Lucky dropped the letter, heart pounding, and grabbed the edge of the desk in his sitting room in the suite of rooms he kept at Haldenwood. Dizziness threatened to knock him over. He tried to remember the day's date and could not. The month? April. It was April and this missive was dated January. His head spun and his stomach lurched as dread twisted his gut. Lucky fell to his knees and from somewhere within him a guttural howl came forth. His entire body began to burn as though someone ripped the flesh from him, then carved his very soul from his chest. He didn't remember much after that.
Voices registered in the blackness that surrounded him. His sister knelt on the floor next to him, his brother-in-law, and others of the family stood around him, crowding him with their curiosity, making the room feel small, airless. He struggled to breathe. He coughed and attempted to drag a breath inward. Mary. He needed to get to Mary. And their babe. He had a child.
They were all talking at once, someone issued orders as though he needed a physician. He attempted to speak to let them all know he was fine, but it turned into a groan. Lucky opened his eyes, as awareness slowly returned.
The letter!
He attempted to push up from his reclining position on the settee—had he been on the settee? Dizziness overwhelmed him again and he fell back. He looked around the familiar room, unable to rise yet, as everything was still a bit unsteady. The room was filled with his relatives, and he tried to spot which of his family held the letter from George.
Or was there really a letter? Could he have been dreaming? Please God, let that be a dream. That notion was negated when his brother-in-law, the duke, stepped forward, holding the folded sheet of paper.
"Lucky, are you fully aware?" Ren stepped around Lia, his hand trailed across Lia's back as he did.
Lucky tried to speak, but nothing would come from his throat, so he nodded instead.
"I read the note. I hope you don't mind." The sympathy in Ren's voice had Lucky fighting tears. The gigantic boulder in his throat still making it impossible to even think about speaking. He shook his head, surveying the room to see all who were witness to his upset. Only his sister, his brother-in-law, and friend Ian. Lucky could have sworn there had been dozens of people in here only moments ago. Hundreds even.
Willing his voice to return, he forced a hoarse reply, "I have to go."
"We can sail in two days," Ian said.
Lucky lifted himself to a seated position, the dizziness abating slowly. He didn't know how much time he had until she was tried, or sentenced. Their child would have been born by now, and he couldn't let some stranger take Mary's babe. It was
his
child!
"No," he countered. "To—morrow. Morning tide."
Ian's voice was full of sympathy and determination. "We don't have a crew or provisions. A back haul would be nice but in absence of that we need to add significant ballast. I'll do what I can, but I can't promise less than forty-eight hours."
Lucky exhaled heavily. Finding his strength again after collapsing, he realized Ian was right. "All right then. As soon as possible."
A tea cart arrived and his sister nodded to the maid who poured a cup and handed it to him. He cocked a black brow wondering if she dosed his cup with laudanum. "I need my wits about me, sister."
"I promise, it's black," Lia replied, "just the way you like it. And because of the circumstance, I will not take offense to your inference." She then held up two fingers, cuing the maid to add two sugars to her cup. "As though I would give you a sleeping draught at a time like this."
Ren handed Lucky the letter, and he reread the words George had written. Mary was imprisoned, and they had a babe. A babe! Their babe.
God, let him get to them in time.
His vision blurred, and he cleared his throat of the knot that filled it. He stood on unsteady legs. "I must go to Mary."
He looked at Ian, knowing he'd understand. "Who is this man Potts? How could this have happened?"
His knees threatened to buckle once more as fear struck yet again. Nothing could happen to his Mary. He would never forgive himself if anything happened to her. "Oh, God," he groaned out another prayer, "I have to get to her."
Lia set the letter down on the desk, everyone in the room having read it at least once. "Lucky," she said, "can you tell us what did happen? And who is Mary-Michael?"
"Lia, I love her. Anything else will have to wait for later. Right now, I leave for London." He swallowed the warm tea in two swigs, setting the cup down with a little more force than intended, having not quite recovered his control. "Are there more letters?" he asked.
"Not here," Ren said, "Perhaps in London?"
Lucky shook his head. "I didn't see any and I spent two nights there before coming here."
"I'm coming with you," his sister said.
He stared at her, wondering why she would come with him to Baltimore.
"I read the letter as well," she replied. "If there's a babe involved, you will need a woman to care for it, if the mother—" She must have realized what she'd said, breaking off. "I'm sorry, I meant..."
"That's fine," Lucky said, "and you're right. But I'm not thinking the worst yet. I refuse to."
"Good, I shall have my trunk packed. And you can explain it all as we travel."
"We both go," the duke said. "We will do what we can to right this wrong. I'll see if Michael can come along as well. He knows Fox better than I." Ren said, referring to the British Ambassador in Washington. "This is the same Henry Fox, the former Chargé de Affaires in Naples who helped us settle the matter of your title when your cousin died all those years ago."
Lucky just nodded. He really didn't care who was in Washington, or anywhere else. He was going to get Mary with or without the political influence of the ambassador. No one was going to stand in his way.
"Get Michael if you must, but I'm not waiting," Lucky stressed. "I'm in a hurry, and I am not waiting on anyone. I only need to gather a crew, ballast, and supplies." He turned to Ian. "Please tell Sarah that I am sorry, but I must miss her birthday celebration yet again."
He asked the footman to order a horse brought around as soon as possible, while he gathered a few belongings and shoved them in his satchel. Before leaving the room, he kissed his sister's cheek. "I will see you and Ren tomorrow. And give my apologies to Christopher as well. I'd promised him a game of billiards after dinner."
When he reached the bottom of the staircase, the same footman brought his greatcoat and hat. The new housekeeper at Haldenwood handed him a linen-wrapped package of food to eat on the road.
"Here's a piece of the meat pie Cook made for the staff earlier today," the plump woman said. "Cook said she knows how much you like it so, she packed it for you. It should hold you until you reach Town tonight." She gave him a large flask he slipped into the pocket of his greatcoat. "Here's black coffee to drink."
"Thank you, ma'am," Lucky said. He felt his voice crack, so choked up was he by the depth of concern for him, Mary and their child, displayed by not just his family, but the staff as well.
The sound of horses' hooves on the macadamized drive came from around the side of the house. When he was handed the reins, Lucky placed the food in his saddle bag. With his heart still in his throat, he was soon mounted and racing back to London, every step of the horse bringing him closer to Mary.
C
hapter
N
ineteen
O
n the ninth day of May, three weeks and three days after leaving London, the
Lady M
dropped her anchor on a foggy, partially-moonlit night in Curtis Bay. She blended in with all the other boats near the dry dock yard of Watkins Shipyard.
As soon as the watch came on duty, Lucky took the gig to the dock with Ian, Ren and Michael, Lucky's third brother-in-law. Since they didn't know what their reception would be, they left Marcus and Lia aboard ship, while they went into the village proper to see what they could learn. From the moment he'd read the letter he'd been sick with worry wondering what was happening with Mary's case, and with each breath he whispered a prayer that he could make it in time.
His footsteps beat in time with his heart, as he set a quick pace leading the group of men toward Becky's Tavern. Fear grew with each stride he took, and Lucky hoped he wasn't too late to save them. Mary and his child.
His son or daughter, he didn't care which. He hated thinking of it, but if he was too late to save Mary, he wanted his child—and by damn he was going to take what was his. A glow of light from within the tavern spilled onto the wooden footpath as the door opened and several patrons left, glancing in his direction as they turned to go the opposite way.
"It may be closing at this late hour." Lucky wondered if Becky would even want to talk to him after the way he acted when he was last here. Raucous laughter within the tavern grew louder as their party neared the establishment. He wished to see Mary in the tavern when he opened the door. Holding their child. With a welcoming smile on her face. A pain gripped his chest as he reached the door.
He grabbed the latch in his hand and glanced back at his family. Whatever he learned this night, he needed their support. Their nods of agreement strengthened him, and knowing they stood with him, he lifted his chin, and pushed through the entry and into the common room.
About eight men clung to the bar as they nursed their mugs of ale, the room going silent when their party entered. The barmaid behind the counter lifted her gaze from her task of wiping the counter. He felt as though all eyes in the public room were on him, though it was likely his imagination. Lucky wend his way to a table in the back of the public taproom, where the four men took seats. He had to keep in mind that this tiny village saw a great number of seamen come to their town for their specialty—dry dock services.
Before he had to call for a barmaid, one of the women he remembered from the year before appeared. Her eyes widened with shock—she recognized him—and she glanced back to the bar as though frightened. They had to know he was here to help. He wasn't going harm anyone unless they stood between him and his child.
"Oh, Lord 'ave mercy," she whispered, holding a hand to her chest. "It's a miracle, it is. As I live and breathe, it's a God-given miracle." The woman fanned herself furiously with that same hand. "Quick before anyone else recognizes ye, get on over t'the rectory." She stole a glance at the bar when the door to the kitchen opened and a beefy man carried in an empty wooden crate for the dirty mugs and plates.
"I said we ain't servin' dinner at this hour." The woman raised her voice loud enough to be heard by the whole taproom and said rather loudly, "Denny's got the kitchen cleaned. Becky'll be here in the mornin' to start cooking luncheon. If ye want hot food, come back aroun' eleven." When the man had the box filled with dirty bar glasses, he went back to the kitchen, giving the woman a few moments to continue speaking freely. Lucky wondered why the barmaid didn't want the man clearing the tables to overhear what she was telling him. He'd have to find out later.
"We prayed for ye to come back. The trial was so quick," the woman whispered quickly as she kept looking toward the door to the back kitchen. "Potts and his lackeys said so many bad things about the poor dear. All of it untrue. But yer too late. Miz Mary-Michael's been found guilty of everything—of lying with Potts and with you, then saying that the babe was her husband's, and—Oh, Christ, Captain, ye need hurry to see the fathers. Ye need to help her because she's doing nothing to help herself. And I don't understand it."
She was still alive!
Lucky struggled with a breath. He forced himself to maintain composure, at least while he was in this public place of business. Especially as it seemed of utmost importance to the barmaid that he remain unrecognized. He wondered if it had anything to do with the constable. He'd never met the man that he could recall, and Lucky wondered what kind of man would do such a thing as to claim a relationship with a woman he'd never been with, and make that claim in a court of law. What was this charge and trial
really
about?
He needed air. Now. Or he'd suffocate. It took everything in him to remain poised and reserved, as he rose from the table and calmly left the tavern, oblivious to his family. He found himself back on the wooden footpath and headed in the direction of the rectory. He began to run past the gaslights, bypassing the street with her house, and coming to a breathless stop in front of the church she attended. The one where her brother was a minister.
Lucky stared up at the wooden cross atop the steeple and paused in front of the white-washed wood-frame church just long enough to cross himself. If ever he needed God's help it was now. He walked to the rectory behind the church, took the few steps up to the door and knocked softly at first, then as his fear and anger welled up, he knocked harder and harder until he was pounding. He kept remembering what Mary had told him about her childhood.
"We lived on the streets, in hiding for several months. We slept wherever we found shelter until we were discovered and run out. Then we'd move on to another building..."
She was resilient and strong and determined to live, even as a child. And now this. All because of him. Because he couldn't keep away from her, couldn't keep his hands off her.
Hearing nothing inside, he pounded again—this time loudly enough to wake Satan if he dared sleep while he needed answers. He contemplated the lock mechanism. If no one answered soon, one or two good kicks would have the door opened.
"Father Albright? Father Douglas?" Lucky called out, controlling his fear and eagerness to see them. "George? Gideon?" He kept beating on the door, until he finally heard footsteps coming from somewhere within and heaved a deep sigh. Mary's brother George opened the door just as Ian joined Lucky, with Ren and Michael on his heels.