lose his title, went crazy looking for her and didn’t find her for many years until she was dying. She made him promise never to reveal himself to you, thought it would upset your life too much. He honored her wishes, killing him to know he had a son and could not be close to you. Since he couldn’t be your father physically, he insisted on being there other ways.”
Like Abby had guessed. It had been his mother who had kept confidences.
“I never saw a man prouder of a son. The buttons were popping off his chest. He showed me drawings of you, climbing trees, reports from your tutor, and your ship designs. It hurt my ears to hear so much praise.”
“I’m sure it did,” Thorne said grudgingly. His father had kept accounts of him?
“He told me how he worried when he heard you had been arrested two years ago in Boston. Was going to come to here and use his influence to stop the hanging. He regaled me with your escape from Boston Harbor and never ceased on how proud he was of your privateering. Can you imagine a peer of the crown proud of an enemy of his country? He went on and on about your seafaring exploits, telling every detail with excitement and with tears in his eyes.
“Never was there a prouder father. Then
he plied me. I had to answer all kinds of questions. He locked me up in the library with him night and day, bellowing whenever a servant entered. He gave me the finest food, clothes, every comfort as long as I kept talking about you. Even delayed my departure by another week, claiming I needed to recuperate more and some nonsense about the Channel too stormy to cross. When it was time for me to set out, he was reluctant to let me go, hugged me for the longest time as if it were you he was hugging. He gave me money, took me to the smugglers himself, arranging my safe passage to France where I picked up a ship home. Without his help, I would have died in that prison.”
With a virulence that nearly strangled his breathing, Jacob wished he could turn back the clock. He had been unfair, too prideful and had prejudiced his father wrongly.
Abby’s needling shot through him. The tutor? The shipyard? His mother’s secret.
His hands fell to his side. He had missed an opportunity to get to know his father.
People make choices…
Jacob stood stock still filled with self-loathing. The years of hatred and contempt he held for his father vanished bombarding him with regret and shame. His father had wanted him. Had been a part of his life. Had honored his mother’s wishes and under those cursed boundaries realized his role as a father the best way he could.
Your father loves you.
Swearing savagely, he surged to his feet. His sweet wise wonderful Abby had made it all plain to him. “I have to find her.”
“Without a doubt.”
“Remember not a word to Rachel. I don’t want her to know what a rogue I’ve been.”
After Thorne closed the door, Ethan sat, contemplating the flames. “You can come out, now, Rachel. I’m sure you heard everything.”
“How did you know?”
Sweet Vengeance Page 27