An Affair with a Spare

by Shana Galen

  Obediently, Collette sat in front of the food. She considered lifting the teacup to her lips, but her hand refused to make the effort.

  “Are you still wanting to sail to Pennsylvania?”

  She looked at her father, but he was looking back at her. Collette nodded.

  “The ship sails this evening. I’ll escort you both on board and see you settled in a few hours. Is there anything else you need before you depart? Anything you want for the voyage?”

  Collette shook her head.

  “Come now,” Gaines said, his voice soft. “A book? Some material to embroider? It’s a long voyage. You’ll want something to keep you occupied.”

  She looked up at him. “You’ve already done so much, Mr. Gaines.”

  “We cannot ever repay you,” her father said, his voice hoarse.

  “I want no payment, sir.”

  “Where is Beaumont?” her father asked. “I want to thank him.”

  Collette looked down, avoiding Gaines’s gaze.

  “What’s wrong?” her father asked. “Did he betray us?”

  “No!” Collette said quickly. She hoped he had not. “But he’s gone.”

  “I see.”

  “It’s for the best,” she assured him.

  Gaines snorted. Her gaze shot to his, and she was surprised to see anger in his face. “For the best? Do you want to know what I think?” he asked. “No, you probably don’t, but I’ll tell you anyway. I think Beaumont was a complete idiot. He was a fool to leave you.”

  “You don’t know me. You don’t know my father, Mr. Gaines. Rafe had his reasons.”

  “I know everything I need to know, and I realize you have your reasons for leaving England. But if you change your mind or ever come back, you can count me as a friend.”

  She smiled at him, her mouth cracking like dry ground in the midst of a drought. “You have been very kind.”

  He muttered something, which sounded something like Not kind enough. “Eat something, Miss Fortier, and rest. I’ll return in a few hours to collect you. If you think of anything you need in the meantime, send for me.”

  “Now I know why you look like you did when Marie died,” her father said.

  Marie had been their cat. She’d been a sweet, old cat, who had lived a long life and died in her sleep. Still, Collette had been inconsolable for days. “I’m fine.”

  “You love him.”

  She rose. “I’ll get over it.”

  Her father set the broth on the table. “Come here.” He opened his arms wide. Collette hesitated, then rushed to her father, burying her head in his chest and wishing it were enough.

  Twenty

  Dawn was valiantly fighting through the fog of London when Rafe emerged from the reading room and into the adjacent parlor, where the heavy draperies had been pulled back. Standing in a loose circle, Jasper, Ewan, and Neil waited for him. He stopped. “This is quite the collection of rogues.”

  Jasper crossed his arms over his chest. “I think the word you’re looking for is ‘heroes.’”

  “Ah. An easy mistake.”

  “Draven says you’re leaving,” Neil said.

  “Draven is wrong.”

  “That would be a first.” Neil looked at the others. Ewan scowled as though Rafe had just personally insulted him.

  “You won’t be rid of me so easily. I plan to go home, sleep for a few hours, and I’ll return tonight to best all of you at billiards.”

  “Not likely,” Jasper said.

  Neil raised a brow. “We thought you might go chasing after that woman. Fortier’s daughter.”

  Rafe straightened his shoulders. “I don’t chase after women.”

  “You run from them,” Ewan said, his words slow and deliberate.

  Rafe rounded on him. He would have punched the man for the insult, except that doing so would have probably hurt Rafe’s fist more than any part of Ewan’s anatomy. The man was built like an ox. “I don’t run from anything,” Rafe said quietly.

  “Then why haven’t you found a woman and settled down?” Neil asked.

  Rafe rolled his eyes. “Just because you and Ewan have married doesn’t mean you have to drag the rest of us down with you.”

  “You didn’t look dragged down when I saw you with her,” Jasper observed.

  “Stubble it.”

  “What are you afraid of?” Ewan asked.

  “Besides your ham-sized fist rearranging my perfect face, Mostyn, nothing. I don’t understand why you seem to think I should go after the woman. She’s the daughter of a French assassin. I seem to remember we even had orders to terminate him at one point.”

  Jasper made a face. “That bastard.”

  Undoubtedly, Jasper was remembering his failure to track Fortier. Rafe imagined Jasper could count on one hand the number of men who’d eluded him and still have fingers left over.

  “The war is over,” Neil said. “How many times have you told me that? Go live your life, Rafe.”

  “I will.” He strode past them to the door. “I’ll see you at the billiards table in a few hours.”

  “Just in case, Rafe, you’d better put your dancing shoes on,” Neil called after him, referring to their oft used farewell. He wasn’t certain how it had started, something about dancing with the devil.

  Rafe clenched his teeth as he stomped down the stairs and into the vestibule. Porter moved to open the door, and Rafe paused. “I apologize for my behavior earlier, Porter. I…wasn’t myself.”

  “Think nothing of it, sir,” Porter said with the same warmth he’d always had when he spoke to Rafe. “We all have bad days.”

  Rafe put on his hat and walked out the door. Once outside, he began to stroll. Was Porter correct? Was all of this simply a bad day? Would he wake tomorrow and find his chest didn’t feel so tight, didn’t feel as though a hand squeezed his heart? Rafe didn’t think love worked that way. Infatuation, yes. But he knew Draven was right. He was in love with Collette Fortier.

  He could ignore it and let her go. He could prove himself the coward his friends seemed to think he was. Or he could put on his dancing shoes and confront the devil that had been taunting him all these years. Rafe paused and looked about. He’d strolled into Mayfair and was not far from his father’s house. Perhaps it was time he and the devil danced.

  * * *

  Gaines led her aboard the Egret, and Collette could not help but look over her shoulder. The day was still young, but the captain was eager to be on his way. Collette was happy to board. Her father was being comfortably settled below. They had troubled Mr. Gaines enough. Once on the deck of the ship, Collette looked over the rail to the Wapping quay and warehouses. It was not a particularly pretty sight. She imagined she would see far lovelier views on the trip down the Thames and into the open ocean. But this was the last place she had seen Rafe. This was a place she did not want to forget.

  She would never see England again. She couldn’t risk coming back. She had no reason to ever come back. That was a blessing, even though it meant she would always be missing a piece of her heart. She had her father, and she would work hard to make sure he was not left with a shell of his daughter. In time, she would heal from this loss.

  The captain approached, introduced himself as Mr. Booker, then led Collette and Gaines belowdecks, where they made certain Fortier was well-situated. When she was satisfied, Booker showed her to a small cabin with a berth and a porthole. Collette could practically touch either side of the cabin with her fingers when she stretched her arms wide, but she and her father had private places all to themselves, and she knew she owed that luxury to Mr. Gaines.

  When the captain took his leave to oversee the rest of the preparations, Gaines held out a hand. “It was a pleasure, Miss Fortier.”

  Collette shook his hand, then held on for a moment longer. “Thank you again, Mr. Gaines. For
everything.”

  “I hope you find happiness, miss,” he said.

  She gave him a sad smile and squeezed his hand. When he was gone, she stowed her belongings and tried out the berth. It was not nearly as uncomfortable as it looked. Above her, she could hear the sailors calling out, checking the ropes and the sails and rigging. She couldn’t help but feel a little excited at the future that awaited her. She found her way back to the deck and asked where she might stand so that she would be out of the way. A sailor showed her to a little corner, and she stood on the deck and watched as cranes moved the last of the cargo aboard, the gangplank was pulled away, and the smaller tugboats pulled the larger ship into the currents of the Thames.

  People stood on the dock and waved goodbye. Collette waved to them, even though she knew they weren’t there to see her off. But she scanned the small crowd one last time, then turned away, berating herself for her stupidity.

  He was not coming.

  And with that thought, she gazed out on the bow and looked ahead.

  * * *

  The Haddington butler opened the door. Abbot was a relatively young man, forty at most. He had a thick head of sandy-blond hair, ruthlessly combed into submission, and skeptical blue eyes. “Good morning, sir. We weren’t expecting you.”

  “I’m aware of that. Is my father at home?”

  “I’m afraid he is not, sir. He left early this morning—”

  “I thought I heard your voice!” Rafe’s stepmother, Lady Haddington, stepped out from the dining room, dabbing her lips with a napkin. “It is so good to see you, Rafe. Please, join me for breakfast.”

  Rafe kissed his stepmother on both cheeks. “I’m not hungry, Horatia. Thank you.”

  “Oh, but you can’t leave. I’m here all by myself. You must join me.”

  Rafe didn’t particularly want to join her, but perhaps his father would return shortly. Then he might get the answers he wanted.

  He followed his stepmother into the dining room and took the cup of tea offered by the footman. His stepmother smiled at him over her own cup of tea. She was a pretty woman, petite and delicate, with wispy blond hair and green eyes. She looked nothing like the rest of the family, most of Rafe’s siblings having coloring like his own. “How have you been, dear? I haven’t seen you in ages.”

  “Good. Will my father be home soon?”

  “I doubt it. He left early to ride out to one of the estates in Hampshire. Depending on how long it takes to deal with the issues there, he may not return until tomorrow. How is that young lady I read about? Miss Fournay, I believe is her name?”

  By tomorrow, Collette would be well on her way to America. Not that anything his father said would make any difference. She would sail to the New World, and Rafe would stay here. In his Old World.

  “Rafe?” his stepmother said.

  “I’m sorry. Oh, you asked about Miss Fournay.”

  “Yes. I had heard the two of you were often seen together. Is she someone special? I would like to meet her.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible, Horatia. Miss Fournay is leaving England.”

  “Oh, I see.” She sighed, her green eyes looking troubled.

  Rafe began to rise, to excuse himself, then he paused. “Horatia, may I ask you a question?”

  “Of course, dear.” She set her teacup down and smiled at him eagerly.

  “Why are you so keen to see me married? All of my brothers and sisters are married and there are heirs aplenty. You never played matchmaker with any of my siblings, and I’ve never expressed any interest in matrimony. I’m quite content to remain a bachelor.”

  She blinked at him in surprise. “Oh, but that would be such a waste, dear. You would make such a wonderful husband.”

  Rafe raised a brow. “You do know my reputation?”

  She waved a hand, dismissing the point. “And you would be an excellent father.”

  “I am an excellent uncle.”

  “You are.” She sipped her tea again, her face clouding. When she looked up again, her expression was serious. “I know I am not your mother, Rafe. I never tried to take her place.”

  “But you have always been a very good mother to us.” This was true. She was kind and caring. Some of his sisters had even taken to calling Horatia Mama.

  “Thank you. But I want to say something and I fear I’ll step out of place in saying it.”

  Rafe swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat. “Go on.”

  “I suppose another reason I took such an interest in you marrying is because of what happened with your mother.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.” But he did. He knew exactly what she meant, and his skin turned to ice at her words.

  “You were the one who was home when she left. You were the one she left alone, and you were the youngest. I imagine her leaving was hardest on you. When I married your father, you were barely eight and just the most charming and handsome little man. But it often seemed to me that you had been forgotten, and that perhaps you bore the brunt of your mother’s leaving on your shoulders. Did you ever feel that way? That her leaving was your fault?”

  Rafe knew he should scoff and say no. He should make a witty remark to the effect that he couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to leave him. But he couldn’t seem to manage to do anything but nod his head.

  His stepmother’s face crumpled and she rose and moved to sit beside him. Rafe couldn’t understand why he didn’t move, why he’d allowed her to come to him, to put her hand on his arm, to embrace him. “Dear, dear boy, listen to me, and listen well. I did not know your mother, but I know you. Whatever your mother’s reasons for leaving, they had nothing to do with you.”

  Rafe shook his head. “She didn’t want me.” His voice was low and hoarse. “She didn’t want another child.”

  “Then that is her loss. I wanted children and was never blessed with any of my own, and you and your brothers and sisters were nothing but a joy every day of your lives. Well, Cyril was not always a joy. He was something of a terror for several years. And Helen had a penchant for dipping her toes into scandal. But you, you always made us smile. Your father and I used to smile over all the darling things you said as a child. But we always suspected you hid much of the pain you felt from your mother’s leaving.”

  Rafe looked away, not wanting her to see the truth of those words in his face.

  “I don’t know why your mother left. It’s my opinion she was ill even before she left. Perhaps that had something to do with it, but you cannot let your mother be the model for all women. Not all women leave. Look at me. I would never leave your father. I love him, the aggravating man!”

  Rafe felt a ghost of a smile tease his lips.

  “And I certainly hope you won’t spend the rest of your life leaving every woman you have feelings for just so she can’t ever leave you.”

  Now Rafe did look at her. He’d never been close with his stepmother. He’d never been emotionally close to anyone except for a few of his brothers from Draven’s troop. Now he wished he could change that. He wished he had spent more time with his stepmother, confided in her more. She had much more to give than he’d realized.

  But all of that would have to wait because the Egret, bound for America, would not. Abruptly, he rose.

  “Have I said something wrong, dear?” his stepmother asked, rising as well.

  “No. You’ve said everything right. I love her.”

  “Love whom? The Frenchwoman?”

  “Yes, and I have to go to America.”

  His stepmother’s eyes widened. “But I thought I told you not to run away.”

  He waved a hand and strolled for the door. “No. She is bound for America. I have to catch her. I have to go with her.”

  His stepmother followed him into the vestibule. “But you can’t go to America! You haven’t even taken leave of
your father.”

  “Do it for me, will you?” He took his coat and hat from Abbott. “And don’t worry. I’ll be back.” He took a last look at the town house. “One day.” Then to his surprise, he grabbed his stepmother and hugged her tightly. She squealed with astonishment and, if he wasn’t mistaken, pleasure. “Goodbye, Mother,” he said, then released her and ran for the street.

  He hailed the first hackney he saw and climbed into the cab.

  “Where to, gov’?” the jarvey asked, his tone bored.

  “Wapping,” Rafe said, head out the window.

  The jarvey turned around. “Say again?”

  “Wapping.”

  The jarvey shook his head. “I ain’t licensed for Wapping. I stay in the city and—”

  “I’ll pay you five pounds.”

  The man’s eyes widened. “Five pounds!”

  “Six if you hurry.”

  “Six quid?” His eyes narrowed. “Let me see the blunt.”

  Rafe blew out a breath. It was almost noon. He could not afford to waste any more time going to the bank or finding another jarvey. “I don’t have it with me.”

  The jarvey shook his head emphatically.

  “But I’ll write you an IOU, and my father will honor it.” God knew he wouldn’t be paying Rafe’s allowance if he made it to America.

  “And who’s yer father?”

  Rafe pointed to the earl’s town house. “The Earl of Haddington. That is his residence.”

  The jarvey considered the town house, then looked back at Rafe.

  Rafe clenched his fists in an effort to remain calm. “Look, what’s your name?”

  “Joshua Clarkit.”

  “Mr. Clarkit, I am in a dreadful hurry. I must reach Wapping before the ship carrying the woman I love sails for America. If we do not leave now, I may never see her again.”

  “And I may never see that six quid.”

  “I will give you my vowels right now. Do you have a slip of paper?”

  The jarvey scowled. “You think I’m a printer or something?”

  Panic at the delay making his heart pound, Rafe jumped out of the cab, ran for the nearest building covered with pamphlets, and tore one down. Then he searched the ground until he found a small piece of coal that had fallen from the cart of one of the deliverymen. He turned the pamphlet over and scrawled: