A Sham Engagement (The Mismatched Lovers #1)

Chapter Seventeen

T he battle was short but sweet, and Jack, in his guise as Harold Godwinson, managed to keep history on its true course and win. Harold Hardrada and Tostig died in heroic fashion, knocked over by a wooden bowling ball Jack rolled across the rug at them. Edward, in high dudgeon, protested that huge balls like that weren’t historically accurate, he didn’t think, and thus his father had cheated, but the whole thing ended amicably, and Harold Godwinson was dispatched southwards toward Hastings and his ultimate ocular fate.

Just as they were finishing, Miss Douglas, who must have finished marking Edward’s work and planning the next day’s, came bustling in, all good-humored efficiency. She was a thin stick of a woman, with her graying hair scraped back from her face almost aggressively, but Jack would never have employed her had he not been certain of her gentle heart. “Good afternoon, my lord, Miss Wetherby. If you’ll excuse me, it’s past time for Master Edward’s walk, and although he finds historical reenactment so interesting, he mustn’t miss out on his fresh air every day.”

Jack, who’d removed his coat during the battle, scrambled to his feet, pretending he hadn’t noticed the barely disguised smile of approval on Miss Douglas’s stern but kind face. She liked him to show an interest in his son, which wasn’t something he could do as often as he would have liked, and he guessed at her approval of Elenora as a possible stepmother for his son.

A small pang of guilt that this was just a deception, and he was depriving Edward of something he deserved, coursed through him for a brief moment. That he had to depend on the kindness of servants as stand-ins for the care of a mother seemed suddenly unfair. Not that Edward knew what he was missing, though.

He smiled. “Of course, Miss Douglas. We don’t want to interfere with the smooth running of the nursery and schoolroom. Go and fetch your hat and coat, Edward. Gloves and scarf too. It’s cold out and, thanks to us, your walk is running late. Off you go.”

Edward, his defeat forgotten, beamed in delight. “Can we go and see the cows again, Miss Douglas?” He turned back to Elenora, effortlessly including her in his little coterie as though she’d always been a part of it. “I love cows nearly as much as dogs, Elenora, but I’m not allowed a dog.” He paused, a frown marring his brow. “Or a cow. Would you like to come and see them with me and Miss Douglas? She says they’re all going to be having calves soon and I can hardly wait. But Papa says they’re going to turn Marylebone Park into a Town park like Hyde Park but only for a few people, and there’re no cows in Hyde Park. Which I think is a bad thing. Only people on horses and a big pond. Although I like horses too and at Broxbourne Park I have a pony of my own. And there’re lots of cows.”

Jack burst out laughing. “Stop, stop, stop. Elenora is staying here with me. You could talk a horse’s hind leg off, young man. And you know you can’t have a dog here in London. Unfair for a dog, and as for a cow… If you’re good, I’ll take you down to Broxbourne Park in the spring and you can see all the cows you want. We’ll even choose one of the new calves for you to have for your own and feed with a bottle. And there are plenty of dogs down there, but for going out to shoot pheasants, not having in the house.”

Edward mock pouted. “The kind of dog I’d like is one who’d sleep on my bed, not in a kennel.” He shot Elenora a pleading glance. “Maybe you’ll come tomorrow and you can see the cows then? I’d like that. Yes, I’m coming Miss Douglas.” He ran off after his governess, his booted feet clattering on the oak floor.

Jack extended a hand to Elenora, who was still sitting amidst the detritus of battle. Indecision flashed across her face before she took it and let him pull her to her feet.

He kept hold of her hand, and, to his relief, she made no effort to snatch it back. Was that because she was getting used to his touch and might even like to have him hold it? He could but hope. “I did intend to take tea in the nursery with Edward, but as we’ve put poor Miss Douglas quite out of order with her timetable, and nursery tea will be late, perhaps you’d like to take it with me in the drawing room? I hear Cook has made some fine cakes.”

Elenora smiled, those beautiful eyes shining. Alas, most likely at the thought of cake. “I should love that. I’ve had such a wonderful afternoon. You’re very lucky to have Edward. He’s such a…” She paused as if deep in thought. “An unusual little boy.” Praise indeed from an equally unusual young lady.

To his surprise, and delight, she still didn’t try to recover her hand, so Jack held it a little more firmly and headed for the door. She came with him, perforce because she had to as he had her hand, but perhaps also because she wanted to. Still hand in hand, they descended two flights of stairs to the drawing room, and Jack rang the bell for tea.

Still with her unprotesting hand clasped in his, he guided her to the chaise longue and they both sat down. Silence fell, but it wasn’t an awkward silence, for once, and Jack felt no urge to break it. Instead, he enjoyed the warmth of her soft hand in his own, her fingers gently curved around his. How was it that such a simple thing as this could give so much pleasure? None of his other relationships had begun like this… No. He must not gull himself. This was not the start of a relationship. At least not the sort he was used to. If anything, it was the cementing of a friendship they would have to sustain for the length of the season. Wasn’t it?

Tea came, with the promised selection of cakes, and he was pleased to note that Elenora was not a nibbler, despite her delicate frame. She liked cakes and she tried every one of Cook’s offerings, even to the extent of licking her fingertips and picking up the crumbs off her plate. Like a little girl. Another new sensation came to him as he watched her, as his heart swelled with… what was it? Not that little word, no, it couldn’t be. But contentment washed over him like a warm balm as he listened to her excited chatter. This was what it was like to truly get on with a woman for no other reason than friendship. Or was he gulling himself?

Their conversation lent itself in no way to encouraging how he was beginning to feel, but nevertheless remained relaxed, varying from discussing the Antiquities of Athens books to the newly released Specimins of Ancient Sculpture Aegyptian, Etruscan, Greek and Roman; selected from different collections in Great Britain by John Samuel Agar. Once Elenora had professed her longing to visit Egypt for herself, time flew by as Jack told her all about the Dilettanti Society, to which he belonged, and of which John Samuel Agar was also a member, and from which the author had harvested most of the specimens mentioned in his book.

Time fairly flew, and darkness had fallen outside when their tête-á-tête was interrupted.

The door into the hallway swung open so hard it banged back against the wall, and Alcock came staggering in, red in the face and supporting a battered and filthy Miss Douglas around the waist, one of her arms drawn over his shoulder.

What the hell? Jack was on his feet in a second, the plate he’d been holding on his knee clattering to the floor in a shower of crumbs, lumps of cake and broken pieces of china. Miss Douglas had lost her bonnet, her hair hung in a bedraggled mess, and her once prim and pristine gown and pelisse were both smeared liberally in mud. Blood streaked one side of her face, which was swollen and a mottled gray in color. She looked near to fainting.

But Jack’s first thought was not for the governess. His voice rose in uncontrollable panic. “Edward. Where is Edward?”

He was dimly aware of Elenora jerking to her feet beside him. More galvanized to common sense than he was, she hurried to Alcock and Miss Douglas. “Sit her down here. Where is the brandy? What’s happened?” She drew Miss Douglas down onto the chaise longue she’d just vacated, mud from her dress smearing unheeded across the velvet upholstery. “Alcock, quickly fetch the brandy. I fear Miss Douglas is going to faint. Or smelling salts. Mama always has smelling salts to hand when she thinks she’s going to faint. Put your head between your knees, Miss Douglas.”

“Where is Edward?” Jack repeated, his voice as icy as his frozen heart. His mind churned as the possibilities jangled through it: an accident with a carriage, his son lying mangled in the street, thieves who’d attacked Miss Douglas and left Edward, who, brave as ever, had tried to defend her, dead in the street. In every scenario, Edward was dead. Or why else was Miss Douglas, in such a terrible state, here alone? She would never have left him had he been alive.

Miss Douglas squinted up at him out of one eye, the other being swollen shut. “They took him, my lord. I tried to fight them off, but they took him.” Her voice shook and tears streamed down her face. “They were too strong for me. I couldn’t save him.” Her head fell forward and Elenora put a comforting arm across her back. A little tentative, as though she were doing something she knew she ought to do, not something she wanted to do. Odd, the things one noticed when a crisis arose.

He clenched his fists. “Who took him. Quick, woman. And where? And how long ago?”

Miss Douglas shook her head, wincing with the pain. “Near the cows. We went to see the cows as Master Edward requested, and he’s been such a good boy today. Not that he’s ever anything else.” More tears fell and Elenora thrust the delicate lace handkerchief Mama made her carry into her hands, quite inadequate for the job at hand.

“The cows were farther round than usual, as we were late. We normally find them near the gates into the park. I shouldn’t have let him go to look for them. I should have said no as it was getting dark, but he was so polite in the way he asked, and I’d promised him. I didn’t think we could come to any harm. There were shadows under all the trees. The shadows became men before I noticed. Two, maybe three, I think. One of them seized Edward, and the other two fought me off. Beat me with sticks as I tried to snatch Edward back. When I fell, one of them kicked me in the stomach.” Her hand went to her waist and she winced again.

“I could hear brave Edward shouting at them to leave me alone. He tried his best to save me, the brave boy. Then one of them hit me on the head with something.” Her fingers went to the cut on her forehead and the fast growing black eye. “When I came to my senses, I was alone in the dark, lying in the mud where they’d left me. Edward was gone.” She looked up at Jack, dabbing at her nose and eyes with the already soaked handkerchief. “Those dreadful men have taken Edward, my lord, and it’s all my fault. As soon as I could stand, I hurried home.”

Elenora patted her on the back. “It wasn’t your fault, Miss Douglas. You were a woman alone, and they were three against just you. No woman could have fought them off.”

Trust her to be ever practical when all Jack wanted to do was get hold of the woman and shake her and shout at her for not protecting his son. Even though he knew in his heart that it wasn’t her fault. It was his, for allowing Edward out with only a woman to keep him safe.

He paced to the window and back. “I’m going after him.”

Elenora looked up from her awkward nursing of Miss Douglas, who had bent forward again with her head between her knees. “Then I’m coming with you. But shouldn’t you send for the Bow Street Runners or the Watch? If three men have taken him, you can’t go after him on your own. I can help.”

What? Was the girl mad? Brave but mad. He shook his head. “You can’t. It might be dangerous. No, I take that back. It will be dangerous. God only knows what these men have snatched Edward for. You must stay here and look after Miss Douglas. She needs a woman’s touch.”

Elenora was on her feet again, her face set, eyes fiery. Anyone less likely to administer a gentle woman’s touch he had yet to meet. “And leave little Edward in the hands of evil kidnappers?”

She stamped her foot. “No. You can’t make me. I’m your fiancée, not your wife. You have no right to tell me what to do. Alcock, can you fetch my maid from the kitchen where she’s no doubt enjoying tea and cake with the servants to sit with Miss Douglas. No, better still, you take Miss Douglas down to the servants’ hall with you, and look after her down there. Tell my maid I’m putting her in her charge. I think she keeps smelling salts in her reticule. Make sure Miss Douglas gets a little brandy and some hot tea with lots of sugar in it. A steak for her eye. I’m going with Lord Broxbourne to find Edward.”

Jack stared at her, reluctant admiration filling him. What ferocious bravery she possessed, ready as she was to go out into the dangerous dark of a London night, on foot, with him. Who was he to say her nay? His momentary indecision evaporated. “Get your pelisse and bonnet then. Gloves too. It’s going to be cold.” He turned to Alcock, who was already helping Miss Douglas to her feet. “And send Thomas round to Bow Street magistrates immediately, and on to rouse the Watch. We need all the help we can get.”

Downstairs in the hallway, as Elenora pulled on her pelisse and the thick scarf he’d found her, he shrugged himself into his caped coat, the two inside pockets heavy with two of his pistols. Loaded, of course. With Alcock busy with the injured Miss Douglas, and Thomas already on his way round to Bow Street, no one was there to see them leave.

As the door closed behind them, Elenora realized at once just how dark the streets of London were at night. Of course, she’d been out at night before to attend those awful balls, and sometimes at home in Penworthy, where they had no benefit of street lighting. But now, even though the lamplighters had been round, the night seemed darker than it had ever done before, and much more threatening. Surely that must only be in her head?

A typical London fog, thick and all-enveloping, swirled about the glowing orbs of the lamps, making the far ends of the street vanish into misty darkness. She swallowed. Had she done the right thing in insisting she should accompany Jack to try to find Edward? Then she remembered the trusting look in the little boy’s eyes as he’d greeted her. And the fact that their game of soldiers might well have led to him being abroad at a time when he should have been safely tucked up in the nursery having his tea. Yes, she’d made the right decision. And she couldn’t possibly let Jack go out on his own into the night. She owed it to him to make sure he was all right as well, as though he and his son were now her responsibility. She wouldn’t think about how she might feel if something happened to either of them. That these men who had stolen Edward were dangerous was a foregone conclusion.

Jack reached out a strong hand and seized hers. She hung on tight, for once thankful for human contact. And it was Jack, after all. Somehow, contact with him had ceased to be so abhorrent in this emergency.

“This way,” Jack said, gripping his cane like a weapon in his free hand and setting off in a half run along the broad pavement. Heading north, he dashed between the pools of fog-shrouded light the lamps threw across the wide street. The widest street in London, to be exact. Something that leapt unbidden and randomly into Elenora’s head, as many things did, and had to be dismissed.

To either side of them, cozy lights glowed in the windows of the tall houses, as the inhabitants went about their business inside their warm, safe homes. Whereas out here, in the cold and darkness, danger came creeping out of every shadowy corner to pursue them on ghostly feet.

She had to run to keep up with Jack’s long strides, rather regretting the tightness of her stays which were not conducive to strenuous exercise. They passed Weymouth Street, opening up to left and right, and kept going. The next street, Devonshire, lay close to the end of Portland Place where the fenced grassland that made up Marylebone Park and her farms began. Jack turned right into it, hurrying her along until they came to Portland Road where he turned sharply left, heading north. “This way. I’ve been here myself once or twice with Edward to take him to see his precious cows. They belong to Kendal’s Farm. It’s up here.”

Ahead, the trees that marked the edge of the Park rose, darker than the night sky, looming higher than the houses they bordered. Dark and threatening, as what streetlights there had been died away. Only the moon, thin and feeble in the night sky, and partly obscured by a thin veil of fog, served to light their way as they left Portland Road behind.

Jack slowed to a walk, his head turning from right to left. Elenora copied him, hoping against hope that Edward would come running out of the gloom, battered and frightened but safe. He didn’t.

She clutched Jack’s hand freely now. If she were to let go, she might never find him again in the dark. She was reminded of some of the novels Augusta liked to read, the plots of which she had recounted to Frances and Elenora in all their gory details in the cozy familiarity of their beds at home in Penworthy. Well, not precisely gory in the literal sense, but quite sensational with some of the adventures the heroines got up to. How Augusta came by them, Elenora had no idea, but she had a secret hiding place where she kept them. Why was she even thinking about them when real danger threatened here? No, had already threatened and won.

Jack stopped in the graveled road. “This is the New Road west to Paddington. Here’s the fence line. I should have asked whether they went left or right to find the cows. Cows .” Jack’s voice dropped, sounding disgusted. “Bloody cows. How can something so mundane have led to this?”

The ground beside the wooden-railed fence was uneven and, in the dark, Elenora kept stumbling. What a good thing she had sturdy boots. A distant lowing carried on the cold night air. “Up ahead. Cows. I hear them.”

This only served to make Jack increase his speed, a dangerous thing in itself in such darkness. She stumbled along with him, more than once being kept upright just by the strength of his arm. Was that a timber yard to her right, the heaps of logs piled high behind a sturdy fence? This was countryside now, not London Town, something in which she felt more at home, even in the dark.

The cows soon came into view, a little group clustered near the fence line, their white markings showing up in the darkness like milky beacons. Their warm breath rose into the night air to make filmy statues that mingled with the thickening fog and vanished. Most of them were sitting down, as cows are wont to do at nights. How peaceful they looked, as though nothing bad had happened right under their noses.

Jack halted, staring at the cows. He released Elenora’s hand, and she took the opportunity to lean on the fence and get her breath back.

“Edward!” His voice boomed into the night. “Edward! Can you hear me?”

The lights still glowing in the streets now seemed far away and alien, cut off by the fog. Out here, in the remains of what had once been forest and now was farmland, Elenora felt she could have been back in Penworthy or even out on the Downs at night, which she and Matthew had once done and got into fearful trouble for. The city was a long way off. Was Edward lying here unconscious somewhere? Unseen?

One of the cows mooed gently, as though answering Jack’s shout, her voice a soft, reassuring sound that was thick with lies. They’d seen what had happened, but they could tell Elenora and Jack nothing.

Elenora pushed herself off the fence. She must look for clues. And they might be on the ground underfoot. A difficult undertaking in the darkness. Overhead, as though they’d heard her silent prayer, the fog thinned to reveal the moon again.

“Edward!” Jack was standing in the center of a little clearing of trees at the side of the road, his figure clear as the moon emerged, his head flung back, listening hard after every call. No answer though.

A carriage clattered past, wheels rattling in the ruts and lamps shimmering front and back, its passengers oblivious to their quest.

Elenora stumbled over something soft and nearly fell to her knees. For a dreadful moment, her heart lurched almost into her mouth, if that were even possible. Was it a body? Taking her courage in both hands she bent and groped with her hands. Something soft… and woolly. A scarf. She gathered it up and pressed it to her nose. It smelled of small boy and carbolic soap. It had to be Edward’s. And beside it, something else, round with a stiffness to its wide brim. A hat. Old and no doubt smelly—she could feel the grease of long wear inside the rim with her fingers. She held this to her nose, as well. About it hung the distinct smell of tobacco and tar.

“Jack, over here.” She stood up, clutching both items to her chest.

He was with her in a moment. “What is it?”

She thrust the hat and scarf into his hands and by the dim moonlight saw him stare down at them, his face contorting. As she had done, he lifted the scarf to his nose. “It’s Edward’s.”

“And the hat? Could it belong to one of the men who took him?”

Slowly, Jack inclined his head, his eyes dark pools she couldn’t read. “It could.” He hesitated. “And I think I recognize it. I think a man’s been following me. I’ve seen him a few times but, like a fool, dismissed it as coincidence.” He sniffed the malodorous hat. “The man I saw wore a hat very like this one. A sailor’s tarred hat. I know many men in London probably wear hats like this—old sailors and those on leave from their ships. But the man I saw smoked a pipe continuously. Again, many men do just that. But I saw this man more than once, and I refuse to accept it as coincidence.” Bitterness filled his voice, perhaps at not having taken more notice of this man before.

Elenora put her hand on his arm. “Someone was truly following you?”

“Yes. I’m sure of it… now.”

The crackle of paper sounded as Jack screwed up Edward’s scarf in his fingers.

Elenora grabbed it out of his hands. “What’s that? I heard paper crunch.”

Jack snatched at the scarf but Elenora was unfolding it. Sure enough, someone had pinned a dog-eared piece of paper to its center. She peered at the ill formed writing. “I can’t read it in this light.”

He took it from her, pulling her back toward the nearest fog-bound streetlamp. “Oh my God.”

“What is it? What does it say?”

In silence, his mouth set in a hard line, he handed it to her.

hes my boi now

She looked up. “His boy? Edward? What does this mean?”

Jack’s angry hands squeezed about the hat, deforming it, as he shook his head. “I have no idea, but it seems whoever’s taken Edward thinks to goad me. No need. I’m already fit to kill on sight.”

Elenora glanced over her shoulder at the pressing darkness. “What are we going to do?”

Jack grimaced. “I’m going to get him back, and I’m going to make the bastards who’ve done this wish they’d never crossed me. But first, I need to find some help. I know someone with connections who might be able to help me find who has Edward and come upon them from behind. If they can be persuaded to help, that is. We didn’t exactly part as friends, but he has the whole of the rookeries at his fingertips. He knows everything that goes on within his manor.” He seized her hand. “Come on.”

At about the same time as Jack and Elenora were finding the scarf and hat on the edge of Marylebone Park, Aunt Penelope, who’d returned home from her visit just before dark to find Elenora’s hastily scribbled message that she’d gone to Portland Place with Jack, was just beginning to feel anxious about her charge’s continued absence.

She rang the bell for Hemmings, who promptly arrived in the drawing room, his face a picture of imperturbability as he bowed to her. “You rang, my lady?”

She nodded with unaccustomed vigor. “What time was it that my niece went out with Lord Broxbourne? The precise time, that is.”

Hemmings’s brow furrowed as he thought. Perhaps she was asking too much of her busy butler. But no, his face cleared. “I believe it was a little after two, my lady, as the clock in the hall had just struck the hour.”

“And the time now is?” Why ladies didn’t carry pocket watches, she had no idea. She could certainly do with one but had nowhere about her person she could stow it. And there was no clock in the drawing room because her late husband had ordered it taken out. He’d never liked to be controlled by a clock. She made a mental note to have the servants find it from wherever it had been stowed and reinstate it.

Hemmings, however, was as good as a clock. “Just gone half past five, my lady. Dinner will be served shortly, if you would like me to send Johnson up to help you dress.” The fact that Elenora had not yet returned seemed to have escaped him.

Aunt Penelope shook her head. “No. Inform Cook that dinner will be delayed until Miss Wetherby returns.” She tutted in anxiety. “And can you send one of the footmen—Robert will do—round to Lord Broxbourne’s to escort Miss Wetherby home as it’s now been dark for an hour. I don’t want her walking back with just her maid to protect her. The streets aren’t safe nowadays.” She tutted again, dropping her voice to a mutter. “Really, Lord Broxbourne shouldn’t have allowed her to stay out so long. Although perhaps he is bringing her back in his carriage. There is that.” She looked up. “Off you go, Hemmings. The sooner we have her back, the sooner we can have dinner.”