Chapter Twenty #2
“Not all men turn their despair on others. My own wife did not produce an heir, but I loved her dearly. Still love her,” Lord Duncan said softly.
Silence held between them for a minute or more.
At length, Lord Duncan cleared his throat.
“Graham has expressed a desire to make you his wife; yet, he fears separating you from your parents and sister. Though you have indicated you are willing to do so, our Aaran believes you will change your mind.” Lord Duncan motioned for her to hold her objection.
“I know your heart. I also know Aaran’s, but he and I also know the grief of losing someone we love, and, though you wish a different outcome, you love your mother and sister, and, in his own miserable way, also your father.
If you accept my son, you would essentially be disclaiming your history. ”
“But not my memories,” she argued. “I shall always have my memories.”
“Are you prepared to have your own mother and father pass you on a street or meet you in a ballroom and refuse to acknowledge your presence before them? To have them look through you and bump your shoulder as if you were dead to them? Your father is a hard man. As is your sister’s husband.
Their friends and close acquaintances will perform in a like manner as will your parents.
Many British families, those you have never met will observe their rejection and will judge you for your so-called disobedience, and they will also shun you.
A decision to marry Aaran Graham will hold great ramifications.
Once the cleric pronounces you man and wife, there is no changing your mind. ”
“I would have four new sisters and four brothers and you as a father, as well as a husband I adore, though he often frustrates me to wit’s end,” Freya declared without hesitation. “The way I view it, Lord Graham would be required to tolerate my father’s taunts more often than would I.”
Lord Duncan remained silent for several minutes while he studied her.
Freya held herself perfectly still, though she wanted to squirm.
Finally, His Lordship spoke, “If you are set on marrying Graham, I must be made aware of the actual date of your birth and where your birth or christening records can be found. I will send someone for a copy of them. Graham tells me you will be one and twenty soon.”
Freya could barely breathe. “You mean to assist me?” she whispered.
“I plan to view happiness on my son’s face,” Lord Duncan responded.
“We have several options. We could see the two of you to a ship to Scotland, where you are of an age to marry, though both Graham and I believe your father will attempt to annul the marriage if you are on Scottish soil. The Cunninghams are a clan many would not wish to oppose.”
“I imagine you correct, my lord,” she said.
“There would be only a few favors to call in to claim a license from the Archbishop of Canterbury, but you must be one and twenty or have your father’s permission. That means we must wait a fortnight or so. Is that not correct?”
“Yes. The second of March is my naming day.”
Lord Duncan nodded his understanding. “Graham fears for your return to Cunning Hall, for you attended Thompson’s wedding.
Your father will know you spent time with all my sons and their wives and will likely beat you into submission or marry you off to Sir Patrick quicker than we can produce the proper paperwork so you might marry Aaran. ”
“My father is to return to London later today or tomorrow at the latest. My mother presented me permission to assist my aunt while they were absent from home, but I admit that I purposely ‘forgot’ to remind Lady Cunningham of Miss Whitchurch’s wedding.
My mother would not realize the close proximity of Thom Manor to the one belonging to Lord Rayland and my Uncle Philip’s vicarage,” Freya admitted.
“None of us knew until Mrs. Dove-Lyon brought down her book of peerages when your brothers’ wives and I spoke to her before everyone departed for Kent. ”
“You are a clever girl,” Lord Duncan said with a chuckle. “I must warn my son to be aware of your creative maneuverings.”
“You should permit him to learn those things for himself, my lord,” she warned good-naturedly.
“Just make him happy,” Lord Duncan instructed.
Another bit of mutual acknowledgment passed between them before His Lordship continued, “I fear returning you to your father’s home for all the previously mentioned reasons.
That would mean I must place you in one of the government-owned houses we use to hide people right under the noses of those who search for them.
You would be required to stay hidden until after your naming day.
With the license from the Archbishop in hand, we could put you and Aaran on Orson’s yacht.
“Once you clear the Thames, you could choose where to marry. Guernsey. Jersey. Scotland. Or any of the shires along the shore. Your choice. If you wish to go to the islands, I will speak to Sir Richard Shield, who has a house on one of the islands that you may use. Though, if you truly love my son, where you spend those first few days together will matter little to either of you. You, my dear girl, while in hiding, must simply be required to set your mind to pacing the length of a room and back. No looking out windows. No answering the door. No discussing what is going on with the servants of the house. Do you have the mettle to spend a fortnight alone with only your thoughts as company? No one will contact you to provide you information on the progress of our plan. Are you friends with the voices in your head?”
“Is this truly happening?” she asked. Freya looked at her hands which were shaking.
“You wished to be Lady Graham,” Lord Duncan declared with a lift of his brows. “Are you brave enough to become part of my family?”
“I want it more than…”
Freya did not have the opportunity to accept His Lordship’s offer, for the sound of gunfire filled the air.
Mr. Nichols slapped the horses with the strings.
Unfortunately, Mr. Hartley had obviously been taken by surprise and tumbled from the carriage, his leg dropping across the coach’s window, but they could not assist him, for the coach raced along the rutted road.
Freya prayed Mr. Hartley had not been shot.
Yet, she had no time to think upon the chaos, for Lord Duncan shoved her upon the coach’s floor and covered her with his body.
“Keep your head down,” His Lordship ordered from somewhere above her.
Freya swallowed her fear and did what Lord Duncan said. Where is Lord Graham? she wondered. He was supposed to be searching the area for a possible attack. If I know anything of the man, he will make an appearance.
Within less than a minute, the coach began to slow, and Lord Duncan awkwardly began to lift himself off her. “Cannot say what we will face, my girl. You must keep your wits about you, if we are to survive.”
There was no time for more conversation, for the coach rolled to a halt, and a man with a mask unlatched the door and pulled it open.
Freya belatedly realized Lord Duncan had been shot.
Blood dripped upon his coat sleeve. “My lord…” she reached for him, but the masked man ordered, “Move and I will kill you now. You are not important to me.”
Freya knelt on the coach’s floor, frozen with fear. Was this the type of danger her new friends had described? she questioned herself. However, there was no time to determine how to respond, for the man ordered, “Out! Both of you!”
Lord Duncan offered her his uninjured hand to assist her to the seat. “Do as they say, my dear,” he warned in hushed tones.
It was only then that she realized there was another person standing behind the man who held the gun on them.
She nodded her agreement. She moved carefully as the man with the gun let down the coach’s steps, but he made no effort to assist her.
The second man caught her arm and tugged her from the way so Lord Duncan could also crawl down.
She noted Mr. Nichols’s hands rested on the top of his head, for a third man held a gun pointed at the coachman.
As predicted, Mr. Hartley was nowhere in sight.
“Down!” the man ordered Lord Duncan, and His Lordship managed to step down backwards, holding on to the side of the coach with his one good hand.
His Lordship turned slowly. “Now what?”