Loving Lady Marcia (42 page)

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.

In 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.

It seemed even adults could become overexcited and then exhausted.

“So, young lady,” the duke said, barely stifling a yawn. “Have you considered my proposition to head Oak Hall?”

Everyone turned to look at Marcia, curiosity written all over their faces, except for Janice—who bit her lip—and Mama and Daddy. Mama, normally so serene, appeared about ready to jump out of her skin. Daddy’s mouth was closed and grim, his eyes wary.

Marcia’s face felt prickly, and her hands began to sweat.

“But I thought she was engaged to marry Lord Chadwick,” said Lady Jersey pointedly. “She was in Ireland preparing for her nuptials there.” She sniffed. “I do hope I’m invited to the wedding.”

Marcia avoided looking at Duncan. “I—I—” But it was as if a frog were stuck in her throat.

Duncan took her arm. “Lady Marcia and I have much to discuss,” he said firmly but pleasantly. “And on that note, I must bid all of you good night.”

Lady Jersey’s eyes widened, but then she stood, which meant anyone who’d managed to find a seat must follow her example. There was general movement toward the door.

Once again, everyone was quiet, murmuring vague pleasantries, and trying to overcome the awkwardness evident in the air.

Marcia’s brothers Peter and Robert managed to slip past her into the corridor.

“Wait!” she called to them.

Everyone stopped moving.

“Come back,” she asked her brothers, rather weakly.

They did as they were told and came back into the room.

Marcia swallowed and looked at the duke. “In answer to your question, Your Grace, I must humbly decline your offer to return as headmistress to Oak Hall. I’m marrying Lord Chadwick, you see, and as much as I love the school, I love him more. Him
and
Joe.”

Duncan could barely breathe. He turned toward her. “You do?”

“Yes,” she said, her eyes alight with love. “I do.”

“What a shame you won’t be coming, Lady Marcia,” said the duke. “I hired a jack-of-all-trades to work at the school whom I think you’d adore. He loves literature. Thinks he can act. Plays the piano. Knows something of chess. He has a diminutive companion I attempted to hire as a chimney sweep, but he wouldn’t allow it.”

Marcia’s eyes grew wide.

“Don’t listen to the duke,” said Duncan. “He’s only a board member. So is your mother and if Lady Jersey will be so good”—he looked at the grande dame—“she shall be, too. We don’t need to seek out celebrated students, although the duke’s granddaughter’s coming is quite the coup.”

The duke harrumphed approvingly.

“But really, darling,” Duncan told the love of his life, “all Oak Hall needs is people who love it, and the students and their parents will come to us.”

“Us?”

He scratched the top of his head. “While you were off, um, planning our nuptials, I bought the school from Lysandra. She offered it to me for free if I’d marry her, but”—he smiled—“she’s really not my type. Although she’s staying on as fashion and decorum expert, and she’s quite excited about the prospect. Remember I told you she’s a bit lonely? And I think she might have designs on the duke.”

Marcia’s mouth hung open.

“I love you.” Duncan couldn’t help himself. He grabbed her around the waist and kissed her, split lip be damned. He kissed her madly.

And thank God, she kissed him madly back.

“Bravo!” shouted Lady Jersey.

Someone, Marcia’s sisters, he believed, started clapping.

Everyone else joined in.

“We never got back to the Versailles mirror,” Marcia whispered in his ear.

“We will,” he whispered back. “And soon.”

Aislinn came hastily back with Joe, whose eyes were wide with happy surprise, and set the boy on the ground. He rushed to his father, and Duncan hoisted him into his arms.