FeverFantasy

“My mother?” Rafe exploded. What else would this day bring? Her father dead. An arranged marriage. Now this—Abbey was her mother?

“Do you despise me?”

Rafe stared. She opened her mouth several times but nothing came out. Finally she managed, “Why would I despise you?”

“For not telling you long ago.” For not having married the Duke. For not having courage to stand up for herself and her daughter. For so many things Abbey had worried about during long sleepless nights.

Rafe sat still for a long moment, trying to wrap her thoughts around this new twist, “I suppose I’m mostly grateful. I lost a father but gained a mother today. As wise as you’ve always been, I’m sure there are reasons you didn’t tell me.” Though as she said it, her eyes cried silently, Why didn’t you tell me? “So, that was intimate liaison in your letter?”

“Yes.”

“Will you tell me about it?”

“In brief,” Abbey said softly, her eyes dark with old pain. “And perhaps then you’ll understand why I felt I couldn’t tell you. I always hoped that once you were older, I would be able to. But while I couldn’t, at least I could have you near me at Scared Heart. To watch you grow, to see my cherished daughter become a woman. You have no idea how much it meant to me the day your father brought you to my school. It was everything I could do not to wrap you in my arms and cry. To betray the truth. But I asked the Duke never to reveal the truth, and he honored my request--”

“You did hug me. You hugged me so tightly I thought my ribs would give.”

“It was only half the hug I wanted to give you. So full of life, so quick-witted, you were! I was so proud of you.” Abbey added with mock dismay, “Until I found out what an impetuous hellion you were.”

“Must have gotten it from somewhere, hmm?”

“Your father, I’m certain.” Abbey smiled faintly.

The two women fell silent for a moment, both recalling memories of the man they’d so recently learned they’d lost. It was Rafe who finally broke the silence by asking, “Please tell me about it. Tell me everything. Did you love him?”

“Love him? I was head over heels. Hopelessly, utterly. I would have followed him to the ends of the earth. I adored your father, Rafe. Like nothing I’ve felt before or since. He was the only one for me. You were conceived of that love.”

“Was this before my mother or after?” Rafe asked, perplexed, then frowned. “I mean, before his wife, who wasn’t my mother, but I thought was my mother. Wait a minute, how old am I really?” she asked, suddenly completely confused.

“You really are eighteen. We didn’t lie about when you were born. But what you asked is just what the problem was. It was during your mother, who wasn’t your mother.”

Rafe gasped. “I see.”

“No, Rafe, you don’t. I am not a woman who would take another woman’s man. I am not, nor was I ever a woman who thought she’d have an affaire de coeur.” Abbey shook her head ruefully. “But it seemed I had no logic, no scruples, no ability to say no where your father was concerned. Nor did he. He wasn’t looking for a mistress and I wasn’t looking for a married man. But it happened. Sometimes I think that if the timing had been slightly altered, if I had met him before he married, how very different it might have been.”

“Was his an arranged marriage?” Rafe asked curiously. Her father had never spoken much of her mother, only telling her she had died shortly after Rafe’s birth. He had always been careful to make sure Rafe knew it was not the birth that had killed her mother, but now that she thought about it, he’d never really said what had.

“Yes. Scant months before he and I met. She was a Squire’s daughter, and the marriage was a pledge between fathers. Your father, ever an honorable man, felt compelled to honor it. But there was no love between the two. They were forever at odds. She was twenty when he married her, and they were as different as oil and water. She much preferred a more beautified man, much like the dandies of present day. He was too masculine, too much larger-than-life for her, and she? Well, she was too pretentious, too full of affectation for him. While he loved adventure, traveling, plunging into life headfirst, she loved tea-times and naps, decorating and painting. There might have been a chance, perhaps he could have livened her up a bit, but she suffered from all manner of ailments from headache to nausea. She either was not a strong person, or she didn’t wish to be.” Abbey sighed. “I have thought much about her, you see. For I have always felt guilty. Always.” At that she slipped into a silence. Rafe studied her, allowing the silence, her heart filled with compassion for the woman she could now call her mother. To love like that and never get to be together!

Finally Abbey stirred herself from her melancholia. “He was a dream to me, Rafe. The night that I met him, I knew him. The moment I laid eyes on him I knew that I’d been waiting for him my whole life. I know you can’t possibly know what I mean, but I hope one day you feel it.”

Oh yes I do, Rafe thought, but wisely kept her silence. Abbey didn’t need anything else to worry about.

“When I became enceinte, he attempted to obtain an annulment on legal grounds. His young marriage had never been consummated. But she fought the annulment tooth and nail. Although it was a marriage in name only, she very much liked the name. He tried to persuade her, finally telling her he was in love with someone else. He offered her everything. Wealth, a life of luxury and ease, far more than a husband ever need by law offer a wife. He could have simply divorced her, he didn’t need her consent, but he wanted to see things done well. He didn’t wish to harm her. He even offered to let the public think he was the scoundrel. But it seemed that telling her he was in love with someone else just inflamed her rage. She vowed that no woman would have him so long as she lived.” Abbey’s face clouded over, dark and brooding, shadowing her features with an old, deep pain. She dropped her head for a moment, and Rafe thought she saw a tear fall silently to her lap, but then Abbey raised her head quickly, brushing at her eyes.
When she spoke it was in a rush, as if she had to say the words quickly if she was to say them at all. “Your father and I had five blissful months together. Then the pregnancy, and of course the terrible rows between him and her. She rode out late one night after one of their fights, and had a fall. She had never been much of a rider. She didn’t recover from the accident.” Abbey sat silently when she was done, her eyes wide, waiting for the accusation.

“Oh Abbey!” Rafe exclaimed. “She died?” Abbey nodded silently. Rafe shook her head, perplexed, “But then, he was free to wed you wasn’t he?”

Abbey shook her head at Rafe’s innocence. No accusation had come.

“The ton whispered she’d been murdered,” Abbey said finally.

“Preposterous!” Rafe exclaimed. “Anyone who said that couldn’t possibly have known either you or my father!”

Abbey smiled wanly, “Thank you,” she said softly. “But now you must realize how impossible it was to marry him. Too many whispered that the Duke or I had had something to do with the “accident.”

“No!”

“The ton has always been the ton, a school for scandal. My parents whisked me away to Germany, I had you, and they wanted me to give you up. They insisted actually. Under extreme duress, I was persuaded to agree, but with one stipulation; I would only give her to her father. My parents accepted this. So he took you and I went to Sacred Heart. I was quite cruel at the time. Rafe, I was so very young! I sent your father away, refused to consider him. I refused any contact at all. I was so lost.”

“But you sent for me,” Rafe whispered, as Abbey’s eyes grew far off and dreamy.

Abbey shook herself back to the present. “I sent for you,” she nodded. “And I have treasured every minute of you. And I have letters from your father that you might wish to read someday. He never hesitated for a moment when I wrote to him requesting he send you to Scared Heart. But so like your father, he immediately arrived with you in tow. He was ever gracious, ever tactful, and still in love with me. I sent him away again.”

“Why?”

Abbey met Rafe’s gaze levelly, hoping Rafe might learn a lesson without having to live it. “Guilt. The monster that sinks its teeth into you and never lets go. Guilt is truly a wasted emotion, Rafe. Your father told me that himself in his last letter. I know now that I didn’t cause her death, but still a nagging part of me blames myself. For being so happy when she was sad. For living when she died. For having your father’s love, when he never did. For having taken what I wanted, and paid the price. A price I continued to pay for years. It was easier to let myself suffer than to believe that I was allowed, perhaps even deserved, to be happy.” Abbey paused a moment, then drove the point home, “Once an action is done, it is done. If you can do something to make it better, then do it. If you cannot, then let it be. Walk away. Learn from it while you’re walking away, but for God’s sake, Rafe, guilt is a self-indulgent and wholly selfish emotion. It is an escape from accepting responsibility for your actions and getting on with your life. You must not wallow in that escape. Forgiveness is a thing we readily give others, but rarely allow ourselves. By punishing myself I didn’t make a thing better. I couldn’t undo a thing that had been done, but I wouldn’t allow myself to do anything but re-live it. Over and over. We all make mistakes. The truly courageous are those who accept their mistakes and go on. For my guilt, I missed years of knowing you, and completely lost out on your father. The ton stopped talking within months, such a short memory, easily distracted by the next scandal. And there are plenty in London. Years wasted,” Abbey finished.

Rafe was silent a long while. All that Abbey had said made sense. It also applied to her and Trina. She couldn’t undo what had been done, but she could do everything in her power to make it better. Yet Abbey had finally found a way to forgive herself, and the Duke was dead.

“I’m so sorry, Abbey,” Rafe said softly, her heart going out to this woman she had always thought of as her mother, and now knew truly was. “Mother,” she said, trying the name out. “I can call you that easily it seems. May I?” Rafe’s tears finally came. She’d lost a father, gained a mother, and been betrothed to a stranger all in the same day. The first two, she could accept, but after hearing Abbey’s story, she too believed her father would never, under any circumstances, have arranged a marriage for her.

“It would be more than I ever hoped for,” Abbey whispered, her eyes shining with tears. “We will mourn him together, but come tomorrow, we push aside all thoughts of tragedy. The highest priority is getting to the bottom of this Bryce thing. So cry with me tonight for a man we both loved, but come morning, no more tears. I will not allow my daughter to marry that man. You will not be made to suffer, I will see to that. We will find Trina, we will get out of this betrothal, and we will allow ourselves to be happy. Agreed?”

Rafe nodded, as she flung her arms around Abbey. “Agreed,” she said.

_____

The next week sped by in a flurry of activity. Abbey was determined that Rafe not grieve, so she kept her busy all the time. The hiring of the household staff she gave into Rafe’s hands, with Mr. Culver’s oversight. They spent the mornings interviewing, the afternoons selecting drapes, rugs, and other furniture, and the late afternoons with dressmaker who’d been hired to bring their trade into to the residence. Late evenings were spent pouring over the documents with Mr. Culver and is associates, and it was an exhausted Rafe who met the pillow every night. Too exhausted to grieve.

While she had loved her father, not seeing him in six years made it easier to accept his absence than it otherwise might have been. Rafe allowed herself the comfort of pretending he was still away in the Indies. The real grief, she decided, she would face sometime in the future. When she had the time to grieve.

For now, her concerns were dual; find Trina, and escape the betrothal. Once those two things were accomplished she would consider life, allow herself to deal with emotions.

As the days slipped by, one after another, Mr. Culver prepared his case. On the day appointed for Mr. Bryce’s visit, there were five people awaiting him. Five very determined people.

“Mr. Bryce,” Mr. Culver said, rising to take his hand. “I am Thomas Culver, barrister, and advisor to the Regent. My services have been retained by Lady Bennington.”

“I see,” Terrence Bryce replied levelly. “I assume they have some concerns about the documents. Surely there is no question of their legitimacy?”

Thomas Culver studied the young man a moment, “They do seem to be in order. I have verified the Duke’s signature with his solicitors. I have also verified that the solicitors who drew up this document do indeed practice law in the Indies. Or at least they did in the past year,” he added. “Additionally, his seal was verified. Unfortunately, any further verification done on the island itself will not be complete for possibly ten months.”
“What kind of verification on the island?” Mr. Bryce said.

“I’ve sent men to Tobago to talk with the solicitors who composed this will, to verify the accident, and of course to verify your presence there and your friendship with the Duke.”

“Of course,” Mr. Bryce said. “I assure you, it’s all quite unnecessary, but I understand your concern.”

“Then, pray understand when I advise you that until these facts are verified, Lady Bennington will be unable to accept these documents.”

“I understand no such thing. The documents were reviewed by the Duke’s own solicitors. Engleston, himself, gave his stamp of approval. All matters are in order, and I will not be subjected to the absurdity of a thinly disguised witch hunt. It was my friend’s express wish that I carry out his requests, and I will do so immediately. If, when your men return, there are any problems, we will satisfy them then. But I will wed the Lady Bennington now. It was his wish, and I intend to see to her welfare.”

Mr. Culver retained his impassive expression, only Abbey noticed his hands tightening on the chair below the table. Both she and Mr. Culver had anticipated Mr. Bryce’s reaction. There was yet one more card to play.

“Mr. Bryce,” Mr. Culver said, “I understand your concern for the Lady’s welfare. It is the least we would expect, therefore I have hired two personages,” he waved his hand, and the two remaining occupants of the room stepped forward from the rear of the room where they had been silently waiting. “Mr. Bryce, this is Kyle and Burke Loge, you may have heard of them. They have guarded some of England’s most prized and wealthy debutantes. You may rest assured that Lady Bennington will be well protected in the interim.”

“There will be no interim,” Mr. Bryce countered. “The will specified that she wed with all due haste. We will wed after the third bans have been posted, which gives you, Lady Bennington,” he turned his gaze toward her, “precisely three and one half weeks time.”

“No, Mr. Bryce. I’m afraid that will not be happening,” Mr. Culver parried. “It was the phrase “all due haste” which needed clarification. I petitioned the Regent on this issue, and he provided a written clarification, accommodating the peculiar and extenuating circumstances of this particular situation.” Mr. Culver slid a document across the table. “As you can see, the Lady Bennington is in mourning,” he gestured at Rafe, clad from head to toe in black bombazine, the material of deepest mourning noted for its ebon dullness. “In his writ, the Regent has ascribed to the position that accepting your betrothal while in mourning would be inappropriate. He has granted a formal mourning period of six months time.”

Six months time, Rafe mused. Drat it all! Why couldn’t he have given a year?

Six months time, Mr. Culver mused. He had been elated by the Regent’s written position, it had been more than he’d hoped from a frivolous and capricious ruler. It had taken much flattery and the practiced hands of a plump courtesan to ply the Regent. And the piece de resistance was yet to come.

“Six months?” Mr. Bryce snatched the writ from Mr. Culver’s hand. “This is absurd.” He skimmed the paper quickly.

“Please note,” Mr. Culver added while Bryce read the writ, “that you will be able to call upon the Lady, however, Kyle and Burke will always be present, as will her chaperone, Abbey Penroth. However, I do suggest that you don’t make a nuisance of yourself. As you can see the women are quite busy redecorating, acquiring suitable wardrobes, staffing, and I believe they said they might travel.”

Mr. Bryce smiled magnanimously and raised his eyes from the paper, “Staffing is naturally a concern, and will be approved, however, refurbishing this house is unnecessary. I’m afraid that must be ceased immediately. We will not be living here.”

“I will be,” Rafe said.

Mr. Bryce leaned forward to peer at her through her veil, “Terribly sorry, my dear, but I don’t like the house. Therefore you will not spend another pound on it. I will agree to new wardrobes, but travel is out of the question.” He turned to Mr. Culver. “As you well know, under English Common Law, the male personage of the betrothed immediately gains full control of the woman’s property, real and otherwise, from the moment the betrothal is pledged. I now oversee the Bennington fortune and will protect it from Lady Bennington’s excesses, as troth for our future together.”

“I don’t think so, Mr. Bryce.” Thomas Culver made no attempt to hide his satisfaction, “It would behoove you to reconsider the writ. The Regent has specified that Lady Bennington cannot even consider your betrothal until the six months mourning has been satisfied. Of course, once the six months has been satisfied, you may wed immediately, even upon that day if you so wish, unless she chooses to refuse the betrothal—”

“Only a fool would choose such a course. She would be destitute. A woman such as Lady Bennington is not one to suffer penury but one to be cherished, cosseted, protected.”

“Allow me to continue, Mr. Bryce. Until that time, sole control of the Bennington fortune remains in her hands.”

“That is in complete contradiction to English Common Law. I am well aware of the law, Sir! Do not take me for a fool!”

“I am not taking you for a fool,” Mr. Culver said dryly. “However, the intended husband only gains control of the woman’s properties once the betrothal has been accepted. The Regent has dictated a six month period until the lady can even consider the betrothal. He has stated clearly that she may not consider it until then. As she cannot be betrothed for the next six months, and she gained control of her finances on her eighteenth birthday, she will retain control until the last day of the grace period. By dint of the Regent’s wishes,” Mr. Culver said. “There is not controversy to resolve. The Regent has spoken.”

Mr. Bryce’s gaze swept about the room, over the two formidable giants standing impassively behind Lady Bennington. “Nonetheless, I will contest this.” He cut Rafe a look of sharp rebuke. “My dear, your father would be so disappointed in you,” he said softly.

Rafe stiffened.

“Do try if you wish,” said Mr. Culver. “I advise you, however, that the only way that writ can be over-turned is for the Regent and the Chairman of the Law Society to agree, in conjunction, to overturn it.”

“I will be speaking with the Regent as soon as possible, and the Chairman this very evening--”

“You are already talking to the Chairman of the Law Society,” Mr. Culver said with a faint smile, “and I’m not going to reconsider a bloody thing.”

Rafe almost laughed at the expression on Bryce’s face. “I do believe that I not only feel like decorating my property,” she said sweetly, “but every other property I own as well. And oh…let’s see, I can finally indulge one of my favorite pastimes, gambling! It’s the latest rage, you know! I might even decide to donate to charity, perhaps set up a fund for needy felines. Isn’t this wonderful! I could spend a fortune in six months!”

Abbey shot her a warning glance. Do not antagonize the man.

Rafe shrugged and grinned at Bryce, who looked stunned and horrified.

“I’ll fight this. It becomes painfully clear why your father chose me for you. You need me.” He turned and stalked for the door.

“Do whatever you like, there is no recourse,” Mr. Culver reminded him. “Six months, Bryce. We have six months and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“We’ll see.” He slammed the door.

“Well,” Abbey said pertly, “that was certainly revealing. Now, my dear Rafe, do you believe Mr. Bryce is a scoundrel who has somehow connived to get a fortune by the finger?”

“Absolutely and without question. And I’ll be damned if he’s getting away with it.”

“What do you plan to do?” Mr. Culver asked curiously. “Although we have succeeded in gaining you a six month reprieve, the very day it ends, he can force you to either wed him, or accept poverty. I am loathe to admit this, but I haven’t the slightest idea how to get you out of this. It is quite clear there’s some ruse here. You are most definitely being defrauded, but we can prove nothing. I bargained for a year, but the Regent was unyielding. I counted our blessings that he consented to this,” he waved the writ. “There is no way we will have word from Tobago by that time.”

“What were you able to discover about this Mr. Bryce?” Abbey asked. She had instructed him to uncover every possible detail.

“Born in 1785, he is twenty-nine. His parents were killed and he was sent to the Colonies to live with an Aunt when he was nine. I was unable to uncover anything more than that his father was a lesser baronet, one of the lower order, a knight, and unable to pass the title on.”

“So this Mr. Bryce isn’t even titled?” Abbey exclaimed.

“No,” Mr. Culver replied, “Furthermore, I can’t get any word from the Colonies in time, either. It seems he has us at an impasse. The Lady will be forced to wed him long before we can complete an investigation of him.”

Rafe sighed. “What about Trina? Any word about the Pierces?”

“I can’t find any word at all on the Pierces. It seems Shelley and his brother simply appeared in London about five years ago. But I can’t locate birth records, although they claim to have been born in Devonshire. I did uncover that Shelley was married and widowed shortly before the time he was to have wed Trina Sullivan. Also, there is something about a duel I’m looking into. Other than that, I haven’t learned much at all. But I have by no means given up. If not in Tobago or the Colonies, at least, in England I can produce results for you.” Mr. Culver rose, “I’ll be on my way now, much to do. Oh,” he added as an afterthought, “you still haven’t said what you plan to do, Lady Bennington. You mentioned earlier and sounded as though you had a plan?”

“Oh, I do,” Rafe replied with a radiant smile. “I’m going to ruin myself.”