The Accidental Abduction (24 page)

This should have made her feel better. She should have moved at once to reassure Genny, but Leannah remained silent. This was her first day away from her husband, and it seemed that all she was doing was using his money to pay her family's debts. She remembered the look Dawes had given her and that memory was like a smear of soot across her skin.

She was sure Genny saw that thought in her. Her sister looked ashamed. She was thinking she'd driven Leannah into disgrace.

Or is it just me? Have I conjured up a dream of love for Harry Rayburn to try to convince myself that that is not what's happened?

No. That is not what happened. I will not let it be.

Leannah glanced up to the top of the staircase, looking for Jeremy. But of course, if the boy were listening, he'd be too canny to stand where he could be seen.

She took her sister's elbow and moved them a little farther out of the stairwell. “What else, Genny?” Leannah asked softly.

“Mr. Valloy came by yesterday. He said he had an appointment to call on you.”

Leannah blanched. Mr. Valloy had been calling to make his marriage proposal, the one she'd given him every reason to believe she was prepared to accept. Except that when he'd come to make the thing formal, she'd been driving down the road with her new husband. Leannah closed her eyes.

“He was angry,” said Genny.

“He has a right to be,” said Leannah.
Think of Harry,
she told herself.
Think of all that you've done and all you will do. Think about your private vows when you married him. You knew then this would not be easy. You cannot shrink from it now.
“I'll write to him as soon as I've spoken to Father.” She glanced down at the diamond band on her smallest finger, which Jeremy had spotted right away. Father's mind and eyesight were nothing like so clear, and yet it would not do for this stone to make the announcement for her yet again.

Leannah twisted Harry's ring from her finger.

“You'd better take this.” She handed it to her sister. “Father's sure to notice it.”

Genny held the ring up in her two fingers. The scrupulous look she leveled against it owed more to the jeweler than to a romantic girl looking at a lovely wedding ring. It crossed Leannah's mind that her sister doubted whether the diamond was genuine. “But you are going to tell him, aren't you?” asked Genny.

The remark stung. “Of course I am, but I'd like to tell the story in its proper order and not have him jump to conclusions, like Jeremy did.”

It was plain Genny had yet more on her mind, but there was no time for that now. Leannah already felt her nerve straining. She had to face her father and tell him. She could not delay things any longer, especially not after Genny's reminder that Father was not the only man with whom she must speak regarding her new status as a married woman.

Leannah turned her back on her sister, dragged her composure together, and walked into the study.

I
t felt like a thousand years since Leannah had left this room in such a rush, and it felt like no time at all. Almost everything was as she left it. The ledger still lay firmly shut on the desk guarded by the neat piles of bills and correspondence. The fire had been allowed to burn low in the grate to save coal, and the curtains were drawn close to save father's nerves.

Father himself sat on the sofa, asleep with his chin on his breast and his old green dressing gown wrapped loosely around him. The only other person in the room was little Aunt Clarence, who put down her embroidery the moment Leannah entered to totter over to meet her.

“I'm so glad you're back, Leannah.” She murmured the words so as not to disturb Father. “Are you quite well, my dear?”

Aunt Clarence was a tiny bird of a woman, complete with big brown eyes and a crooked, beaky nose. Her years as a clergyman's wife had not been easy. She spent her days performing the sort of charity work that had little to do with drawing room committees and much to do with going from house to house through the slums and rookeries. Her labors had left her joints stiff and swollen and her breath short. Despite this, her energy showed in her kind, clear gaze and she embraced her wayward niece readily.

“I am quite well, Aunt.” Leannah pressed her cheek to the older woman's. “I suppose Uncle's told you what's happened?”

“Of course he has. He's been very worried about you, as have I.”

“I'm sorry to have made so much trouble. How has father been?”

“Quiet and calm,” she answered and relief rushed through Leannah. “He thinks you've been with Mrs. Watersen.”

“So Genny told me. You can go now, Aunt. I'll sit with him until he wakes up.”

“Leannah, I know that whatever you've done, you've done with the best of intentions . . .”

Leannah's mind drifted back to the money, and the debts it would pay. She tried to see past it, to Harry and all they had already shared, but it was so hard here with all her oldest doubts and fears crowding around her. “I hope that's true, Aunt,” she murmured. “You will forgive me, but I do need to be alone for a moment.”

“Yes, of course,” replied Aunt Clarence. “I'll just go check on Genny.” She moved away, but Leannah stopped her.

“My reticule is on the table in the hall. Will you see if there's enough in there for Bishop to go pay the grocer and the collier?”

An unmistakable flicker of concern crossed Aunt Clarence's face but Leannah turned away, quickly, casually, as if no one could possibly consider anything wrong with the request, or the circumstances. Of course, that was not true. She just had to hope her aunt was willing to let her pretend.

It seemed that she was, because Aunt Clarence took her leave without further comment. Leannah closed the door behind her with a sigh. She crossed the room to the hearth and very carefully poked up the fire. With a feeling of grim determination, she laid half a dozen fresh coals on the blaze. Then she went to the window and carefully lifted the edge of the drape. It was as if she needed to reassure herself that there was still a world outside and that she had not fallen into some sort of isolated nightmare.

But the street was there. A light rain had begun outside, and it lent a shimmer to the paving stones. Harry was out there someplace, in St. James Square to be precise, talking with his own family. She hoped, for both their sakes, it was going more smoothly than her encounter with her own family had so far.

Father shifted uneasily on the sofa and Leannah let the curtain fall closed. She sat down on the faded horsehair chair by the hearth and folded her hands. Her finger felt bare without Harry's ring. She wished he was beside her to fill this chill room with his good spirits and his banter.

We'll be back together soon.
She rubbed her bare hands together.
We will.

She looked at Father. Sleep had relaxed his face, but did nothing to remove the sadness. That worn expression of regret was as familiar to Leannah as his glow of pride and elation. It had accompanied each turn of their fortunes.

She tried to think what she would say when he woke, but the words would not come. The last time she and her father had spoken of marriage, he'd been at the height of his confidence and his power. They'd been back in Devon then, but not in their own house. The story they'd put about the neighborhood was that they'd taken the cottage because the larger house was in drastic need of repairs. They said that they had decided they would buy some land to build new, but until the sight was chosen, they would stay in this snug little cottage.

Father's study in the cottage had been lovely and sunny. His books and papers filled it to the brim, and the stacks of newspapers and magazines covered every empty surface. She'd remembered her heart was beating fast with anticipation as he sat her down on the leather sofa. She'd been so sure he was going to tell her that their fortunes had turned, and that she was going to be able to have a season after all.

Instead, Father told her he had fixed her future with his friend and neighbor, Mr. Wakefield.

“Now, Leannah, my dear, I know Elias Wakefield's not a handsome beau, but you'll soon grow to appreciate him. What good is a wild young buck as a husband, eh? He'd have no steadiness, and certainly no standing. He'll chafe at the marriage harness and be forever wandering off to chase after what he can't have. Would I marry my daughter to such an untrustworthy creature? No. Would a man of that kind be anything like good enough for a Morehouse? Never. I'll have only the best for you, Lea, and that means a sound man, an absolutely trustworthy man. A man who, above all, can keep you as you deserve to be kept. It's you I'm thinking of, Lea.”

She remembered how the words had washed over her. She remembered allowing herself to sink into the flood of them. It was always easier that way. When Father spoke, she must believe him. It didn't matter how often he'd been wrong before. It wasn't his fault things hadn't turned out as they hoped. Misfortune could come to anyone. The great thing was how a man recovered from it, and how he provided for his family. Here he was thinking of how best to provide for her, and she must believe that.

This time,
she remembered saying to herself,
it will be different.

This time it will be different,
the words echoed through her mind. They were practically the Morehouse family motto. It should be carved over the door of their house. Houses.

She'd taught herself to believe it, though. Leannah stared at the fire, but she couldn't see it clearly for the tears welling up in her eyes. She'd not only taught belief to herself, she'd had done her best to teach it to Genny and Jeremy. To do otherwise would mean she doubted her father's word and ability, and that would have broken her heart in two, as it had her mother's.

Because she believed, she hadn't worried about the conversations Father and Elias held behind closed doors. She hadn't worried about the bank drafts Elias wrote, or the legal men and their papers. What was there to worry about? Thanks to Elias, she was finally able to spend the season in London, not just once, but every single year. As a married, and wealthy, woman, society was entirely open to her. She made friends. She entertained. She went to the opera and the theater. What were a few whispers in the background compared to all that?

As for the fact that Elias placed so much money into Father's hands, that was nothing to worry about. Elias had more than enough, and Father understood investing. He could turn the Wakefield fortune into something extraordinary. All he needed was time, and enough money. There was plenty this time. A few losses could be easily born. They'd be recouped on the next upturn in the market. This time would be different.

A tear trickled down Leannah's cheek, leaving a trail of cold behind. Father stirred on the sofa and his eyes fluttered. She wiped away the damp on her cheek.

“Leannah?” Father's head jerked up, and for a moment, the confusion she so dreaded came over him.

“I'm here, Father.” Leannah moved herself quickly into his field of vision.

“Ah. Yes. Your aunt said you'd be back soon.” He smoothed and straightened his dressing gown. “How is Mrs. Watersen?”

She studied him for a moment before she framed her answer. This time, the confusion appeared to have been momentary. His eyes were already clear. His wrinkled hand held steady as he reached to the side table and poured himself a glass of watered wine from the decanter. She waited until he'd taken a sip.

“I was not with Mrs. Watersen, Father.”

Father blinked. “But your aunt and Genny . . .”

“They did not want to tell you where I really was because we were concerned about the shock.”

“I see.” Father took another sip of wine, and stared into the glass. His pallid lips twitched as he attempted a smile. “I suppose I cannot blame you for that. Are you going to tell me now?”

Yes.
She took a deep breath. “I'm married father. To a man named Harry Rayburn. He's a merchant and his family owns two warehouses.”

Father said nothing. He raised his glass again but now his hands were shaking, and shaking badly. Leannah reached forward to take the wine from him, but he managed to lift the glass to his lips and drink. It rattled as he set it down on the table.

“You were to marry Mr. Valloy.”

“I had considered it. I changed my mind.”

“You did not tell me that, either.” Uncertainty lay beneath the statement and she knew he was trying to remember if they had spoken of it.

“No. It all happened very quickly.”

She could not tell whether he believed this. His face had settled into different lines—harder, far more bitter lines. He took up the wineglass and drank again. Leannah's heart quailed, because she knew what was coming.

“This . . . Rayburn, I think you said his name was? He has money?”

“Yes,” whispered Leannah.

“Enough?”

Is there ever enough?
But she didn't say that. “I believe his income is quite substantial.”

She didn't look at him. She did not want to see the calculations passing back and forth behind his eyes. First would come the pitiless, cold, and endless inventorying of all he owned or could reach. This would be quickly followed by the decisions regarding what of that could be most easily converted into money to feed into his investments.

She waited for him to ask how much she could bring him. She steeled herself for it. She could not be angry with him. Anger would accomplish nothing. But at the same time, she knew she could not fall back into the easy habit of letting Father's words carry her away. He would talk of all the good to come if he just had a little money, just one more chance. He'd talk and talk, and keep on talking, until he believed it, along with everybody else.

She must not listen, not this time. If she yielded in the slightest when Father began talking, the whole terrible cycle would begin again. She must think of Genny and Jeremy, and herself. She must think of Harry as well. She could not fail Harry as she had failed Elias.

Where are you, Harry? What is your father saying to you? Please don't let it be anything like this.

But Father didn't ask for numbers. He didn't speak at all. Slowly, in a series of sharp jerks, he lowered his face into the palm of his hand. His thin shoulders shuddered, and he began to cry.

“What have I done to you?”

Leannah slipped from her own chair and knelt in front of him. She grasped his hand tightly and pulled it away from his face.

“Father, please! I need you to try to concentrate.”

“On what?” The hand she held tightened into a fist. “On the fact that I'm the one who taught you to sell yourself for
money
?”

“That's not what this is, father.”
Not this time. This time it will be different.

“Can you swear to that? Can you really?”

“Yes. I can, and I do.” She said it, and she made herself mean it. But at the same time in the back of her mind, the terrible little slivers of doubt dug that much more deeply.

I must think of Harry. I must think of his arms about me, of the laughter and all we've shared already. That is why I have done this. For passion. For happiness, and for the hope of love to grow from all that. To protect Genny and Jeremy, and yes, Father as well. It isn't about the money. This time it is different. It is.

“Well, if it's done, then it's done,” said Father. His voice was flat, defeated. The defeat touched a spark to her anger. She was trying to help in the only way she could. How could he make her efforts sound like another failure? Leannah squashed the emotion, and the question, down.

“What will happen now?” he asked.

“I'm not entirely certain. There has been very little time to plan.”

Father got to his feet. He turned, and he walked to the windows, where the drapes were closed tight. He reached out one crooked hand and grasped the edge of the hideous puce velveteen. He stayed like that for three long, deep breaths.