The Duke's Inconvenient Bride (Regency Romance)

by Eva Grace

  As the driver had forewarned, the road did not follow the outskirts of the garden exact, for a large part of the gardens were bordered by the lazy flow of the Thames. But where he could, the driver stuck as close to it as the coach was able. The whole while Raff leaned forward on the front seat of the carriage, his eyes squinted as a means to improve his vision, while he took in every morsel of the surrounds that he could.

  It was an unusually quiet night, with scarce another soul about. They came across a few here and there, and when they did, Raff leapt from the coach before it so much as came to a standstill and was upon them with questions asked in as calm and forthright a manner as he could muster. Most were loving couples out for an evening stroll, and most seemed more concerned with their own safety at the sudden appearance of the deranged Raff, than the safety of the wife he asked about. And with each person he questioned, and with each one telling him that they had seen not a thing, he felt his confidence dropping and his fears rising.

  Before long, Raff was all but convinced that it was too late and that his wife was well and truly gone.

  That was until they came around the rear of the garden, near the Albert Embankment, where Raff suddenly spied what could only be described as a street urchin, laying underneath a wooden bench.

  Without worrying for his own safety, Raff leaped from the carriage and approached the young lad with haste.

  "I say, lad," Raff called as he came closer to the boy sleeping under the seat. "Lad, I need to ask you a question."

  "Who you callin', lad?" the urchin asked, sounding insulted as he rolled from under the bench and slowly climbed to his feet. "I ain't no lad."

  Raff pulled up as he reached the young boy, taking in the appearance of what he was quickly learning to be a very poor, young soul. With a face that was so dirty it was almost black, crooked teeth in a crooked smile, and filthy clothes that hung off him like an old tent, he looked about as deplorable a sight as Raff had ever seen. Indeed, he would usually be the last person Raff would even consider asking for advice... but under the circumstances, he was willing to try anything.

  "I do apologise," Raff began with caution, not wanting to offend the poor chap. "But I was hoping you could help me?"

  "Might do." He spat on the ground and Raff had to concentrate on not curling his lip in disgust.

  "My wife was... well I believe she was taken from the gardens. I was hoping if maybe you might have seen something? She has red hair, was dressed in a resplendent --" Raff bit his lip, feeling like a fool for bothering with such detail. "She was dressed well, and I assume if you did see her, she may have been getting dragged off? Most certainly not at will."

  "I saw her." It was said in such a matter-of-fact manner that it actually took Raff a moment to understand. And when he did, he had to resist the very real urge to grab the urchin by the arms and demand that he elaborate.

  "You did?" Raff finally managed, trying his best to stay calm.

  "Aye, I did. She was with two men. They had her by the arms and were leading her down that path there --" he pointed over Raff's shoulder toward a darkened alley across the street. "There they jumped in a carriage and rode off."

  "She was... she was being lead?"

  "Well not exactly. More like she couldn't use her legs. Maybe she was drunk and they were carrying her? I don't know?" He shrugged in a nonchalant manner, as if he weren't describing a literal kidnapping to a worried husband.

  "Thank you..." Raff said in a dazed fashion, for that was how he felt. Yes, he now knew that his wife had been taken by at least two men, but for all the good this did as he had no idea what to do next.

  He thanked the street urchin again before turning and stalking toward the carriage, his mind racing. This time he chose to climb in the compartment, directing the driver back to St. James' with a short command and beckoning Ambrose to follow him inside. He would need the footman on the journey home, so that they could formulate a plan. Raff's head was swimming with visions of what his wife was most surely being put through and every time he thought on this, he felt ill to the core, but he need to plan.

  It was because he was in such a state, still trying to comprehend what he was going to do, that he failed at first to notice the very peculiar look on Ambrose's face as he took a seat opposite Raff.. At first Raff wrote it off as worry, for this was to be expected. But as the footman continued to stare at Raff, his brow furrowed, his smile turned into a concerned frown, his feet bobbing up and down furiously, Raff was forced to ask what was there something else on his mind.

  "It's Her Grace..." Ambrose began. The way he was acting, it was almost as if he had some sort of secret to share, as if he alone knew she had been kidnapped and was about to tell Raff of it. "It's..."

  "I know, Ambrose," Raff said sharply. "I am well aware. Once we arrive home, I will put a call into the Bow Street Runners again and from there --"

  "No, Your Grace," Ambrose cut in. "It's not just the Duchess having been kidnapped, but... well..."

  "Out with it," Raff demanded, feeling himself getting frustrated at the footman's ramblings.

  "She's with child!"

  For the second time that night, Raff felt the wind knocked from him. For the second time that night, he felt a wave wash over him with such force that he was surprised he wasn't thrown from the carriage. And for the second time that night, he was left speechless with pure, unadulterated shock.

  "Are you sure?" he finally managed, his voice whisper quiet. "How can you know this?"

  "All the house staff know, Your Grace. The Duchess hasn't exactly been forthcoming with the blessed news, but the female housemaids can usually tell these things, and there have been indications and the like, and I'm sorry, Your Grace, I should have come to you the moment that..."

  As Ambrose rambled with his apology, tumbling over his words as he did, Raff gazed out the window of the carriage, no longer listening to the man. Rather, his thoughts were with his missing wife and what he now knew to be his unborn child.

  Raff had never before wanted children, and if you had asked even an hour previously, he would have confirmed this to be true. But now that he knew himself to be an expectant father, he was wont to admit that the idea actually touched him more than he could have ever thought possible.

  He was a father, he was a husband, he loved them both and now... well now he wasn't sure if he would ever see them again. What on earth was he going to do?

  The first thing that Catherine noticed when she came to was that she was moving. And not her body per se, but the room she was in. With her eyes still closed, and her hands clearly bound together, she could feel the seat she was on vibrating, and the walls behind her shaking. It was because of this that she had no doubt that she was in a carriage. The only question now was, what in the name was she doing in one?

  She kept her eyes closed tight as she tried to remember how she had gotten to where she was. The last thing she could remember clearly was walking through the Vauxhall Gardens in search of her husband. She had spied two men ahead, asked them for help, and then... nothing.

  She had noticed almost instantly that her hands were bound, and the fact that she had passed out – or been knocked out – indicated beyond a shadow of a doubt that she had been kidnapped.

  Odd really that Catherine didn't feel the fear that one usually would in this kind of situation. Oh, she was no doubt worried, and beyond concerned for her situation, but to say that she would afraid would be to misspeak. For reasons unbeknownst to Catherine, she felt a strange calm rational attitude take hold of her, one which refused to allow her to panic.

  Yes, she had been taken by ruffians, and yes she was in some sort of danger, but the odds of anything actually happening to her were slim at best. Money was the most likely cause of this charade, and if that were the case, she knew that Raff would not hesitate in paying.

  All Catherine need do, and this was a prayer that she repeated in her head over and over again, was to stay calm and not panic. She was going to b
e fine, of that she was certain.

  "Nearly there," a voice suddenly spoke from right beside her. It was a rough, hard voice; no doubt one belonging to one of the men who had lifted her bodily from Vauxhall.

  "Thank the blazes," another spoke; this one from opposite where she sat —a hard voice, one that spoke of poverty and sin. "My bum is as tender as a chop."

  "Yeah, well the Lady is payin' good coin for this, so don't be complainin' when you see her." Catherine didn't know how she hadn't notice the man beside her when she first came too, for he stank worse than anything she had ever smelled; as if he carried a dead rodent in his waistcoat at all times.

  "What Lady?" The other man – one that carried with him an equally as repugnant odour – asked. "She ain't no lady, even though she pretends she is since she married that old geezer."

  The two men barked a laugh at this comment and soon after, the carriage came to a halt.

  "Finally," the man beside her said.

  "What about her?" The one sitting opposite spat.

  Catherine braced herself for what was to come next.

  "Wake her, I suppose?"

  Catherine suddenly felt two hands take hold of her on either arm and shake her violently. No longer seeing the point in feigning unconsciousness, she shot open her eyes and attempted to dislodged the arms from around her.

  "Unhand me!" She commanded, using her most imperious tone.

  "Awake the whole time!" the man sitting opposite her chuckled. She recognised him immediately as one of the men that had taken her in the garden. He was as ugly a man as she had ever seen; a pug nose, a round face, a pointed chin and yellow-tinged skin. Evidently her captor spent much of his free time in the gin palaces of Covent Garden, if his jaundiced tone was anything to go by.

  "Come on, up you get," the one next to her followed on. He was the ruffian that had the yellow teeth; teeth that were even more stained in the dull light of the carriage.

  Without warning, he scooped his arm under Catherine and lifted her from the carriage, and before she had a chance to protest, she was over his shoulder, dragged from the inside of the carriage and then placed on her feet outside.

  A momentary head-spin at being handled in such a ghastly manner, and then having to readjust her eyes to the darkness of the night, meant that it took Catherine a moment or two to recollect where she had been taken. However, when she was able to stabilise herself, it took her less than a second to deduce her new location.

  Behind the man with the yellow teeth was as large a ship as Catherine had ever seen, and next to that was another. And to her right, running along what she now knew to be a dockside, was peer after peer after peer, holding ship after ship after ship.

  Her kidnappers had brought her to the docks. Why they had brought her to such an odd place, she had not a clue, although she was quite sure that soon she would soon find out.

  It was the ugly ruffian that took hold of her bound hands and lead her from the carriage, further along the quays. And as the three walked, silence their only companion, Catherine did her best to take note of her surroundings, in case an escape was to be made.

  She saw pretty quickly that if there was a chance to run, it would most likely not do her any good. The docks presided over a huge space, perhaps as large as the estate on which Witchford Hall was built. On one side of them were dozens of long piers spewing into the Thames, and on each of these there were at least two, often three or four, ships of varying size. One the other side of where they walked were what she guessed to be hundreds of warehouses and offices, all locked up nice and tight for the night. They ran in rows, further back than she could see.

  If she did run, she would not get very far —likely her captors knew this area better than she.

  Although Catherine felt fine in terms of fear and worry, she did feel herself becoming partially ill in her stomach; and felt it even more so the longer the three walked. At first she assumed it to be caused by the smell; a combination of the salt water, the brine and the two men in her company. But as they continued on their way, clearly heading for the very last of the docks, she came to realise that the illness she was feeling was on account of the babe that was growing inside of her.

  She had forgotten all about the child! So used to only having her own head to worry upon, she had momentarily erred from the path of motherhood. Suddenly she realised that it wasn't just her own neck for which she had to worry, but that of her unborn baby.

  It was with this realisation that the fear she had been keeping at bay, that worry and angst that had not been a factor, very quickly came to the fore. Her knees began to shake, her brow began to sweat and by the time that she found her kidnappers pulling up and ordering her to stand still, she very much so thought she was going to cast up her accounts.

  "We got her!" the ugly man yelled into the darkness.

  As expected, they had reached the end of their journey. To their right was a pier that held two large ships. To their left was a row of warehouses that disappeared into the void. And right in front of them was a large wooden fence that skirted the perimeter of the docks and ensured that no one could get in... or out.

  Confused at first, Catherine wondered who it could possibly be that the man was yelling out too. She scanned the area the best she could, but saw no one within sight. But then, as if by magic, a single figure appeared before them; stepping out of the shadows like a ghost in the night.

  "Finally," the single person spoke.

  When Catherine saw who it was, she didn't even bother trying to hide the surprise that came over her. Like a punch in the gut, she felt the wind knocked out from her as her mouth dropped open, her eyes bulged wide and her legs near collapsed from beneath her.

  "Lady Drakefield?!" she gasped, still unable to believe what it was that she was seeing.

  "The very same," Lady Drakefield said with a sly smile, clearly thrilled with the reaction she was receiving. "Surprised? I do hope so, for I so love a surprise."

  There was to be no mistaking Lady Drakefield, for even in the darkness of the night, her elegant beauty made her stand out like a flame. She wore a similar dress to the one she had on the previous evening – a flowing dark green gown that was tight around the waist, highlighting her curves more than anything – and her blonde hair was done up in a traditional style, only partially hidden by the hood of her cape. But even if Lady Drakefield's appearance was the same as it always wasa, there was something different about her that Catherine could not place.

  "More shocked than surprised, I assure you," Catherine said with dignity. "What is the meaning of this?"

  "This?" Lady Drakefield laughed a cold, terrifying laugh. It sent a shiver down Catherine's spine and went a long way toward making her think that she wouldn't be getting out of this in one piece. "Call this here a little payback."

  It was then that Catherine realised what it was that was different about Lady Drakefield. Her accent had changed. Where she usually spoke in a debonair, high class accent as was befitting of her station, she now spoke in a kind of drawl that belonged on the back streets of the slums of the Seven Dials. Catherine had no idea where her accent had suddenly come from, but it certainly wasn't one suited to a lady of means.

  "Payback?" Catherine asked. She took a step back, only to feel the presence of the two ruffians behind her, caging her in.

  "That's right," Lady Drakefield said in that same cackle. "For what you went and did. Few women I know are that low."

  "I don't... I have not..." Catherine could feel herself begin to sweat, she could feel herself begin to break. Try as she might, she could not foresee a way out of this.

  "You look confused?" Lady Drakefield chuckled. "Something caught you unawares did it?"

  "Who are you?" Catherine asked firmly. She tried to push the sickness down and keep it at bay. But it wasn't easy.

  "You no doubt noticed the accent?" her captor threw her head back and cackled. "I always thought myself an underrated actress personally. I might have even stu
ck it out if the coin was better." She stood less than ten feet from Catherine, taking a step closer as she spoke. "But it ain't, so I didn't."

  "You're not... you've been lying about who you are?" Catherine accused.

  "A bit. I lied about where I came from, true enough. But only to those that mattered. The way you people look at those like me, like you're better, more important than I am. Trust me, you ain't. Where I come from ain't a place that a dame like you would walk down and come out the other side."

  "So, you lied about your birth to trick Lord Drakefield into marrying you?" Catherine was sure that her only chance of escape was to keep Lady Drakefield talking. What she hoped to happen, she didn't know. But it was better than the alternative.

  "I did what I had to do to survive." Lady Drakefield sounded angry, as if she truly believed herself to be the victim. "I was going to trade up too, once my old man popped his clogs. I reckon I would have made a fine Duchess - but you just wouldn't let that happen, would ya?"

  "I don't know what you mean."

  "Liar!" Seemingly from nowhere, Lady Drakefield suddenly whipped out a knife. It was a short blade, no different from one used for cutting meat, but the way the moonlight caught the steel edge, made it look as dangerous a weapon as Catherine had ever seen.

  Lady Drakefield held the knife pointed at Catherine's chest as she took a step closer. "You tricked Albright into marrying you! You lured him into your bedroom and forced yourself upon him! You're a liar and a sneak!"

  "I did no such thing!" Catherine protested, all the while keeping her eyes trained on the dagger as it came nearer and nearer. "It was you who tricked him. You sent him a letter that --"

  "Enough!" Lady Drakefield screeched; the knife now pointing more toward Catherine's belly than her chest – toward her baby. "You had your fun with Albright. But that fun ends now."

  And then she lunged.

  The carriage was but halfway home when it came to a sudden stop. At first, Raff had not a clue what was happening. He had ordered his driver to make for St. Jmaes' Square on the double and pull up for no one. So, when he felt it slowing down, he stuck his head out the window with every intent on scolding the driver for disobeying a direct order – his wife's life was at stake here.