The Chase

by Sara Portman

  She held the blanket tightly and considered how silly she was. Of course he shouldn’t be bothered with modesty. They had passed that point, had they not? She should feel no hesitation in rising herself to collect her clothing on the other side of the room.

  And yet she couldn’t.

  He dressed efficiently and she knew she was wasting time. She spied her shift and dress draped over the chair by the fireplace. Where was her bold courage now? Where was her determination to be surprising and independent?

  Apparently her determination was now cold and frightened and no longer comfortable without its clothes on.

  Michael returned to the bedside. “If Albert has kept his promise, a carriage departed London at first light and will collect us by midday.”

  He was implying it was time for her to be out of bed, but she didn’t rise. She only nodded.

  He must have sensed her quandary, for he retrieved the dress and shift from the fireside chair and brought them to her, laying them on the quilt. “Would you like my help?”

  No. Yes. No. She didn’t know.

  “I can manage on my own.” She always managed on her own. She could do so again if he would only give her some privacy. He did seem awfully relaxed about the whole thing. And positively gleeful about the prospect of continuing on to London.

  To be rid of her.

  But that was what she had promised him.

  “Well,” Michael said, allowing his hands to fall against his thighs as he looked about the room, “apparently my coins were not enough to ensure a morning meal delivered after all. I am off to the public house to see what fare I might find there. I will return.”

  With a nod, he was off, taking Gelert with him, and she was grateful. She rose quickly and dressed even more quickly, unsure of how long the errand would take. Once fully dressed, she took her hairbrush from her satchel and began the task of taming the tangles she should not have neglected the night before. She was only halfway through the chore when Michael returned with the promised meal. She knew it for an unnecessary errand, for the bread and meat from the night before was still largely untouched on the table. She thanked him and they ate. He commented on the clear weather and the certainty of passable roads and the cheerier he seemed, the more melancholy she felt.

  * * * *

  True to his word, Mr. Finn must have left London at the very break of dawn or even earlier, for he arrived before midday and they were soon ensconced in a very comfortable, if slightly smaller, coach—finally on their way to London. Juliana was quiet, contemplative, and unreasonably bothered by Michael’s lack of torn feelings about their separation. He was at least quiet while she wrestled with her thoughts. The quiet did not last however.

  “You should marry,” Michael blurted, not ten minutes into the ride.

  She looked up at him. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I have been considering your situation, and you should marry.”

  She had been avoiding looking at him, but she looked now, needing to confirm with her eyes as well as her ears that after their evening together he had spent the morning considering plans for her to marry another. And apparently he had, for his expression was earnest and determined as he leaned toward her with this suggestion.

  “No,” she said. “I’ve explained I will not marry.”

  “What do you intend to do next, once you’ve seen these solicitors and gained access to your funds?” She opened her mouth to speak but he cut her off her response with a warning. “And do not tell me you shall sail the ocean with your friend the sea captain. No more fantasies, Juliana. We speak only the truth.”

  She had spoken the truth, but he didn’t want to hear it. Now she didn’t particularly care to clear it up. “I shall go…far away…and tell people that I am a widow. I shall live quietly and give them no cause to question my history.”

  “You said that before, but what of the fresh evidence that your father will continue to want to control both you and your inheritance? You will live in fear of discovery by him. He could find you and return you to the state of veritable prisoner in his home.”

  Juliana nodded gravely. She knew all of this, which was why she had fled. It annoyed her considerably that he felt he should have an opinion on the matter when they would know each other for only a few more hours. “I intend to go farther than he would expect,” she assured him, unable to provide further explanations he would not dismiss as lies.

  “You can’t go far enough on your own. You should consider marrying.”

  She only stared in response.

  “To protect yourself,” he explained. “If you are married your husband will have control of your funds and there will be no further purpose to your father’s pursuit.”

  She shook her head. If she married, her husband would have control of her. “I am not bound for the altar. I have already explained that. I am five and twenty. I am old enough that I might have been married and widowed, but young enough that I had not yet borne children.”

  “You miss the point,” Michael insisted. “Can’t you see you are better protected by a marriage? You will benefit from the protection and you have the funds to offer.”

  “As I assured you before, I have no intention of marrying,” she said, her jaw tightening. Couldn’t he see how cruel it was, to discuss her marriage in such a cavalier manner after what they had shared?

  “You must reconsider your intentions. For your own security.”

  “You suggest that I shield my inheritance from my father by gifting it to another man? You propose that I become another man’s prisoner.”

  “A good man would not make you prisoner.”

  She was just offended enough to say, “You forget, I am no longer pure.”

  “A virginal bride is the ideal, but reality is more practical.”

  His pragmatism stung. “Perhaps I am the practical one and you are spinning fantasies, Michael. Where is this savior of a man who shall marry me, become my protector, and treat me like a treasured wife? The funds I go to claim will allow me to live modestly, but I am by no means an heiress. I am no longer young and no longer virginal. Beyond that, I know that I am awkward and strange. People find it no easier to converse with me than I with them. I will not inherit an amount sufficient to tempt a man into marriage with me.”

  “You do not require a fortune, Juliana, to tempt a man.”

  She didn’t particularly want him to say such things, when he did not seem to dread their parting. “Let me be clear. I am not an heiress, but if I live quietly and modestly, as I am well used to doing, there may be enough to keep me. If there is not, I shall take in mending or apply for service.”

  He pressed his lips together in consideration of her statement.

  “I am grateful for all of your help, Mr. Rosevear,” she said, making a point of using his surname, “but the fact that you have given it does not entitle you to direct my life going forward. When we are in London, you will proceed to your future and I to mine. Those paths could not be more divergent. And once our lives are again separate, I am certain we shall fade quickly to the recesses of each other’s memories.”

  Liar. For the rest of her life she would be able to close her eyes and not only see him, but feel him. Smell him. She would recall forever—not from her aberrant picture-book memory, but from her body and her soul—the particular sense of being in his presence. He had promised that she would call on the memory each night and she believed him. She simply couldn’t decide if the fulfillment of the promise was a gift or a curse.

  She prayed to reach London quickly.

  Thankfully, her words quieted him. When the pastoral views of the countryside gave way to ever more concentrated clusters of buildings and people, her heart slowed and she dreaded the moment of their arrival.

  She looked at Michael, resting with his eyes closed, hand resting lightly atop Gelert’s fur, undisturb
ed by their imminent goodbyes. How silly she had been to believe she could run off on her own with no help. She hadn’t been on her own at all thus far, but she would be shortly. As soon as she’d collected her funds from the solicitors.

  On her own.

  The thought did not carry the same appeal as it had a few days earlier. A few years earlier. She had been yearning to be on her own for as long as she could remember and had never doubted that she would be perfectly fine.

  But now...

  It didn’t matter, she reminded herself. Doubt was only a feeling and feelings passed. She did not doubt herself enough to return to life with her father. She would never doubt enough for that.

  * * * *

  The carriage rolled to a stop and Michael’s stomach lurched. Already? Had they already arrived?

  He looked through the window and spied a simple, three-story red brick building outside the carriage. There were numbers on the building. Number forty-eight. It seemed rather unremarkable, this place that had been the focus of so much planning and difficulty for her. He looked at her and found her staring, likely as uncertain as he just how they parted company. Should he hold and kiss her as lovers did when they said goodbye for now? Only it was not goodbye for now.

  He waited too long and she turned away from him. Albert was at the door and helping her down. Michael felt a moment of panic as the last moments in which he might speak to her swiftly passed. He wanted to caution her to be safe, convince her again of the security of marriage, to tell her how much it mattered to him that she be safe and happy.

  She looked back at him and said, “Goodbye, Michael. Thank you.”

  “Goodbye, Juliana.” There had been too much and all he’d been able to say was that before she walked away toward the entrance of number forty-eight. He watched as she disappeared inside.

  He had wondered if she might ask him to accompany her inside, but that had not been the arrangement, had it? She had made it very clear on their drive that, although she appreciated his help thus far, she no longer required it. She never had told him the amount of the settlement. He sincerely hoped it was large enough that she could do all she planned.

  Michael lifted his arm, preparing to rap on the roof of the carriage to let Albert know he was ready, but he lowered it again without signaling. For a moment, he considered the possibility that the story of the letter and the funds that awaited her were just as much a fabrication as the duchess and the sea captain. What if nothing awaited her and she would be alone, friendless and penniless, in London? Even women familiar with the city would be in danger under those circumstances. Juliana was not familiar with any place but her little village.

  He strained to recall the name. Blackwell? No. Beadwell. He had never been to Beadwell, but he knew whatever it was, it had not prepared her for London on her own.

  Indecision tortured him. If she were without a place to go, what could he offer her? He could not appear on his father’s doorstep with a young woman. He could find her lodging, perhaps, a place to stay for a night or two.

  But what then? What of the third night and the fourth?

  He watched the entrance of number forty-eight. If she had no legitimate business there, he reasoned, they would turn her quickly away. She would not be inside for long.

  On the other hand, if she were expected, there might be papers to sign or transfers to effect. Michael looked at his pocket watch and immediately realized the futility of the effort. Consulting his watch would only allow him to calculate the passage of time if he had checked the time upon their arrival, which he had not. He resolved to wait a few minutes longer.

  Albert descended from the box and opened the door. “Is there a problem, sir?”

  He shook his head, ignoring Albert’s curious assessment. “There is no problem. We shall depart soon.”

  “Very good, sir,” Albert said with a nod and returned to the box.

  Michael stared at the wide black door for several minutes longer. In all the time that he watched, no one entered and, more significantly, no one exited. Uncertain if he was relieved or disappointed, Michael lifted his right arm and rapped on the roof of the carriage.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “I must say, Miss Crawford, that I was not expecting you here, in London,” Mr. Peale said, after she’d been shown into his office, introduced, and offered a seat across from his desk. He was not as she had expected. He was small and thin, with a long narrow nose and an equally long and narrow beard. He regarded her as though she was also not as expected.

  “No?” she asked.

  He gave a discreet cough and continued. “Your father wrote to me of your desire to begin receiving your allowance immediately, but his instructions were that I should forward said funds to him on your behalf, as you are unmarried and still reside with him.”

  He had already written. She had considered that he might.

  She gave what she hoped was a calm and reassuring smile. “Yes,” she agreed, “but there has been a change in my situation. I have decided, now that I have reached my majority, that I will be arranging my own financial affairs and will not rely upon my father for such things.”

  His wrinkle-framed eyes widened. “And your father is aware of this intended change?”

  As she had reached the stipulated age, Juliana did not believe she needed her father’s permission to manage her own inheritance. Whether the aging Mr. Peale approved of her decision was clearly another matter. Still, she preferred not to upset the man. She attempted a smile. “I am five and twenty, Mr. Peale. My father understands that I am capable of handling this detail on my own.” Certainly he understood that. He would object—strenuously—but he knew she was capable, otherwise he would not have worked so hard to prevent it from occurring.

  Mr. Peale narrowed his gaze at her and pressed his lips together in annoyance at this irregularity. “Then it is not your wish that your allowance be forwarded to the address in Beadwell?”

  “It is not.” She paused, leaning forward to inquire, “Did you say ‘allowance’, sir?”

  “I did.”

  She cleared her throat. “It is my understanding that my settlement was to be a fixed sum.”

  He leaned back in his chair and stroked his beard. “As I would expect your father could have apprised you,” he said, communicating his disapproval, “your settlement was two thousand pounds at age twelve, to be invested in the funds on your behalf, earning interest at four percent per annum. Interest accruing through your birthday was to be reinvested. Now that you are five and twenty, you may withdraw the annual income. The settlement must remain intact.”

  Juliana was suddenly rather warm. She reread the letter in her mind. It had made no mention of how her settlement would be handled—only the amount and that she could access it upon reaching the age of twenty-five.

  “These matters are complicated,” Mr. Peale said, taking the tone of a stern lecturer. “I strongly suggest that you reconsider your father’s assistance, at least until you are married and your husband can guide you.”

  Juliana inhaled slowly and exhaled ever more so. “I appreciate your patience given my limited experience with financial dealings, Mr. Peale, but as I am here now, without my father, perhaps you would be willing to answer just a few clarifying questions.”

  “I suppose I could,” he said, clearly unhappy with the prospect. “Though I should point out this is precisely the reason that women find it more appropriate to rely upon their fathers and husbands in their financial dealings, Miss Crawford.”

  Mr. Peale’s loyalty to fathers and husbands did nothing to alleviate Juliana’s growing concern. “Am I to understand that I may not withdraw the original two thousand pounds, but instead am entitled to the income of four percent per annum, or eighty pounds per year?”

  He interlaced his fingers atop his desk. “As your income has compounded from age twelve, the settlement is
presently worth,”—he examined the ledger in front of him—“three thousand three hundred thirty-one pounds.”

  “Each year?”

  “Yes.” He gave a clipped nod. “Each year.”

  The room had become stifling and somehow she shivered. “And how shall I receive said allowance?” she asked, willing the rising panic out of her voice.

  “However you so choose, Miss Crawford. I can prepare a bank draft for you today and next year you may write to me with instructions as to how I should arrange to forward you the funds. Or, you may withdraw the funds in smaller increments—monthly if you prefer.”

  “What if I am not in England next year?”

  Her question gave him pause and he considered her with squinting eyes, as though she’d said something incriminating. “I suppose it would depend upon how exotic you chose to be in your travels. You should have no difficulties receiving your allowance on the continent, Miss Crawford. Again, simply write to me with your location and we will make arrangements.”

  “Just write to you with my direction?”

  “Yes.” He made no effort to veil his exasperation with her repetitive questions.

  “Every year? In perpetuity?”

  “Yes,” he said impatiently.

  “And I may not simply withdraw the entire balance?”

  “No. You are fortunate to have family who thought to secure your future in this highly responsible manner.” He emphasized the word responsible as though to imply she should be grateful that the structure of the inheritance protected her from her own irresponsibility.

  She didn’t care. What did it matter whether this man thought she would be sensible? Of course she could not be sensible now. Everything was ruined.

  He rose from his desk and said, “We weren’t anticipating you, Miss Crawford, so I shall see that your bank draft is prepared, if you would please wait here.”

  He left her then, to consider her disappointment. She couldn’t take her settlement and run away, never to be seen again. In order to receive the money she intended to live on, she would have to provide her location, once per year, every year, to the solicitor who so clearly believed she should be allowing her father manage her affairs. She may as well send her father a postmarked letter once per year.