Lady Fugitive

by Shannah Biondine

  He insisted upon sending a carriage in the morning to take her back to London at company expense. He offered his condolences at whatever the cause for the family emergency and assured Rachel she'd be sorely missed. When he mentioned Chrissandra, Rachel's control gave way. She cried on his shoulder. Boyd said nothing about Morgan, and Rachel was grateful for that. She wasn't up to explaining their supposed betrothal had been a mistake.

  During two days of dusty traveling, Rachel neither ate nor slept. When she reached the London town house, Violet was tearful, badly shaken as she held out a letter from her sister-in-law. Jeremiah had fallen ill. Small symptoms, a general malaise and feeling of fatigue at first. It hadn't perturbed him. November's elections had made Abraham Lincoln the new U.S. President, inflaming the Southern states, for he was known to oppose slavery. The talk of civil unrest had escalated to the point that men like Jeremiah with Northern factories were warned to prepare to shift production to war materials. He'd been disturbed by rumors of conflict and frustrated at the lack of progress in clearing Richelle's name. When he grew weaker still, his doctors told him his condition was grave. He begged Violet to send his daughter home.

  "I'm stricken by this news," Violet sobbed. "But I'm also frightened for you, dear. You could be arrested as soon as you set foot on American soil."

  "I don't have a choice, do I? We can't ignore this. And the lie was becoming intolerable. I…" She started to tell her aunt that a man wanted to marry her, but changed her mind. She had to forget about Morgan and Crowshaven village. "You don't know how many times I was tempted to correct someone who called me by the false name."

  They talked until late into the night, agreeing Violet would call on Albert Soames at the bank the next day while Rachel went to the docks. She needed to reserve space on the first vessel out. When she arose the next day, the house was empty. She dressed quickly and headed down the stairs. Someone rang the front bell. Rachel fumbled with her shawl and threw the door open.

  Fierce gray eyes pinned hers, blazing in cold fury. His mustache was drawn down tightly over compressed lips that barely cracked apart as he spoke. "Boyd wired me where to find you."

  "Morgan! Good heavens, I had no idea you were here in London." Now her own face pulled into a frown. "Boyd wired you about my emergency? But—" Morgan pushed past her and glanced about the empty rooms.

  "Your aunt's not here?"

  "She's gone to see her banker about funds for my passage. Boyd told you I have to sail home?"

  Morgan gave a derisive snort. "When the banker hears what she intends, he'll tell your aunt to save her money."

  Rachel didn't know what that was supposed to mean, but she was in no shape for verbal fencing. She'd had little sleep over the past three days and was too distraught to think. "If I'd known you were here in London..." She flushed. "I planned to write you and explain."

  "Before or after you'd sailed out of my life?" His glower hadn't softened in the least. He stood in the middle of the salon, purposely ignoring her gesture toward the sofa.

  "If you came intent on punishing me, Morgan, God's well ahead of you."

  "I came to bring you to your damned senses, since you've obviously taken leave of them!" he snarled. "The situation is perilous in the Colonies. You can't sail there, Rachel. It's not sensible, with widespread civil unrest brewing."

  "My father's critically ill."

  "With all due respect, what can you do that his medical men cannot? You'll only put yourself in danger trying to reach him. You'll be of no use to anyone in a Southern war camp."

  "War camp? I know there's been talk, but—"

  "It's no longer talk. Your Southern states have announced secession. Armies are being outfitted on both sides. I can't let you undertake this act of folly. I'm taking you back to the village. You'll write your family that it's impossible for you to come."

  She clutched the back of a chair for support. Nothing he said made any sense. Her countrymen, good Americans, warring with one another? How could anyone have allowed the madness to go so far?

  "I don't understand. Americans intent on murdering each other…Boyd arranged the carriage that brought me here. Why didn't he tell me about this warfare in America?"

  "He knows how contrary you can be. He also understands the full implications of the American unrest, and wired me as soon as you left Crowshaven. I'd have done the same if it were Chrissandra."

  "My father is dying, Morgan! I won't simply go on as if I don't know or care! I'm his only child. My stepmother may need my help with...funeral arrangements or running Papa's business. My family needs me. Did you abandon your family when they needed you?"

  She took his long silence as tacit agreement. "I'm sorry things didn't work out between us, but I have to leave England. I was on my way out to reserve a cabin on the first available passenger ship."

  "Passenger ship!" he snorted. "You think there are lines of eager passengers vying for the chance to sail to a battleground? You'll be lucky to find space on a merchantman."

  Rachel gnawed at her lower lip. "You mean a trade vessel?"

  "I'll go to the bloody docks," he growled. "Can't send a woman to deal with the rats on London's waterfront. How much are you offering to pay?"

  "How much should it cost, do you think?"

  His scowl deepened. "Should is irrelevant. It will cost what the market will bear. If space is even available, the price will be steep."

  "Oh. I have no idea what would have been the usual fare. Father paid when I sailed here last year. I've saved most of my wages. Maybe my aunt can help."

  "You remember our talk about how all's connected? The situation overseas affects us here already. Cotton and tobacco shipments are already disrupted, other exports will soon be delayed. I can't believe you didn't realize this, Rachel."

  She looked crestfallen, but suddenly she brightened. "You're the Bargainer! The consummate man of trade with the silver eyes and tongue. Surely you can do something."

  "I couldn't get you to marry me." She blushed and stared at her feet. He waited until she met his gaze to speak again. "Few vessels will be making the crossing. Fewer yet with captains willing to risk passengers. You may have no choice but to remain here. I can't promise a miracle."

  "You know people in trade and commerce. You must have some useful connections. If you care for me, help me get home. For my father's sake."

  "How is it that females will so eagerly use a man's emotions against him?" He turned his back to her. "Bearing tenderness for you, I'm expected to aid you in the very thing that will exile you from my life. What do I gain by helping you? Nothing. I'm a man of trade, Rachel. I don't enter negotiations without seeing an opportunity to better my position. In this instance, I stand to lose what's most important. You can't even offer a high fee or special favor to a ship's master. You give me naught to bargain with."

  "I told you, I've got money back in America. I'll pay you; repay whatever passage costs plus something for your efforts."

  "I'm expected to endure months of waiting to see if you keep your word on that? You claim to always repay your debts, but a wise man of trade doesn't take promises from someone he's never dealt with before."

  She swallowed hard. He knew they were alone in the house. "We could go upstairs to my bedchamber." She turned beet red as he pierced her with a meaningful look. She stammered out the rest. "I can give you some money now, the rest when I get home."

  His harsh laughter stung. "Once again, predictable. A woman with nothing else to offer comes to her own flesh sooner or later. Tempting, but that would provide me temporary solace at best. And should the experience be as...intense as I believe it might be, I would regret all the more my role in helping you leave England."

  "Morgan, I need help! Why won't you be a gentleman about this?"

  "Gentlemen are usually men of leisure with more social manners than common sense. I'm not of that ilk. Nonetheless, I'll arrange your passage—on one condition. You must agree to obey my decisions regarding your pe
rsonal safety. You challenge me at every opportunity, Colonial. Not this time. Agree to obey my instructions and not quarrel about whatever arrangements I'm able to make, or I'll leave you to solve your own dilemma."

  "I think you're purposely trying to frighten me so I'll stay here."

  "Liar, am I?" He strode quickly to the door. "Why not take a look at the London paper?" He retrieved it from the stoop and showed her front-page stories about the unrest in America. "You can go to the docks, but have you my experience in dealing with merchants and traders? Will you know a trustworthy captain by his outward appearance? It's only your life you risk, Rachel."

  She recalled the hours Morgan spent reading, his visits to the pub and the inn when he talked with farmers and tradesmen, thought about his knowledge of world-wide events and business. Finally she spoke. "I accept your terms. Arrange passage however you can and I'll repay you when I get home. I promise, Morgan. I'll trust your judgment as to what's best."

  "Indeed? You didn't about marrying me. You meant to leave without so much as a backward glance."

  "That's unfair and you know it. This couldn't be helped."

  "Almost conveniently."

  Her dark eyes flashed. "Are you suggesting I fabricated this story about my father? Why would I? I didn't need your permission to leave Crowshaven, Morgan. I might have gone back home any time I pleased."

  "True, and who am I to argue? Only your employer, your landlord, and the man who asked you to be his wife! You say I think of naught but myself and my own interests. When did you consider me in this?"

  "I wasn't running away from you, Morgan," Rachel ground out. In another minute she would spill everything, just to see the horror in his eyes and shut him up.

  "Perhaps not, but that hardly changes the outcome, does it? Stay here. I'll be back as soon as I can."

  It was dusk when he returned. Violet retreated upstairs to her bedchamber, leaving the two young people alone.

  "I bartered for a small cabin on a cargo vessel," Morgan announced. "The captain wasn't pleased at the prospect of a woman aboard, but my promise she'd be in weeds allayed his fears somewhat. I didn't mention those same garments proved quite enticing to me."

  She was really going home! It was difficult to speak around the painful lump in her throat. "Thank you. I'll never forget your help today."

  "I've been thinking, Rachel. I may travel to the States on business myself in future. I could call on you there."

  "Your life is here in England. You can't court someone across the Atlantic. And America's immense, teeming with people. The chances for a rendezvous are slim at best. I'm sorry, but it's best this…whatever our relationship has become…be over."

  "So there's no point in asking you to come back once your family crisis is resolved?"

  "I have no idea when that might be. There's...it's complicated. I can't promise anything beyond repayment for my passage. Please tell me how much I owe you."

  "Damn it, Rachel, I don't want money from you! I—" He stopped until she met his eyes. "I wanted a life with you. I brought you something." He pushed a small box into her hands.

  "No, please take it back," she whispered. "I can't accept a gift under these circumstances."

  His fingers closed around hers. "It's just a modest token, love. To remind you of our time together. Unless you're feverishly anxious to forget me."

  A teardrop coursed down one cheek, but Rachel fought to ignore it and how her heart was wrenching in her chest. "Lord in heaven, I don't want to forget you. But I can't take anything beyond the help you've given me. That's a precious gift in itself, knowing how you feel."

  "You don't wholeheartedly share those feelings, though," he stated as he accepted the box she pushed back at him. "Or perhaps you've take Somersdale's word over mine about fidelity."

  "It doesn't matter now."

  "It does to me. I offered you a future, my name—things I've never offered another woman. Wily females clawed to get what I would freely give to you. Perhaps you enjoy trampling on my spirit."

  "That's simply not true." Rachel stared into his eyes, willing him to read what she didn't dare say. "I never set out to hurt you or let things develop as they have. Neither of us planned for this. It just happened...to the wrong people at the wrong time."

  He headed to the door. "Aye. Go home, Colonial. Remember our bargain. No complaints about your tiny cabin, or you'll be left at the docks. Good luck with your father." He paused before gripping the doorknob. "May the next man to kiss you drive some warmth into your icy little heart."

  She knew his pride was nettled, knew he'd said those words purposely to lash out because she'd hurt him. She shouldn't listen, it was only wounded pride talking. Yet she found her temper rising.

  "Thank you. And may I be the last woman to ever kiss you. I'll write from Philadelphia, and I expect you to name a sum. I'm determined to repay you for my passage. I'll never forget you, but neither will I spend the rest of my life beholden to you."

  He gave a sarcastic laugh. "You don't write to men, remember? You insisted you'd never written a man in your life."

  Her fate was too much near the surface of her thoughts. "I've never had my hair turn gray, bounced a baby on my knee, or been arrested, either. Doesn't mean I never will."

  Chapter 11

  Rachel sat on the bunk glancing about the ship's cabin. The entire space wasn't much more than a bunk and a table with room to walk in between. She guessed the cabin's former occupant must have been a large man. The bunk was fairly wide.

  The captain introduced himself as Haversham. He pointed out the extra barrels of fresh water, small coal stove with its metal stack jutting through the ceiling, and bed curtains that had been hung up across the bunk. A tin bathtub was stowed beneath the bunk. An iron bolt had been installed on the inside of the cabin's door. All at Morgan's request. She was more than mildly surprised. Morgan had been very specific about creature comforts. The captain cleared his throat. "Was told you'd be wearin' black. Even after we weigh anchor?"

  "Yes. I'd just come out of mourning for my late husband when I learned my father's gravely ill. That's why I have to get home. Sometimes it seems I'll be wearing black for the rest of my life. How long to reach New York?"

  "Month or so, dependin' on weather." Two deckhands delivered her trunk. The captain watched as they set down the luggage and stared at the cabin's new occupant. "Wasn't fond of the notion of a lady aboard, but your man's—"

  "Very persuasive," Rachel supplied. "I know. I appreciate this, Captain. What did Mr. Tremayne pay for my passage?"

  "Agreed not to discuss that. We'll be out 'fore tide changes." With that gruff response, Haversham left her to her musings.

  An uncertain future loomed ahead once more, just as it had when she'd boarded the covered wagon to head down the Oregon trail. This time it was more daunting than she'd let herself admit. She could be going home to help nurse Jeremiah back to a semblance of health. She could be returning for his funeral. She might end up facing a trial and prison. But she refused to contemplate that possibility. If she did, she might end up jumping overboard.

  A tattered blanket and thin coverlet had been provided on the bunk. She pulled out her quilt and smoothed it atop the covers. That small gesture made her feel better. The colorful quilt lent a bright cheer to the otherwise depressingly dingy cabin.

  "It makes the room," announced a deep voice from the doorway. Her heart leaped into her throat.

  "Morgan!"

  She threw herself into his arms. "I thought you'd left for Crowshaven by now. I'm so glad you came to see me off. I find I'm rather nervous about this crossing."

  "Are you, Colonial?"

  "Maybe it was those tales you painted or the captain's manner. He's not exactly sociable." Morgan gently unwrapped her arms from his neck and began checking the cabin.

  "He's a man of his word, which is more important. He's had the place cleaned up nicely."

  "He wouldn't tell me what passage cost. You must have trad
ed something of value, but he refused to discuss it." Morgan nodded and continued poking around. "How dare you swear him to silence?" she demanded.

  "How quickly the lady forgets her promises," he chided. "You agreed not to bicker about the arrangements. You gave your word that as long as I saw to your safety and welfare, you'd trust my judgment. Is there something I've overlooked?"

  "No, in fact, it seems you thought of everything. It's not fancy, but my needs are simple."

  "Then the cost is unimportant." He sounded exactly like the impossible employer who'd made her so crazy at the holding company office. Suddenly she realized how much she'd come to depend upon his terse manner and unyielding strength.

  "Oh, but I'm going to miss you! Please say good-bye to Chrissy and Boyd for me. And the Pooles, though I suppose Emily will be glad to have me gone."

  Morgan wrapped strong arms around her. His lips molded to hers in a long and tender kiss. Rachel couldn't breathe, but wouldn't stop kissing him back and clinging tightly to him. She never wanted to leave his arms. She'd only felt this overpowering misery at one other parting—when she'd left Philadelphia and her father to cross the country with Cletus. Now it was time to say farewell again, and it was worse this time. For Morgan was part of Rachel's life—a fictional life Richelle now had to leave behind.

  A hacking cough came from behind them. Grimy knuckles rapped against the open cabin door. Morgan held Rachel protectively against his chest and nodded over the top of her head to the seaman. "This will do. Put my things over there."

  Rachel stiffened. "Your things?"

  "I'm sailing with you."

  "Oh no, you're not. I never agreed to that!"

  Morgan laid a finger to his lips, silencing her until he'd closed the cabin door after the tar. "For once you'll hear me out before you start carping. When I came here to the docks, I learned the Southern Confederacy has hired privateers."