Chapter Three
Lucy occasionally took a breakfast tray in her room, so Reed thought little of it when she didn’t join him for the morning meal.
He spent a leisurely few hours at his club then an invigorating afternoon at Gentleman Jackson’s.
He fully expected to find Lucy up and about when he arrived home.
The sitting room, drawing room and back gardens, however, were empty.
Lucy wasn’t in her rooms or his. He made a quick check of the guest bedchambers and nursery, on the off chance she might be there. But in the end, he returned to his wife’s bedchamber baffled.
Perhaps she was out making morning calls. The hour was only a bit late for that. She might simply be on her way back.
He moved toward the door, intending to spend some time in his book room, catching up on a few matters of business. He stopped, however, before stepping out of Lucy’s bedchamber. Reed looked back at the room. Something about it was different, odd. But what?
The furniture was all the same and in the same places. He didn’t think the curtains were different or the coverlet on Lucy’s bed changed.
Where are her perfume bottles and her hairbrush?
Lucy kept more knickknacks on her dressing table than anyone Reed had ever known. But the dressing table was empty. Utterly. He pulled open the doors of her wardrobe and found it as empty as her dressing table. His wife and all her belongings had vanished.
What in heaven’s name?
Reed tugged on the bell pull. Someone in the house had to have seen her that day. Someone must know what had happened.
A moment later, one of the chambermaids stepped inside.
“I had hoped to speak with Mrs. Stanthorpe’s abigail,” Reed said.
“Begging your pardon, sir, but she’s gone with Mrs. Stanthorpe.”
Ah. Someone did know something. “And where did Mrs. Stanthorpe go?”
“I don’t rightly know, sir. But she left in the carriage.”
The driver would know where he’d taken Lucy. “Thank you,” Reed said.
She gave a quick curtsy and scurried from the room. Reed waited but the briefest of moments before walking to the entryway. After inquiring of the footman whether or not the carriage had returned and learning that it had, Reed sent word to the stables that he wished the carriage brought around.
While he waited, Reed had ample time to ponder the odd turn of events, as he couldn’t make sense of it. Where could Lucy possibly have gone, and why would she have taken her clothes, perfume, and jewelry with her?
With the precision Reed had come to expect from ever-efficient Taylor, the butler arrived at the front door in time to open it just as the carriage came to a stop in front of the house.
“What instructions do you wish me to convey to John Coachman, Mr. Stanthorpe?”
“Ask him to take me to the same destination he took Mrs. Stanthorpe earlier today.”
“Very good, sir.”
Reed settled into the carriage, his curiosity growing by leaps and bounds. He couldn’t make heads nor tails of Lucy’s departure, especially with her belongings missing, but felt certain the mystery would be clear soon enough.
The carriage wheels rolled over the cobbled streets, keeping to the finer areas of Town. At least Lucy hadn’t wandered into dangerous corners. He recognized the house where the carriage at last stopped.
Why would Lucy bring all her belongings to her parents’ home?
Reed climbed out of the carriage and made his way to the door. A moment later, the very proper butler welcomed him inside. As a member of the family, Reed wouldn’t be required to stand on ceremony the way a visitor would.
“Good afternoon, Graves.” Reed gave the butler a quick nod of acknowledgment.
“If you would, sir, your calling card.” Graves held his hand out, his bearing as haughty as any proper butler’s ought to be, but with the smallest hint of apology in his eyes.
Reed didn’t immediately comply. He was family. Family didn’t generally present their cards when visiting. But Graves didn’t give over.
Perhaps old Graves is beginning to lose hold of his faculties.
Reed pulled his card case from his jacket pocket and took one out. He handed it to the butler, unsure what to expect. The butler dipped his head and disappeared up the stairs.
Poor man must be feeling off today. He left me waiting here as though I were a presumptuous mushroom rather than a member of the family.
The grandfather clock near the door loudly counted off the seconds as Reed stood in solitary silence. Even if Lucy had left already, Reed’s parents-in-law should have welcomed him in with none of the formality generally required of a caller.
Lucy’s mother appeared at the top of the stairs. “Mr. Stanthorpe. What a pleasure to see you again.”
She didn’t come toward the entry way, but stood looking down on him, her bearing regal and unfailingly polite. And she’d called him “Mr. Stanthorpe,” a formality they’d done away with not long after he’d married her daughter.
“Mother Harris,” he greeted, trying to clamp down his growing confusion. “I had hoped to speak with Lucy. I understood she was here.”
She gave him a patient smile. “Now, now, Mr. Stanthorpe. Our at-home day is Friday. Today, as you must know, is Thursday.”
What the deuce did their at-home hours have to do with the matter? He’d come for his wife. He wasn’t some hapless suitor or socially inept neighbor.
“Do come by tomorrow during our at-home,” Mrs. Harris said. She gave him a quick smile and turned about, walking away with no further explanation.
What the blazes was that about? A few of his cronies had spoken of their mothers-in-law in terms one generally reserved for rabid and difficult dogs, but Reed had never seen Mother Harris act the part of a dragon. She’d always been kind and affectionate toward him.
“Psst.”
Reed glanced about but couldn’t identify the source.
“Psssst.” The sound was louder, more urgent than before. “Reed, my boy. Up here.”
He followed the voice and spotted his father-in-law on the first-floor landing above. Mr. Harris waved him up.
“Quickly, son, before the ladies spot you.”
Reed heard in Mr. Harris’s voice the promise of an explanation and didn’t hesitate. He took the stairs two at a time then followed Mr. Harris down the corridor. He’d never before thought of his father-in-law as spry, but the gentleman was making short work of their journey.
Mr. Harris pulled open the door to his book room, a room Reed had been in more than once. “Inside. I don’t think they’ve seen you.”
Why was not being seen so important when Reed had come specifically to see someone? He stepped into the book room and found it wasn’t empty. His brothers-in-law, both of them, sat near the fireplace, watching his entrance.
“Robert,” he said. “Charles.”
“Good afternoon, idiot,” Charles greeted him with a smile. He was married to Lucy’s older sister and was the closer of the two gentleman to Reed’s age.
Mr. Harris had taken his place in a leather armchair near his son-in-law. All three watched Reed with looks of almost comical concern.
“What is this?” Reed asked. “A council of war?”
“We are staging a daring rescue.” Mr. Harris’s tone was utterly serious, though his eyes twinkled with a bit of mischievousness.
“And whom are you rescuing?” Though he asked the question, he suspected he knew the answer.
“Have a seat, son.” Mr. Harris motioned to the empty spot on the sofa. “We are here to save you.”
Reed looked at them each in turn. “Save me?”
“Apparently, brother,” Charles said, “you told your wife that husbands aren’t required to squire their wives around, and that attending social functions is a distasteful chore.”
“But it is a distasteful chore.”
“Oh, we all know that,” Robert, Lucy’s brother, replied. “But we have the sense to not say as much to our wives.”
“I—” Reed had a sudden realization. “How do the three of you know about that conversation?”
“Lucy arrived this morning with a bee in her bonnet,” Mr. Harris said. “She and her mother closed themselves up in the sitting room for a full hour. Then the flood of Harris ladies began.”
Robert took up the tale. “Mother sent notes to Clarissa and Amelia, insisting they were needed ‘immediately’ to sort out a problem of ‘unparalleled urgency.’ Your fateful error was revealed, and here we all are.”
“So Lucy was here.” He hadn’t managed a straight answer from Mrs. Harris.
“Is here, my friend.” Charles looked ready to burst out laughing. “Lucy is here.”
“Perfect.” Reed stood up. “Nice to see you all again.”
“Sit, you muttonhead.” Charles went so far as to roll his eyes. “You are in far too deep to get out that easily.”
He slowly lowered into his seat. “I think you had better tell me the whole story.”
“First,” Charles said, “you never tell your wife that time spent with her is a ‘chore.’ She’ll think that means you don’t care for her company.”
“But that’s not what I said.”
“It doesn’t matter what you say,” Charles insisted. “All that matters is what she hears, and the two are often very different from each other.”
“Furthermore,” Mr. Harris said. “There is nothing a husband is permitted to believe he is no longer required to do once he is married. Though the list of things we’d prefer not to do is long and detailed, we keep that list to ourselves.”
“Are you trying to say that I’m in trouble with Lucy?”
“You have moved far beyond trouble,” Charles said.
All three men were clearly laughing at him. Either Lucy wasn’t as upset with him as they were letting on, or they were enjoying the thought of his apparent impending doom. “And I am in my wife’s black books because I told her that gentlemen don’t actually enjoy balls?”
“Yes,” Mr. Harris said. “And that spending time with her was unpleasant.”
“I never said that.”
“Again,” Charles jumped in. “What you said is of little importance.”
Mr. Harris continued with his explanation. “Lucy told her sympathetic female relations that you haven’t attended any balls with her since arriving in London. You have refused to attend any number of Society functions—most of them, in fact.”
Reed leaned back, eyeing them each in turn. He could feel something like a smirk tug at his mouth. “So you are all envious, that’s what this is. You have been forced to attend those things and can’t believe I managed to get out of the obligation.”
“Envious?” Robert actually chuckled. “Our wives aren’t in the sitting room conspiring against us, Reed. I think you are the one who ought to be jealous.”
“Conspiring against me?”
Mr. Harris’s grin only grew. “The ladies of this family mean to teach you a lesson, son. And if I know them as well as I think I do, they will succeed.”
“What is it to be, then?” Reed asked. “Am I to be stretched on the rack or locked up in the dungeon?”
“Worse even than either.” Mr. Harris’s eyes danced with amusement. “You are to be forced to court your own wife.”
“Oh, good heavens,” Reed muttered, beginning to understand what his father-in-law was hinting at.
“You are to be subjected to at-homes and requesting permission to dance at balls and visits to the family box at the opera. And I have been instructed to make it difficult for you.” Mr. Harris’s look of empathy clearly indicated he would do nothing of the sort.
“Never tell your wife that you’re not required to court her unless you are fully prepared to do so. ”
Reed shook his head in disbelief. “Where in the world did this come from? Lucy didn’t seem upset last night.”
Charles and Robert exchanged knowing looks. Reed eyed them both. Charles took pity on him and explained.
“Considering the number of social functions we have not seen you at this Season, I am certain Lucy has been stewing over this for some time. She might not have seemed upset last night, but I can guarantee she was.”
Robert nodded. “And since all of our wives have, at one time or another, been upset with us over our disinterest in squiring them about, Lucy has found an entire house full of sympathizers.”
“I will have to go through with this, then?” Reed slumped lower in his seat. This Season was supposed to have been simple and easy.
“Yes.” Mr. Harris pulled the single syllable out long. Spoken in that way, his yes sounded far more like “in a manner of speaking.”
Reed’s companions looked at him pointedly, their expressions growing instantly conspiratorially.
He leaned forward. “What do you have in mind?”