Blackthorne's Bride

by Joan Johnston

  “I’ll admit the situation forced my hand,” Seaton said. “Lark and I have had time while we’ve been in this room together to talk—just to talk—about how we feel. Your sister can be very persuasive.”

  “Don’t I know it,” Blackthorne muttered.

  “As it turns out,” Seaton finished, “I’ll simply be marrying Lark a little sooner than I might have arranged the matter on my own.”

  “My sister will recuperate here with my wife as her chaperon,” Blackthorne said. “You will return to London posthaste. At the appropriate time, you will call on me to ask my permission to court Lark. You will become affianced in due time, and will marry at St. George’s in London, with the entire ton in attendance.”

  Lark threw herself into her brother’s arms. “Oh, Marcus, thank you!”

  Seaton reached out a hand, and Blackthorne took it. He was still in shock, but his wounded heart was somewhat comforted by the knowledge that his friend hadn’t betrayed him, that Fanny had arranged everything. Fanny! He wouldn’t have believed it of her. She must have known him better than he’d known himself. In an amazing twist of fate, her machinations had resulted in his marriage to the girl he’d rescued. As for the falling in love part, he thought maybe that had happened, too. At least, on his side. He was never quite sure what Josie was thinking.

  Seaton grasped Blackthorne’s hand in both of his and said, “I’m looking forward to being a part of the family.” He grinned and added, “Especially now that I know it includes your American waif. Speaking of which, where is she?”

  “In Ashington, waiting for the tracks to be repaired.”

  Seaton frowned. “Really? The train from London arrived at noon.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Everyone on the damned thing showed up at the Black Swan wanting something to eat and complaining about the delay overnight in Ashington.”

  “And my wife? Did she come looking for a meal?”

  “I don’t know. You might want to ask the innkeeper.”

  Blackthorne stopped at the door he’d kicked off its hinges and said, “Sorry about the door. I’ll have someone sent up to fix it.”

  Then he was gone to find his wife.

  JOSIE HAD KEPT her distance from the Black Swan after stepping off the train, because she didn’t want to take the chance of running into Seaton. Instead, she took a room at the Duck & Goose, where she changed into an expensively tailored dress that made her look more like the Duchess of Blackthorne and less like the maid-of-all-work she’d been the last time she’d seen Miss Sharpe and Mrs. Pettibone. Then she set out in a rented carriage with the Pinkerton for Tearlach Castle.

  “What if they won’t let me take the boys with me when I leave?”

  “Remember who you are,” Mr. Thompson replied. “As the young lords’ aunt-by-marriage you have the authority to take them anywhere you choose.”

  “What if Miss Sharpe and Mrs. Pettibone don’t believe I’m the duchess?”

  “Word should have reached them by now of the duke’s marriage, including the name of his bride.”

  Josie bit the inside of her cheek. She could imagine Mrs. Pettibone’s outrage at discovering that the bane of her existence was now married to her employer. She was afraid that Miss Sharpe might feel she had to defend her charges against an upstart like Miss Josephine Wentworth, if Josie had the temerity to suggest that she would be relieving the governess of her duties.

  But there was no help for it. The only way to rescue Spencer and Clay was to act as brave as Blackthorne seemed to think she was. She must arrive on the doorstep as the imperious, must-be-obeyed Duchess of Blackthorne and issue orders to the two women as though she’d been born to the title.

  The carriage drew to a stop, and a footman opened the door and lowered the stairs. She waited for Mr. Thompson to step down. When he didn’t, she asked, “Aren’t you coming in?”

  “You don’t need my help, ma’am. I would only be in the way.”

  Josie had assumed the Pinkerton would be by her side, lending her story credence, if necessary. She hesitated a moment, then rose and took the footman’s hand to help her down the steps. She turned back and said, “I won’t be long.”

  The footman ran ahead of her and lifted the ancient iron ring that served as a door knocker and let it fall with a resounding clang, as the rusty iron ring hit the rustier iron plate behind it. When the door was immediately opened, Josie realized that one of the shepherds in the field must have seen the fancy carriage and run to tell those in the house that the duke was on his way.

  The butler’s eyes turned into saucers when he saw Josie dressed so fashionably, from the feathered hat perched jauntily on her head, to her dark-blue princess sheath, to her gloved hands, all the way down to her black patent-leather high-button shoes.

  “Why, hello, Miss—” He cut himself off, flushed to the roots of the few white hairs left on his head, and said, “I mean, Your Grace.”

  That was one question answered. If the butler knew she’d married the duke, everyone else did, too. “Hello, Morton. How is your gout?”

  “It’s fine. Thanks for askin’, Your Grace.” He peered past her toward the figure sitting in the carriage. “Is the duke comin’ in?”

  Josie realized the coach curtains kept the interior too dark for Morton to see who’d arrived with her. She took advantage of the butler’s misapprehension and said, “Perhaps later. I’m here to collect the boys for an outing. Where are they?”

  “I believe they’re in their rooms.”

  “On a warm, sunny day like this? Why aren’t they outside playing?”

  “You’ll have to ask Miss Sharpe,” Morton replied, taking a step back when he saw the look on Josie’s face.

  Josie bit her tongue. It was either that or blurt the abrasive word that had come to mind. She clenched her hands into fighting fists, then said in a calm, rational voice, “I believe I will.”

  She was on her way upstairs before Morton got the door closed. Her heart was pounding by the time she got to the third floor. She went straight to Spencer’s room, because she knew she would need his help keeping Clay from getting overexcited before they managed to make their escape from the house. With any luck, she could avoid seeing Mrs. Pettibone entirely.

  She knocked lightly and opened Spencer’s door before it was answered. She found him lying on his bed with his back to her. “Spencer?”

  When he lifted his head, she saw his face was tear-streaked. He sat up abruptly and shifted around until his feet were on the floor. “Josie? Is that really you?”

  When she held out her arms, Spencer came flying into them so hard he nearly knocked her down. She expelled an oof when his head hit her solar plexus, but her arms closed tightly around him.

  “I’m so glad you’ve come,” Spencer said between pitiful sobs. “It’s been awful without you!”

  “How is Clay?”

  He lifted his face to hers, and his features crumpled. “You won’t believe what they’ve done to him.”

  Josie’s heart leapt to her throat and threatened to choke her. She lifted Spencer’s chin so she could look into his tear-drenched eyes. “What? What have they done?”

  “They’ve tied him to his bed. Miss Sharpe didn’t want to at first, but Mrs. Pettibone insisted, because Clay kept sneaking out of bed when he had the measles and running down to the kitchen. Mrs. Pettibone said he was going to infect the entire staff. So Miss Sharpe agreed to tie Clay down until he was well.”

  “Are you telling me Clay is tied to his bed right now?”

  Spencer nodded. “And he’s been over the measles for two whole days! He calls out to me to set him free, until he gets tired and finally falls asleep. Miss Sharpe caught me untying him and said if I interfered again, she’d tie him tighter the next time. She said it’s for his own good, but it’s not! He hates it. I didn’t know how to reach you, and Uncle Marcus might as well be on the moon.”

  Josie’s resolve to rescue the two boys firmed, not that it had ever
wavered. Or maybe it had, a little. But it was clear they desperately needed rescuing.

  “Get dressed. We’re leaving.”

  Spencer stared at her without blinking. “Where are we going?”

  “You’re coming to America with me.”

  “I heard you married Uncle Marcus.”

  “I did. Which makes me your aunt Josie. And I’m taking you and Clay for a holiday in America. Right now.”

  “Whoopeee!”

  Josie clamped a hand over Spencer’s mouth. “We don’t want to give Miss Sharpe or Mrs. Pettibone any excuse to hamper us. As far as either of them will know, I’m taking you and Clay on a picnic.”

  Spencer’s mouth thinned. “I’d like to see the look on Miss Sharpe’s face when she realizes we’re gone for good. We are leaving for good, aren’t we?”

  “Absolutely. Dress and pack a bag with whatever you might want to take with you, while I go get Clay.”

  Josie opened the door between Spencer’s and Clay’s rooms as quietly as she could. Clay lay flat on his back with one ankle tied to the iron railing at the foot of the bed. He had his thumb stuck in his mouth, something she hadn’t seen him do for a full year before she’d left. It took her another moment to realize that one of his wrists was tied to the rails at the head of the bed. Miss Sharpe was nowhere to be seen.

  Josie crossed to the foot of the bed and untied the knot that held the rope to Clay’s ankle. He stirred and moaned but didn’t waken. Then she sat beside him and reached for the knotted rope around his wrist. Josie’s stomach clenched when she realized he’d pulled hard enough on the rope to chafe his skin red and raw.

  “You poor baby,” she murmured as she untied the knot. “You will never, ever be subjected to this treatment again. Never,” she whispered.

  When she had Clay free, she lifted his limp body into her arms. He was hot, and she wondered if he might not be completely recovered from the measles. Whether he was or he wasn’t, they had to leave. There was no time to waste.

  She brushed his sweat-damp hair from his forehead and said, “Clay, sweetheart, wake up.”

  His eyes drifted open and he stared at her, looking confused. “Josie?”

  “Yes, it’s me, darling. How are you feeling?”

  “I had the measles. I was covered all over in red spots. But they’re gone now. I want to go out and play, but Miss Sharpe says I have to rest.”

  “Would you like to go on a big ship with me and Spencer?”

  Clay smiled, and she saw he’d lost one of his two front teeth in the short time she’d been gone. “Sailing on the ocean? You and me and Spencer?”

  “Just the three of us.”

  “No Miss Sharpe?”

  “Absolutely not!”

  “No Mrs. Pettibone?”

  “They’re both staying right here.”

  Clay seemed to be making a miraculous recovery. The feverish glaze disappeared from his eyes, and he sat bolt upright in bed. He started to scoot off the edge and froze. He looked at his wrist and then at the foot of the bed, where his ankle had been tied. “I wished and wished for someone to come and untie me. And you came! Let’s go, Josie.”

  Josie laughed at his childish exuberance. “Let’s pack a few of your things to take with us, shall we? What’s your favorite toy?”

  Clay made a face. “Miss Sharpe took it away, because I’m a bad boy.”

  Josie’s teeth clenched. She would like to have a half hour with Miss Sharpe and the bullwhip the Sioux had used on her. How could anyone be so cruel to a child as sweet and innocent as Clay? “Never mind,” she said. “We’ll buy lots of toys for you to play with when we get to America.”

  “Where’s America?”

  “Across the ocean. Let’s go get Spencer. It’s time—past time—to leave this place.”

  “And never come back?”

  “Never.”

  BLACKTHORNE WAS BESIDE himself with worry. He’d discovered that Josie had met a man dressed all in black on the train platform—likely a Pinkerton—and left with him. After that, there was no sign of her. She’d simply disappeared. Desperation sent him to Tearlach Castle, where he thought she might have gone to visit those she’d known as a maid-of-all-work. When he arrived, he discovered a calamity far greater than he could have imagined.

  “Your Grace? You forgot somethin’? You’re back for another visit?” the butler said as he opened the door.

  “Back? I haven’t been here for two years.”

  “But you was here earlier today,” Morton protested. “You stayed in the carriage while Her Grace collected the young lords. You all drove away within a half hour.”

  “I tell you I haven’t been near Tearlach Castle—” He cut himself off, because it was clear someone posing as him—the Pinkerton?—had come with Josie. “You say she took Spencer and Clay with her when she left?”

  “Said you was all goin’ on a picnic, Your Grace. She had Mrs. Pettibone prepare a basket of food. The housekeeper wasn’t too happy about that, I can tell you.”

  “I thought preparing food was part of her job,” Blackthorne said.

  “Oh, Mrs. Pettibone didn’t prepare it herself. She had Cook do it,” the butler confided. “It was takin’ orders from Her Grace that was the problem, if you don’t mind my sayin’ so.”

  Blackthorne did mind, but he kept his mouth shut in order to find out as much information as he could, before he started asking some hard questions. “Why would Mrs. Pettibone mind taking orders from my wife?”

  “ ’Cause Mrs. Pettibone used to be the one givin’ orders to your wife,” the butler said with a chuckle.

  “Did she prepare the food basket as my wife requested?”

  “Certainly, Your Grace. Her Grace waited, foot tappin’, till it was done. She wasn’t none too pleased with the housekeeper for keepin’ her standin’ there waitin’, I can tell you.”

  “Where were the boys when all this was going on?”

  “Right there by Her Grace’s side. She had each lord’s hand in one of her own. Wasn’t lettin’ ’em go for nothin’ or nobody.”

  “Where was their governess?”

  “Standin’ right there in the kitchen, steamin’ like the potatoes boilin’ in the pot for supper,” he said with a grin.

  “Miss Sharpe didn’t approve?”

  “Said those boys was just gettin’ over measles and shouldn’t be taken outdoors. Her Grace said a child gettin’ over measles shouldn’t be tied to a bed, neither.”

  Blackthorne stiffened. “What did you just say?”

  The butler looked away guiltily. “Shouldn’t of repeated none of that.”

  “You said the boys had measles?”

  The butler looked up. “They’re better now.”

  “So why were they tied to a bed?” Blackthorne had a hard time controlling the violence he felt toward whoever had treated his nephews so badly.

  “It was only Clay.”

  “Only Clay? Why was Lord Clayton tied to anything, let alone a bed?”

  “You’ll have to ask the governess. But it was the housekeeper made her do it.”

  “Made her do it? The woman doesn’t have a brain of her own?”

  “The two of them don’t exactly see eye-to-eye about the young lords. Or much of anything,” the butler added under his breath.

  Blackthorne headed for the stairs without another word.

  “I don’t think either of them ladies is up there,” the butler called after him.

  Blackthorne ignored him. He headed to the third floor, looking for the nursery where Clay had been the last time he’d visited him. He cringed at the thought of how long it had been. Two years. Josie was right. His behavior toward his brother’s children had been inexcusable. He should have brought them to live with him a long time ago. He only hoped it wasn’t too late. He opened the door to Clay’s room and saw the ropes that lay on the mussed-up bed, one tied to the foot, one to the head rail.

  Bile rose in his throat at the thought of his nephew tie
d up like some wild animal. Especially Clay, who was all the more precious, because he would always remain an innocent child.

  Blackthorne hurried through the connecting door to Spencer’s room and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw no ropes or anything else that might have been used to bind the boy. He also saw no toys. Or books. Or anything else to indicate that a vital and intelligent boy of eight inhabited the room.

  What the bloody hell is going on here? No wonder Josie thinks so little of me. What uncle allows his own flesh and blood to be treated this way? I don’t blame her for taking them away. But why didn’t she simply confront me? Why didn’t she tell me how badly Spencer and Clay were being treated?

  He remembered how blithely he’d answered her questions, how certain he’d been that the boys were well cared for. He tried to remember her exact words.

  Have you hugged them? Have you told them you loved them?

  Blackthorne felt a searing flush of shame at what he’d allowed to happen to his nephews. He couldn’t remember another time in his life when he’d felt such a heavy, almost unbearable, burden of guilt. He hoped it wasn’t too late to make amends. First, he had to find the two boys. And, of course, his wife.

  He slammed his way out of Spencer’s room and raced back down the stairs. He headed for the place he was most likely to find the housekeeper and the governess. Sure enough, he found both ladies sitting at a table in the kitchen with a cup of tea and a plate of biscuits in front of each.

  Both shoved their chairs back noisily and rose when he entered the room, each dropping a respectful curtsy.

  “Who told you to tie up my nephew with ropes?” he demanded.

  “It was her!” The governess pointed at the housekeeper.

  He turned on the housekeeper. “You suggested that atrocity?”

  “The boy had measles. He was going to infect the whole house.”

  “I don’t care if he would have infected the entire neighborhood,” Blackthorne railed. “He didn’t deserve to be tied down like some wild animal.”

  “But, Your Grace—”

  “Your Grace, I—”