The Accidental Abduction

by Darcie Wilde

  “Well, Harry,” asked Mother, much more softly, “is it true?”

  “It is not true!” declared Fiona, but Mother didn’t look at her. Her gaze remained fixed on Harry. Fiona might be attempting to put on a brave show of denial, but Mother already had all the confirmation she needed. She’d seen it in his face the moment he’d entered the room. She was just waiting to see if he’d own up.

  “I’ve sent for your father,” Mother told him. “He should be here shortly.”

  “He’s here now.” The morning room door opened and Harry started reflexively to his feet.

  Nicholas Rayburn was a large man with a ruddy complexion and a long, lined face. Like his wife, he had settled comfortably into his age and prosperity, as could be seen in his stout midriff and blossoming double chin. Despite this, the senior Mr. Rayburn still carried the hallmarks of an active life, for he was weathered, calloused, and tended to speak a little too loudly for any room he was in.

  “Harry!” Father clasped Harry’s hand in both of his. “Thank goodness! We’ve all been worried about you, you know.”

  “Yes, I do know, and I’m sorry.”

  “Something’s happened, I take it? Louisa?” Father sank onto the sofa next to his wife.

  “I am not quite clear as to just what’s happened.” She shook her head. “Harry was about to give us a fuller explanation of the circumstances.” Mother continued to speak calmly, but it was clear that she held herself very tightly in check. “Harry, Fiona told us that Miss Featherington turned down your proposal, and that you left home understandably disheartened.”

  This was probably only distantly related to what his sister had actually said. Their mother, however, had ample experience with translating from the Fiona.

  “Yes, that’s all true. What happened afterward is a long story,” Harry paused. “You may as well sit down Fi. You can glower at me just as effectively from the armchair.”

  Fi looked like she wanted to rebel, but a glance from Mother sent her flouncing to the cane-backed chair, just to prove that she was not following anyone’s orders.

  They all looked at him: the three people closest to him; the ones who trusted him to do as he should, to help support the family, to be a fitting son to his father and reliable heir to his business. He was not the one who created trouble, not here at home at any rate.

  “I’m sorry you had to find out about this from Miss Plaice. I truly did mean for you to hear it from me first. It is, however, true—Mrs. Wakefield, Leannah, and I were, in fact, married yesterday morning by special license at the Three Swans.”

  Normally, Harry would have enjoyed seeing Fiona so completely dumbfounded. But any momentary satisfaction he might have gained was erased when his mother lifted her hand to cover his, and he saw how she trembled.

  “Was this a long-standing acquaintance, Harry?” Mother breathed. “Why did you not tell us about her?”

  “Did Miss Featherington find out?” boomed Father. “That’s why she wouldn’t have you? Knew there had to be a reason.”

  Harry shook his head. “No, and no. I met Leannah entirely by accident, after Miss Featherington turned down my proposal.”

  Guilt threatened as he met his family’s anxious eyes, but Harry shoved it to one side. He would not feel guilty about Leannah. He had done the right thing by her and by himself. There was no other way for them to be together in the way they wished without sneaking about, or damaging her reputation past hope of repair. He would not present the news of her existence to his family with any taint of shame hanging about his words.

  Instead, he took a deep breath, and he told them straight out. He gave a sketch of his disappointing encounter with Miss Featherington, and how he met Nathaniel at the club afterward, and how he decided to take a walk after that to clear his head. He told them about the “runaway” carriage, and how he’d tried to help; how Gossip had thrown her shoe and he realized he couldn’t leave Mrs. Wakefield alone on the road. He told them about taking her to the Three Swans and about meeting Genevieve Morehouse and Anthony Dickenson there. He did not mention the very short and one-sided brawl. He did speak about the fear of scandal, and arrival of the Rev. Clarence Morehouse, and the plan—his plan—to deflect scandal from Leannah and her sister, and to allow he and Leannah to be together.

  “I know it sounds mad,” he said finally. “I don’t know how to explain falling into a state of such deep feeling with someone within the space of a few hours. Before this I wouldn’t have believed it possible. But it is what happened, to both of us.”

  Silence descended. It was not at all the sort of silence Harry was used to when seated comfortably with his family. This was hard and thick, and try as he might, he could sense no easy way to break it.

  It was Fi, as usual, who found her voice first.

  “Well, I suppose I should thank you, Harry. You’ve found an adventure that makes my exploits absolutely pale by comparison.”

  Harry ignored her and looked instead to his parents. Mother knotted her hands even more tightly together. Father got to his feet. Where Mother had gone dead white, Father flushed red. He paced across the room, turning a tight circle in front of the hearth. He smoothed his sparse hair back across his permanently wind-burned scalp. He glanced at Harry, and smoothed his hair back again.

  “Where is the woman now?” he barked.

  “My wife,” said Harry, “has gone to give her own family the news of our marriage.”

  Father faced the hearth and gripped the edge of the mantelpiece. Harry had seen his father heave fifty-pound sacks of spices and help sailors haul up great swaths of canvas without a second thought. For a moment, he wondered if the mantel could stand the strain.

  “Have you given her any money?” Father asked.

  The question came like a blow from nowhere, and left Harry just as stunned. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I think the question is clear enough,” said Father to the hearth. “Have you given her any money?”

  “Not yet.” The amount he’d given her for incidental expenses could not be considered real money. “But I will arrange a settlement shortly.”

  “Of course, of course.” Father hung his head. “Because it’s all above board—sudden, inexplicable, and romantic—but perfectly honest.”

  “I’m not sure what you’re driving at, sir.” Harry’s gaze travelled uneasily from Father, standing at the hearth, to Mother, sitting grave and silent on the sofa.

  Fi, naturally, took it upon herself to be direct. “Oh, come off it, Harry! You’ve been hoodwinked!”

  “No. I know it looks odd, but . . .”

  Fiona was in no mood to let him finish. “A damsel in distress, a sob story of her sister’s elopement, and their uncle the clergyman just happening to show up at the inn? Harry! You’ve been played for a complete flat!”

  “Fiona,” said Mother sternly, “this is not helping.”

  “But it is the truth.”

  He was not hearing this. His family was not responding to news of his marriage by accusing him of having fallen for some elaborate trick. Not even Fi would do that. He’d expected shock, certainly. He’d expected questions, and lots of them. Perhaps there would even be tears, and some shouting. But to accuse Leannah of such an infamous scheme without even having met her . . .

  Harry’s hands shook. He couldn’t even look at his sister. Not until he had control of himself. “Is this what you think?” he asked his father. “That I’m a dupe?”

  Father lifted his hands away from the mantel, and turned. The look of disappointment in his eyes sent the blood rushing from Harry’s heart.

  “I think it’s likely. Marriage traps are as old as, well, marriage itself.”

  No. Harry shook his head, hard, as if he needed to clear it. They didn’t understand. He must make them understand. “How could it be a trap? We met entirely by accident.”

  “Yes, that is a point in favor, but these sharpers can be very clever. Some play a very long game, or it may just have been
you were in the right place at the right time when they were setting out to catch their mark. You of all men should know how such gangs work.”

  Father was not comparing Leannah to some dockside smuggler or gambling hall sharp. Such an accusation was not to be permitted, not even from his father, not even under these admittedly extraordinary circumstances. Harry rose to his feet and faced him squarely.

  “Here’s what I know. I know that when it looked like Fi was all but throwing her life away, we all stood by her. I know that mother’s family did not approve of her marriage to you, and that it was accomplished in haste, down by the Fleet, unless I’m much mistaken. Am I the only one of us to be judged because I act impulsively?”

  “This isn’t impulse!” cried Fiona. “This is you being robbed, Harry!”

  “Then it is my money to lose!” he shouted. “Unlike what you . . .”

  “Stop this at once.” Mother’s ice-cold command lashed across the room, completely silencing whatever Harry had meant to add. “Sit down, both of you.”

  Harry stared hard at Fiona. Neither one of them was going to directly defy Mother, any more than they had as children, but neither one was going to be the first to back down either.

  “Sit,” Mother repeated. Father drew himself up straight and folded his hands behind him, and simply waited. Between the pair of them, the senior Mr. and Mrs. Rayburn could wait until a very cold doomsday arrived or obedience was achieved. When he was a boy, it sometimes seemed to Harry they didn’t particularly care which came first.

  Somewhat to his surprise, it was Fiona who gave in. This time she did sit in the armchair, which was closest. She clasped her hands on her knees, and dropped her gaze. But in the instant before she did, Harry thought he saw the glimmer of tears in her eyes. He tried to tell himself this wasn’t genuine feeling. It was just more of Fi’s dramatics, but he couldn’t quite believe it.

  He dropped back down onto his chair.

  “Tell us about her,” said his mother softly.

  “Mother . . .”

  “Please, Harry.”

  He tried, but describing Leannah was even more difficult than making sense of the circumstances under which they met. Her looks were easy enough—but how to describe her demeanor, her wit, and her nerve? What words did he have that would make clear her genuine and anxious concern for her sister, or her steady good sense in the most difficult of circumstances? Could he speak of her physical courage? He wanted to tell them how the reins had cut her delicate hands and she’d barely flinched from the pain—but he was afraid that might just make her look hardened.

  Nothing was made easier by all the things he could not say but that nonetheless filled his mind to the brim. He could not speak of Leannah’s passion and her delight in his touch, much less the searing heat of her lovemaking. He could not explain how it was her voice that cut through the red haze of his anger as Dickenson lay on the floor in front of him. In that moment, all he could think was he hadn’t punished the bastard nearly enough—until Leannah called his name. She reminded him that he was home and he was himself, not that wastrel on the docks who couldn’t tell the dead from the living.

  Where was Leannah now? Harry’s gaze drifted toward the window and the square outside. What kind of reception was she getting from her own family? It must be cushioned by the fact that her sister and uncle already knew what happened. They, however, would still have Dickenson to deal with, and her father, who was not well. Harry wished he were with her. It had been a bad idea to go separately, but how could he have known that? He’d never before felt alone when he faced his family.

  It was thinking of Leannah that finally gave Harry his voice. He did not know if his words were the right ones, but they were all he had.

  “I have no way to convince you that what has happened has happened honestly,” he said. If his voice sounded hoarse, it was at least steady. “I am very aware of how fantastical it sounds. I can only tell you that it has happened, and that I intend to approach my marriage as openly and honestly as I can. If I have made a mistake, then I have, and I will deal with that as I must.” For a brief instant, Harry’s words, and his confidence wavered. He clenched his fist. He must finish. He must say the rest of it. “If you feel you cannot stand by me, then I will understand.”

  Now it was his parents who looked stunned. It was perhaps a paradox, but their shock lit fresh hope inside him.

  His father came forward and gripped his shoulder. There was nothing tentative in the gesture, or the words that accompanied it. “Of course we will stand by you, Harry.”

  “You’re our son,” said Mother, her whole bearing filled with her familiar quiet dignity. “Nothing changes that.”

  His sister remained silent, which, Harry had to admit, made for quite the change.

  “Fi?”

  Fi snorted and looked away.

  “Fiona, that is entirely unladylike,” their mother informed her, but it had the air of a reflex rather than a genuine rebuke.

  Fi, however, refused to be mollified.

  “I’m sorry, but, Mother, this whole thing is impossible! You’re only ready to believe it because it’s Harry! If it were me, you’d already be talking to the lawyers about bringing suit for fraud!”

  “Fiona!”

  “It’s true! Harry, you’re my brother and I love you, but you’ve always been the one who got the benefit of the doubt. Good, solid, steady Harry.” Her imitation of their father was nothing short of remarkable, especially considering she was a foot shorter than he and female besides. “But will you look at what he’s done? He’s gone from trying to marry Agnes Featherhead . . .”

  “Featherington,” said Harry, because he did not know what else to say.

  Fi ignored the interruption. “We’ve all known for months the girl was entirely unsuitable, but no one said anything, because this is Harry and we can all count on him to do right in the end. Then, not a handful of hours after he’s been jilted, he up and marries this Mrs. Wakefield person. Marries her! And here we are, once again ready to make any sort of excuse, because surely Harry’s sound judgment must prove right! Well, brother of mine, you have excellent judgment when it comes to dry goods and spices, but none at all when it comes to women!”

  “That’s en—” began Mother.

  “Yes, yes, I know, that’s enough,” Fiona said, and there was real bitterness behind the words. “It’s always ‘That’s enough, Fiona’ and ‘You go on, Harry.’ Apparently, marriage won’t change that for either of us, no matter how it comes about.”

  Harry felt his mind reeling. He was used to all sorts of storms and scenes from Fiona, but this was different. He could count on the fingers of one hand the times he’d seen her truly, deeply angry. That her anger was reasonless and unjust only made it harder to bear. She seemed to be implying their parents had always been easier on him, when the truth was the exact reverse. It was Fi who had been indulged since birth.

  It seemed, though, that he was not the only one who felt this had gone beyond one of Fiona’s normal displays. Mother shot her a warm and quelling glance.

  “When can we meet . . . Leannah?” Mother asked.

  “Soon. We’re staying at the Colonnade,” he added.

  “Very nice,” said Fiona acidly.

  Harry ignored her. “I’m sure she’ll want to call as soon as may be, if you’ll receive her.”

  “You’ll consult with her and let us know, then?”

  “Of course I will.” It occurred to Harry he had just been dismissed. Oh, it was done politely, even gently, but that changed nothing. It was as if by his hasty marriage he’d become a distant acquaintance and this unexpected call had gone on just a little too long.

  Something inside twisted. He didn’t want to leave things like this, but he had no idea what to do to fix them. He got to his feet. He was shaking, but he couldn’t stop himself. He turned toward the door, to find his father blocked his way.

  “Harry, I think you and I should have a private talk.”
/>   Twenty-Two

  “Father, is it true, what Fiona said? About how you regarded Agnes?”

  They stood out on the flagstone terrace. The gardens were chill, and remained more gray and brown than green. But out here they were far less likely to be overheard than any in room inside the house.

  “It is.” Father rested his fingertips on the terrace railing and looked at the sky as if he was deciding if the good weather would hold, or if he needed to batten down the hatches. “We—your mother and I—did not think you and Miss Featherington were well suited. However, we were confident you’d see it was a poor match before you reached the point of making an offer.”

  Harry found he needed several deep breaths before he could continue. He knew his father well, better than many sons ever did. When it became clear that Harry wasn’t really cut out for university, he had taken Harry to sea on a trading voyage. They’d travelled down the coast and around the Horn. They’d visited Constantinople, Cathay, and Bombay. From his father, Harry learned how to deal with importers, with manufacturers, with men of all stations in settings that ranged from drawing rooms, to government offices, to the docks of a dozen different countries. He’d learned more of the fair and the foul of what it meant to be a man in those years than he ever could have at university, and that wasn’t all. By the time he came back and settled into his job managing the warehouses, Harry had learned to respect his father, and to be proud of him. He wanted to be worthy of his good opinion and his trust. He had come home today aware that his hasty marriage might have jeopardized the regard he prized most in the world, but he still shrank from hearing it said out loud.

  “Do you believe I married Leannah simply because Agnes turned me down?”

  Father’s gaze did not leave the sky. It looked as if he meant to track to progress of each gray cloud.

  “I believe that might have had something to do with it. Disappointment in love works hard on a man and clouds his judgment.” It occurred to Harry his father wasn’t seeing the sky, not anymore. He was looking into the long past. “It wasn’t your mother I took to that Fleet marriage house, you know. It was quite another girl. I was sick with fury at the time, because I thought she’d betrayed me.”