How To Love A Fake Prince (The Regency Renegades - Beauty and Titles) (A Regency Romance Story)

by Jasmine Ashford

“And you?” she asked. He shrugged.

  “Sometimes,” he said. “Crowds don't really bother me. You are either alone in your heart or you are not.”

  “Mmm,” she murmured happily and laid her head on his shoulder again. “Shall we rehearse it again?”

  “Rehearse?” His eyes got a devilish twinkle. “Yes, we can do that.”

  She chuckled. “The words, Patrick. The words.”

  “The words, right,” he said and smiled, looking down at the paper again. “Do you think that we'll actually get these words out or do you think they will be onto us before then?”

  “Aren't you in the military?” she asked. “You can answer that question.”

  “I think we’re all guessing here,” Holde answered. “This isn't a typical military strategy.”

  “I don't think they will be suspicious,” she decided. “To be honest, I have faith in Lola to pull off something amazing...even with untrained actors.”

  “Is that your kind way of saying bad actors?” he asked. “Not all of us have had a lifetime dancing around the campfire and not being afraid of speaking in front of people.”

  She picked up that note in his voice. “It makes you nervous to address a crowd?” she asked. “But I see you speaking to your men all the time.”

  “That's different,” he answered. “But there have been times when I have had to speak in front of larger groups, and I find it nerve wracking. You don't have that issue?”

  “No,” she shrugged.

  “And your secret to remain so calm?” he asked.

  “When we speak in groups, we are all equal, equal footing. It's not so much different speaking in front of people than with them. I try to visualize it like that.”

  “Hmm.” He went back to running his fingers through her hair. “That is one way of doing it. I don't know if I'll be able to switch my mindset.”

  “You'll be with me,” she said. “And for so long, you have all kept me safe. It's my turn to keep you safe now.”

  “When the fighting starts,” he said to her. “You have done your part. I want you to move on, to hide in the back and keep yourself safe.”

  “I can fight,” she said.

  “I know you can,” he said. “And I heard your argument for Lady Bamber. But you have done your part in gaining us the Native warriors, and in speaking these lines. Please let me do mine.”

  She sighed, closing her eyes. “You said you wouldn't ask me such a thing.” She was slightly angry that he would do this not too long after that conversation. She had believed him then, and she didn't want to think that he went back on his word.

  “I just want you to be safe,” he answered. “I have an overwhelming need to keep you safe. If you could stay and be safe, I would have no issue. ”

  “I will be safe,” she promised him, closing her eyes. “I will be.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  MISSING COMRADE

  MISSING COMRADE

  Jacob?” Enola pulled aside his tent flap. She hadn't seen him to say goodnight, and she hadn't seen him around the campfire in the morning. It was common for him to go off for awhile, but never overnight.

  To her horror, she saw that his bed was empty and made. He hadn't been here at all.

  “Jacob?” She pushed her head out of the tent and looked around the camp.

  She didn't want to think the worst of him, but there were two non-frightening options as to where Jacob was. He had drank too much and was asleep somewhere that wasn't his bed was her first thought. The other option was that he was in someone else's bed, which also wasn't like him. Although Mary was far away, and he hadn't seen her in months, he was completely and utterly devoted to her. There was no way he would be in another woman's bed, unless he had also done the first activity. Even then, Enola doubted any amount of liquor could sway his heart.

  “Lord Bamber,” she said as Harold went by. “I was wondering if you'd seen Jacob this morning.”

  “Your Jacob?” he asked.

  “Yes, he's not here...and it doesn't look like he was. That's not like him.”

  “Are you sure?” Harold asked.

  “Am I sure that he's not here?” Enola held the tent flap open. “Yes.”

  “I mean, are you sure that it's not like him?”

  “Yes,” Enola cried, frustrated that he wouldn't believe her. Harold tried to put things diplomatically.

  “I mean...do you often check to see if he's slept in his bed?”

  “Lord Bamber,” Enola answered. “I'd know if this was common. Something isn't alright.”

  “Alright,” Harold said, not prone to panic. “I'll ask around. I'm sure there's a logical explanation for where he's gone.”

  “I hope so,” Enola replied. “The only logical explanations I can think of that would cause other men to vanish.....are not like Jacob.”

  “I'm sure he's just...gone down to the river?” Harold said.

  “All night?” Enola doubted it. “I'll check. Please, do ask the others.”

  He had filled her hope for a moment, about the possibility that Jacob was just out of sight. It had been a week since she and Holde had sat down there and Patrick first noticed that Jacob hadn't been around as much. In the days that had proceeded, they had been busy with the show. The Americans had accepted the invitation instantly and tonight would be their show. Enola doubted that it would be very good, but all they had to manage was a five minute scene before they would take their audience by surprise. Even making five minutes believable was a struggle, she found. She had watched the scenes she wasn't in, and spent most of it trying not to laugh at them.

  Lola had been enormously patient with them, including Jacob's random absences. Today, everything was finally coming together.

  Except for Jacob not being there.

  He wasn't at the river, and the footprints told her that no one had been there since last night. He wasn't in the colonel's tent; he wasn't in the mess tent.

  “No one has seen him since yesterday afternoon,” Harold reported back to her. “But I'm sure there is a logical explanation.”

  “No,” Enola said. “This isn't like him, to go off and leave an important mission, to leave me without saying a word or leaving me a note. Jacob is my brother; he wouldn't abandon me. Did you check whether orders possibly came from higher up to dispatch him?”

  “That I wouldn't know about?” Harold asked.

  She sighed. “I suppose that's correct. But can you ask the colonel, just in case?”

  “I can ask,” Harold said. “But you know that we need to leave for the theatre shortly, in order to set up.”

  “What if the Americans got word of our plan?” Enola asked. “And they have taken Jacob? Isn't that possible?”

  “We would have heard something,” Harold replied. “There's no way, not the way this camp is set up. Didn't you mention he had a sweetheart somewhere?”

  “Mary,” Enola said. “But she's not...here.” Jacob had always protected Mary's location throughout the war, afraid that someone would use it against him. She knew that Mary was about 50 miles away, from her last letter, near the American border, and she hadn't moved for quite a while. Her father was extremely protective of her, which was likely part of the reason Jacob had not made it to the altar with her yet.

  “Is it possible he's gone there?”

  “Not like this,” she answered. “Are you listening to me? He wouldn't just leave.”

  “There is no reason to raise your voice,” Harold said.

  “There is if my best friend is missing,” she cried out. It drew Patrick's attention and he put a hand on her shoulder, moving from the campfire.

  “Enola?”

  “Jacob is missing,” she said. “And he hasn't been in his bed the whole night.”

  “You've checked all the usual places?” Patrick asked.

  “Yes,” Enola sad and took his hand. “Please help me.”

  He glanced at the sun, knowing how close they were to leaving. Then he looked back down
at his wife, and her pleading eyes, and knew that he needed to help her. “Alright,” he said. “We'll look. Come with me.”

  They searched for the better part of an hour, looking in all the usual spots. Enola eventually got the idea to search Jacob's tent, and tore it apart, looking for some sort of reason as to why he would have left.

  There was no indication that he was planning on going anywhere beside the theatre. There were no letters, no missing uniforms, and no distressing requests from Mary. It was as if he had simply vanished from the field into thin air.

  “This isn't right,” Enola said. “He's in danger.”

  “Enola,” Holde paused. “I hate to put anyone's life before another...but even sparing a small task force to look for him on such a day would be bad idea, and you know it.”

  “But he's my best friend!” she cried.

  “What would he do if you were the one missing? Would he continue with the important mission, or would he look for you?”

  “He---” The question threw Enola off.

  “You know what he would do,” Holde answered, giving her a look. She sighed.

  “Yes. But I don't know if I could carry on, knowing he was in danger.”

  “You can,” Holde promised her. “You can, because he would want you to be strong, wherever he is.”

  “We need to keep trying until we leave,” she said. “Use every spare moment.”

  “Maybe he's already at the theatre?” Holde suggested suddenly. “You know he's thrown himself into this mission, perhaps he's been working overnight.”

  “On what, though?” she asked. He touched her shoulder.

  “Have hope, my love,” he said.

  It was the first time he had called her a name like that, and while it didn't make her worry any less, she did feel slightly comforted. “I have to,” she replied. “It's the only way to get through this.”

  She held out hope that Jacob was working hard at the theatre until the moment they got there. However, when she saw Lola's face as she let them in, she knew that he was not. “And he hasn't been here at all?” Enola asked. “Yesterday?”

  “No,” Lola replied. “But I'm sure he will turn up.”

  “Everyone has been saying that,” she protested.

  “I'm sure he's alright,” Lola promised her. “Knowing what I do about him, I think he's got a good reason for his absence, and will show up in the nick of time.”

  “That's very theatrical of you,” Enola answered sardonically. She tried to smile.

  “That's the way I live my life,” Lola said. “Do you think you can focus on the task at hand?”

  “Yes,” Enola answered. “He would want it this way.”

  “Thank you.” Lola gave her hands a reassuring squeeze before turning to the rest. “Everything is on track. They are due to arrive in just a few hours, and I know a lot needs to be set up. There's no one else in the theatre beside David and I, so you are free to do as you need.”

  Wesley was standing by her side, and Enola noticed how close they were standing. Had they reconciled?

  Was everything perfect except for the fact that Jacob was not here?

  “We were thinking of an upgrade,” Wesley said to her. “It's a long shot, but we are going to lay a charge around the large balcony. If by some measure of God we can get most of them up there or under it, we could bring it down.”

  “I can show you the exit to the catwalk,” Lola replied. “I'm not a military strategist, but isn't adding something that much of a long shot and that risky not worth it?”

  “It is, especially without rehearsal,” Wesley commented. All eyes turned to him and his mind. “But in this unique case...we should proceed.”

  “I trust you on this,” Lola turned to him with a smile. “There's nothing that your mind can't do.”

  “Trust me after we've pulled it off,” he said. “I'll be in charge of laying the charge. Just remind everyone it's there.”

  “Good luck to you,” Aaron said. “Don't fall.”

  “Thanks, Captain,” Wesley said and rolled his eyes.

  They had spent the last few days in rehearsal, including practicing how fast they could set up. Everything had to be measured and perfectly calibrated There was no leeway when it came to setting up the theatre; least any of the Americans become suspicious. Everyone worked together, knowing their parts and knowing when they had to be backstage. There was no argument, no questions, and no confusion.

  Enola kept a constant watch at the door, just in case Jacob strolled through. However, when they were locked backstage, waiting for the audience to arrive, she felt a deep unsettling feeling in her chest. “Patrick,” she whispered and grasped his hand. “Something is terribly wrong.”

  “It's too late now,” Patrick said, looking into her eyes. “I'm not trying to be harsh, Enola. You cannot leave this area without giving something away.”

  “I know,” she said, leaning against him. “But I can't help but feel like...Jacob is in danger. Something in this theatre has gone off kilter.”

  “I am not discrediting your feelings, my love,” he said. “What would you have me do?”

  “Nothing,” she sighed. “There is nothing that can be done.”

  “This is hard to say,” he replied. “But not all of us can walk out of this war alive.”

  “I know.” Tears filled her eyes. “I know. I've seen so much death. But...”

  He pulled her close, resting his chin on her head as he squeezed her tightly with his strong arms. “Stay close to me,” he said. “I will take care of you, and you of me. That is what we can hope for moving forward.”

  “I love you,” she blurted out. She didn't mean to say it now, when she was so full of emotion and distress, but she wanted him to know before they stepped on stage. “You don't have to feel the same. You don't have to say anything. I...”

  “I love you too,” he said, looking into her eyes. “I think I have since the moment I saw you. I was just terrified of what was to come, of how to do it and not feel pain. But you, my love, you've made it easy; you've made it a process of healing.”

  “You made me realize that I didn't want to walk this life alone,” she said. “And that marriage could be more than being dominated by a man. I've learned how to be a better person, because of you.”

  He kissed her then, long and passionate. Everyone was moving around them; putting the finishing touches on the plan. Nevertheless, they couldn't hear or see anything expect for each other; their touch; their lips. The whole world melted around her and for one moment, things were calm. Until an explosion rocked the theatre.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  DISASTER

  DISASTER

  Enola fell to the floor, unable to process what had just happened. She had been thrown against Holde and then she had been thrown backwards, her skull smashing against the hard wood of the backstage area.

  Her hazy mind could vaguely make sense of the fact that others were thrown to the floor around her as well. There was blood, there was moaning, and there were bodies not moving.

  A cannonball laid smoking in the hole it had made. The sets were in danger of toppling over, and the smell of gunpowder was everywhere.

  “They are on to us!” Harold cried. “That's our cannons. Attack, now!”

  “Enola!”

  She thought it was Patrick grabbing her under the arms and pulling her backwards, toward the wings. However, it was Jacob, his breath ragged as he dragged her.

  “Jacob,” she sputtered. “Where the hell have you been?”

  She spun around, only to see him not in uniform. Worse, she could see an American band on his arm. This didn't make any sense.

  “Jacob?” she asked, again, wavering. Her head throbbed and her heart was pounding. She couldn't see Patrick anywhere, but she supposed that was a good thing. If he wasn't lying on the ground, unmoving, then he was alive. “What's happening?”

  “I had to tell them,” he said and his voice was broken. “I had to tell them,
Enola.”

  “You had to tell them what?” They were shouting over the chaos. She realized she could only hear out of one ear, which wasn't helpful when trying to focus on Jacob's soft words.

  “This. The plan,” he said. “I had to tell them.”

  “Why?” she roared at him in shock. “Is that where you've been? You've betrayed us? Why, Jacob?”

  “Because they have Mary,” he said. “And they would have killed her if I didn't tell them.”

  “Oh Creator,” Enola said, grabbing his hands. “We could have found a way around it, Jacob. You didn't have to tell them.”

  “There was no other way,” he said. “They took me; there were too many of them. They were suspicious from the start, but they held a knife to Mary's throat and ...I had to.”

  “Alright,” she said, after a moment. “Alright. We're going to fix this.”

  “Enola!” Patrick was suddenly behind her. “Are you alright? Oh, Thank God---Jacob,” he explained in surprise “What are you doing? That's an American---”

  “Patrick,” Enola said. “Jacob's sweetheart is being held hostage. He had no choice.”

  Holde realized what had happened, and looked between the two of them in shock, saying nothing.

  “Would you not do the same if it was Theresa?” Enola asked, trying to soften him. She loved him and she knew him, but she didn't know him well enough to know how he would react to this. “Please. They have Mary captive.”

  “Where is she?” Holde asked at last, and Jacob breathed out a sigh of relief.

  “In the town hall,” he said. “Not three buildings from here. But Patrick...I told them everything.”

  “You didn't tell them everything,” Patrick assured him. “We haven't seen you all night, so there are a few...upgrades we made during set up. I assume they setup backstage with gunpowder?”

  “Yes, along the wings,” Jacob said. “It wasn't a very good charge, though, I made sure of it.”

  “Can you lead them to the upper level?” Patrick asked. “I'll rally the officers up there as bait. There's a passageway to the catwalk that should make us safe if we can get out in time. There's gunpowder laid along the balcony.”