by Eva Grace
The Bow Street Runners were a sort of criminal deterrent force that operated out of Bow Street, London. Although they usually dealt with the solving of more serious crimes, they were known to take on smaller, more personal cases for a fee. They were suggested to Raff by a good friend of his, Lord Hansley, and when Raff heard of their previous successes, he didn't hesitate in contacting them.
"What we do is called a blanket search," the Captain of the Bow Street Runners, Captain Peter, explained to Raff as the two sat in a rundown room in Bow Street, where the Runners had their offices. "'Cause of the money you put up, I can get all the boys on this one. We spread out and get the word out there that this young lady is missing and if she is found, you'll be very, very grateful."
Captain Peter of the Bow Street Runners was a short, muscular man who had the look of a pugilist about him; at least that was Raff's first impression. His face was hard, his ears and nose were flat and his chest and arms were so thick it was almost comical. But he also had the look of a man that got things done, and to Raff that was of the utmost importance.
"I'll be more then grateful," Raff assured the Captain, his tone heavily implying just how much money he was willing to hand over for his wife's safe return. "I am of course willing to pay anything for my wife's safe return."
"We'll find her, Your Grace. Believe me, as soon as coin is mentioned, all the rats come up from the sewer for a sniff. We'll find the Duchess, no doubt about that. And we'll be discreet, there's none more discreet than one of my men."
When Raff had discovered that his wife had disappeared from Witchford more than a week before, he had descended into a state of panic that even he could not have predicted. A fear gripped him that was so great and so malicious in its nature that he very nearly emptied his stomach right on Jonathan's shoes while the elderly manservant further explained what had happened.
It was only when he had managed to take hold of himself, that he jumped on his horse and made for the nearest village like his life depended on it. My life does depend on finding her, he thought with shock —never before had he allowed himself to become so entangled with another's well-being.
The small village had but one stagecoach in operation, which travelled from Scotland to London, stopping there upon the way, and to his relief its proprietor remembered as clear as day selling Catherine a ticket for the coach to London.
"Oh yes, you don't forget a thing like that," he assured Raff, his square shaped head bobbing up and down as he spoke. "A pretty lady like that on her own. I tell ya, I never seen someone so upset. The driver done said that she cried the whole way there."
Unfortunately, that was where the trail went cold. The driver had dropped her off with the other passengers at Hyde Park Corner and he had no paid much attention as Catherine vanished into the crowds. In a busy city like London, the chances of anyone remembering seeing Catherine that day were as likely as the Prince Regent renouncing his title and taking up a life of pig farming.
What perplexed Raff the most during the initial throes of this ordeal was how must he worried for Catherine's safety. Where he would have assumed he'd be angry at the betrayal laid on him by his wife, furious even, he just couldn't find it in himself to entertain these base emotions. It was worry he felt; a deep-set, gut wrenching, soul squeezing fear that something might have happened to his wife and that there was nothing he could do to prevent it.
Worse still, her absconding from Witchford was entirely of his making. He had treated her callously, loved her, left her and made her feel a fool. Regret was not an emotion that Raff had ever felt much of, but now it was haunting him.
If there was ever any doubt in Raff's mind as to how he truly felt about Catherine, that had now disappeared into thin air, much like his wife. The worry, anguish and guilt that he felt all testified to the feelings he had developed for Catherine. He had to find her an apologise for what an utter cad he had been and the thought that he might not get a chance to tell her how sorry he was, was too chilling to contemplate.
Because the last sighting of Catherine had been in London, Raff returned to his St. James' Square home to lead the search for her there. And although the Bow Street Runners did come highly recommended, and although their Captain did sound rather sure of himself, there was a nagging fear buried deep within Raff's mind that he might never see his wife again. .
"Is there anything I can do?" he asked of Captain Peter, once the burly man had finished explaining his plan.
"Aye, you can go home and get some rest, Your Grace."
"I don't want to rest," Raff protested hotly. "I can help. I can search the Seven Dials with you. I can bribe I can --"
"Trust me, Your Grace, this won't be as simple as it sounds. The men under my command are used to dealing with street Arabs, and the people we talk to don't always like being talked to —especially by the gentry. We'll find your wife, don't worry about that."
Despite the Captain's assurances Raff was worried. In fact, worried was an understatement of the most epic proportions. But he also knew that to continue to press and hassle the Captain would do neither he, nor his missing wife any good. And so, with his tail between his legs and his head hung in defeat, Raff headed back to his home in St. James' Square to await word... knowing only too well that the odds of word ever coming were slim to none. London was a vast, sprawling city, the underbelly of which was as dangerous as it was sordid. The thoughts of Catherine having to grapple with any of the thieves and blackguards of Seven Dials brought a chill to raff's very soul.
The moment that Raff arrived back home, he knew that something was wrong... or rather, that something had changed from that morning. It was Jonathan, who had come down from Norfolk, who gave him this impression. The elderly butler was standing in the entrance hall when Raff arrived back,his hands behind his back, a smile on his wrinkled face. Raff could scarce remember a time he had seen the elderly manservant look so alive.
"Jonathan..." Raff began with caution as he approached the butler. "Is everything alright?"
"More than alright, Your Grace." As he spoke the butler's eyes glanced across the room toward the dining room. Raff followed his glance, his jaw dropping open at what he saw... or rather, who he saw.
It was Catherine, standing in the doorway. Tight lipped and arms crossed, she had the look of a child who had been caught with their hand in the pantry, yet was still determined to argue their innocence.
"Catherine!" Raff gasped. Without thought, he strode across the room toward her with every intent of taking her in his arms and holding her like he never had before. But when he did, she took a hesitant step backward, holding out her hand to stop him.
"Wait," she said quietly. "I..." she wasn't looking at Raff either, but at her feet; nervous and scared. "Before you say anything I want to... I must first apologise for what I did."
Raff rolled back onto the balls of his feet, trying desperately to hold himself from grasping her into his embrace and silencing her words with a kiss. "You don't have to apologise --"
"Please!" she said a little louder, and with a clear resolve this time. "I apologise, but I also need you to know that you are not entirely blameless in what happened – don't," she said quickly as Raff went to speak. "I need to... I want you to know that you hurt me. You hurt me more than I thought you would ever be able. And in my hurt, I acted brashly and... and I didn't think. Well I have had time to think and I need you to know that you can shout and carry on all you like. You can punish me, you can scold me, but if you do these things, you must first admit fault. Marriage is a two-way endeavour and I did what I did because I saw no other option. I need you to know that."
Even with a petulant face and sulky lip Catherine was beautiful. Even despite the way she fidgeted with her hands as she spoke, and the way she slumped with exhaustion, and looked everywhere but at Raff, he still found her to be the most alluring creature he had ever seen. As a matter of fact, in that moment he could not think of a time he had ever found another being to be as pu
re as she.
"Catherine," he began softly. He took a hesitant step toward her. When she didn't back away as he ahd expected, he took another. "Everything you have said is true. What I did and how I did it... I was wrong. There is no other way to look at it. I acted like a coward and I hope that in time, it is you that can forgive me."
His words had the exact effect Raff had hoped for, for no sooner had they left his lips did she look up at him, finally meeting his eyes for the first time. Though she was still nervous of him, her brow was scrunched in the most adorable of fashions, and her lips pressed together nice and tight, and he could see her trying to deduce if what he said was some sort of jest.
She still did not know how he felt, he realised, and so he pressed on, his voice laden with emotion.
"When I returned home to find you missing I... I can't even speak of how I felt. I wasn't angry, nor mad with you, but with myself and what I had done to force this choice upon you." He took another step, reaching her this time. As he did, he reached out and took her hands in his and to his relief, she let him. "This marriage is not what either of us expected it to be, and for that neither of us are at fault. But if you are willing, I'd like to see what it could be?"
Apparently lost for words, Catherine cast her eyes down at Raff's hands which were wrapped tightly around her own. She stared at them, biting her lower lip, blinking in confusion. She then slowly, so very slowly, raised her eyes. They moved up Raff's body, from his navel to his chin and finally to his gaze.
When they met, Raff was near left breathless. There were tears in them; salty, watery tears that she had so clearly been trying to keep at bay. Again, he was remiss to remember a time he had ever seen something so beautiful.
Before she had a chance to answer, and not even caring what her response might have been, Raff took a quick step into Catherine, pressed his body against her own and in a most audacious manner, planted a very firm, very loving kiss on her lips. And to his delight, she returned it with force.
It was but a quick kiss, nothing too outlandish or adventurous —there was poor Johnathan to consider, after all-- but their kiss said more than words ever could. Once they had broken apart, Raff gave Catherine a shy smile.
"Perhaps we should retire upstairs?" he suggested, throwing a knowing glance at Johnathan who was beaming from ear to ear at their reunion, "So that we may speak alone?"
When they reached Raff's bed chambers, Raff forgot all about speaking and instead scooped Catherine into his arms. He had thought of nothing else but about how he wanted to kiss every inch of his wife for a week, and now that he had her in his sights, he fully intended to act out this wish. Although this time when they made love, he would relish in the moment rather than shy away from it.
"Raff, wait," Catherine whispered as he lay her on the bed. "There is something I need to tell --"
"Whatever it is, I am sure it can wait," Raff smiled warmly at Catherine, as he lovingly stroked her cheek. "For now, let us just enjoy the moment."
And when she didn't reply, Raff took it for a yes. And so, for the second time since the two were wed, Raff and his wife made love. Only this time, while committing to the act, Raff kept in the fore of his mind just how much he adored his wife. He didn't shy from it, he didn't hide from it. Instead he relished in the fact.
Catherine had always thought of life like a stroll through a garden park. One would begin at the entrance, choose the path they wished to walk and take it at leisure. Every now and then a new path would present itself, and whether one wished to take this new path was entirely at their own behest. To Catherine, she never saw the need to change paths, and even when she did, she always believed them to be heading in the same direction anyhow.
Following her return to Raff's arms and to Witchford Hall, Catherine was forced to reevaluate everything she thought she had known. Never in her young life had things changed so drastically for her; so wild and without warning. Life was not a stroll through a garden park, but rather a chase through a darkened forest where every step, every turn and every second brought with it something new and unheard of. Her life had been thrown under the hooves of a race horse, and miraculously she had come out the other side better for it.
These were perhaps mixed metaphors, barely accurate at best, and at their worst downright confusing. But that was alright, because for Catherine, that was what her life had suddenly become. Confusing, unexpected and perhaps the best it had ever been.
Not for a second after Catherine had returned to Raff, did she regret the decision she had made. Initially scared at what he might say or do when she came back, and most certainly worried that at the very best some form of retribution would be had, she was delighted to learn that she could not have been more wrong in her fears.
Oddly, and most miraculously, the Duke didn't blame her at all for what had happened. Rather, he took the blame upon himself and became firm in his resolve to improve on the areas in which he was lacking – most namely in the act of giving and receiving love.
From the moment the two returned to Witchford Hall, the Duke began to do everything and anything he could to prove to Catherine that he was a new man.
This new and vastly improved husband began on their first morning together when Catherine was woken by a cheerful Rebecca, humming as she walked into the bedroom to throw open the curtains. As the sun pierced her closed eyelids, forcing her awake, she rolled over and near fell from bed to see that Raff lay by her side.
"Good morning, my beautiful wife," he smiled. She of course said nothing back, still reeling from the fact that he was there at all. Husbands did not usually share their wives beds the whole night through, and a startled Rebecca fled the room blushing when she spotted Raff underneath the bedspread.
Once they had dined together for breakfast, the two took a walk together through along the moors, holding hands and chatting merrily the entire time. The events of the last month were never mentioned or hinted at once. Indeed, one would almost think it never happened.
Following their walk, the two then ate an early lunch together, and this was followed by a ride through the country side. After this adventure, they sat and read by one another's side and then took supper together too.
It was a day like no other, and one that was to be repeated again and again for the rest of the week... and the week after that. Every day Catherine woke to see her husband by her side, and every day Catherine was startled and left speechless by the way he watched lovingly over her. If they weren't walking together, they were reading, and if they weren't reading they were eating and if they weren't eating... well the point was clear. They did most things together and most importantly, they actually enjoyed it.
"I really do love you," Raff would say every night just before the two went to bed, his voice as earnest as she had ever heard.
"And I really do love you," she would return with full sincerity.
Life was near perfect for Catherine, and it would have been completely without fault too, if it weren't for the one secret that haunted her everywhere she went and in everything that she did.
Catherine was increasing and she was yet to tell her husband about it.
It was such a silly thing too, and something she should have done the moment that she first came back. It was on her mind the entire ride from London to Norfolk, begging to be let forth and freed from its constraint.
And indeed, she had tried on that first day that she had arrived back in London, but Raff had overpowered her with his... his zest. She blushed, for her husband's zest was quite time consuming indeed, And then there was the next day on the coach ride back to Witchford Hall. She had every intention of bringing up the news of the pregnancy, but the entire ride was spent with Raff holding her in his arms as he detailed his plans for their future and talk of how perfect their lives were going to be now that nothing else stood in their way.
So she decided she was going to tell him the day after the had returned to Withford, but again, that day was spent with the new lov
e of her life exclaiming to all and sundry that now she were back, and the two were young and unencumbered, they could travel, they could see the world and for this he could not be happier.
Despite how much Catherine knew she needed to tell the Dukeabout her pregnancy, she could not get past what he had told her on their first day together as man and wife, when he had warned her to not get pregnant as he had no desire to sire a child. And although the two had come forward in leaps and bounds since then, she was still not certain how he would react to the news. Everything was going so well between the two of them, so swimmingly well, that she didn't want to risk ruining it.
So she simply chose not to tell him. There would be a time for that no doubt, and when that time came, she would take it. But until then... well Catherine chose to ignore it the best she could and instead bask in Raff's love for her. There was plenty of it going around too, so it wasn't exactly a hard task by any means.
*****
"I do hope you like the show," Raff fretted as he led Catherine through the bustling foyer of The Theatre Royal, in Drury Lane. As he led the way, the throng of people present parted way for him, as if they could sense that a man of means, worth and power were passing through.
"I am sure I will," Catherine replied as she allowed herself to be led. "I have seen other works of Shakespeare, so I can't imagine The Twelfth Night to be any different?"
"True, true," Raff agreed as he kept his eyes trained ahead. He did not sound as if he were so sure though, a tinge of worry creeping into his tone. "It's just his comedies are a little... well a little different and not for everybody."
"Listen." Catherine came to a stop, forcing Raff to pull up to lest he drag her along, so tight was his grip on her arm. When he did stop, he looked down to see what was the matter and Catherine beamed up at him. "I'm going to love it. So please, stop worrying."
