A Question for Harry (24 page)

Chapter
Twenty-Six

From the journal of the Marquis of Aylesbury – May 1895

It was astonishing really. I can’t say what I enjoyed more, that moving picture or the look on Fiona’s face as she watched.

Home of the Marquis of Aylesbury

44 Belgrave Square

Belgravia, London, England

Several days later

Incredible
! She was utterly, foolishly, incredible.

Aylesbury blinked hoping the vision
in a violet day dress standing – alone – in the middle of his marbled foyer was nothing more than a mirage. As much pleasure as the sight brought him, he wished that he was wrong. Unfortunate when he opened his eyes, she was still there. Swinging an extravagant parasol by her side as if she hadn’t a care in the world.

Pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers, Aylesbury
said a prayer for patience. “Please tell me you did not come here alone.”

“That’s about as fine a greeting as being left standing in the
hall like a beggar,” Fiona retorted as she turned to face him, her militant expression perfectly complimented by the severe tailoring of her deep plum silk suit with black braiding marching in rows down the front of her waist length jacket and uniformly banding three times near the hem of her skirt and at her cuffs. She was dressed to do battle. “Besides, I never took you as a stickler for propriety. If you are, I have to wonder at all the times we’ve been alone together.”

The front door was standing open behind her, giving Aylesbury a clear view of the street beyond as he took the remainder of the stairs
. The very empty street. “Did you walk? Fiona, have you gone quite mad? I cannot believe that your brothers allowed it.”

“They are brothers
, not wardens, my lord. They do not own me.”

The truth of it hit him
. “They don’t know, do they? My God, Fiona, have you even bothered to tell them that there is a criminal out there stalking you?”

Fiona scoffed
. “It’s been nearly a week, my lord. Besides, he’d be a fool to try again.”

“Who says he’s not?”

“Fool or not, I refuse to live my life in fear.”

“Bugger it, you are as obstinate as the day is long,” he ground out
. “And perhaps twice as foolish as your assailant might be. It doesn’t take a Cambridge education to know it. You could have been snatched right off the street!”

“It’s none of your concern.”

“It’s very much my concern.”

Her brother’s words whispered through her mind once more
. Yes, he was as stubborn as she. A perfect match for her … if she was courageous enough to accept him.

Unfortunately it had taken all her daring even to walk out the door on her own
. Though she hadn’t said a word about it to anyone, the incident with the fortuneteller the previous week had shaken Fiona badly. She’d spent an entire week skulking in the shadows of one brother after another. Begging them to accompany her. Hanging on their arms at balls and garden parties. Or riding at her side as they had a few days before.

Oh, she had put on a
confident face, especially when she had seen Aylesbury here and there, but it wasn’t the same and Fiona was tired of it all. Coming out today as she was, wasn’t so much a defiance of her would-be kidnapper’s attempts as a defiance of her own faintheartedness. Thumbing her nose at it, as it were. “I can’t live my life peeking from behind curtains, afraid to go outside because of what might be, Harry. I can’t be so cowed to become a virtual prisoner in my own home just because a male wasn’t handy. I needed to get out. I need to be out.”

Aylesbury
’s anger lessened a tad as Fiona had her rant. He understood, he truly did. Fiona was a creature of the outdoors. She lived and breathed physical activity, required it daily whether it be walking, riding, cycling, or golfing. Penning her up indoors was comparable to caging a tiger.

Fiona sighed
. “I couldn’t let fear of what might be rule me, Harry. I was seeing black carriages lurking at every corner these past few days and after that …”

“After what?” Aylesbury asked with a frown when Fiona cut off, biting her lip
. “What? Was there something else? Something you haven’t told me?”

Fiona shook her head
. “Pax, Harry, I came straight to Belgrave Square seeking your escort,” she steered away from his questions. “The pair of streets in between were but a test of my nerve.”

Yes, Aylesbury thought
. She had plenty of that but an abundance of pluck wouldn’t provide the arsenal of defense Fiona would need if she were attacked again. “An escort where?”

“To the Empire Theatre,” she told him
. “Mr. Brit Acres is showing his first cinematograph of the Oxford and Cambridge Boat Race at the Empire this afternoon.”

“Really?” he asked instead, intrigued despite himself
. “How brilliant. Still, you should have sent a message, I would have come to take you up.”

“I just found out about it
. One of the household staff had a handbill,” Fiona explained. “I wanted to see it and no one was about but I thought you might enjoy it as well. So will you come or shall I go alone?”

Every time he thought he couldn’t be more confounded by her, she continued to surprise him
. Go alone? Though located in Leicester Square east of Piccadilly and near the eminently respectable National Gallery, members of all classes seeking amusement frequented the popular theater district. It was not the best of neighborhoods for an unaccompanied woman and Fiona likely knew that. “And if I don’t care to join you?”

“I thought I might go up to the Marble Arch to catch the omnibus.”

“The Marb–” The station was almost a mile away, and she could easily be taken anywhere along the line. Gone before she had a chance to pass a whimper. The horror he felt at the thought was sickening. He wouldn’t, couldn’t let her go alone and likely she knew it. “I ought to hog tie you and send you back to Eaton Square.”

“But you won’t,” Fiona said confidently.

Aylesbury ran a hand through his hair, counting slowly until his redoubled frustration eased a fraction. “No, I won’t.”

“Because you want to see it, too.”

Damn it all, he did.

Opening the door, Aylesbury called for his carriage and left instructions for a message
to be taken to Eaton Street letting Glenrothes know where Fiona was and that he would have her home before supper.

“Don’t think this means anything,” he warned Fiona as he handed her up into his carriage minutes later
. “I still think this might be the most thoughtless thing you’ve ever done.”

“Incredible,” he whispered again in awe as the flickering image of the boats being rowed down the Thames moved across the white
curtain hung across the front of the theater.

He had photographs
framed around his home, of course. Older daguerreotypes of his parents and dozens more recent vignettes of his family, his sister, and even his childhood hound. However, never had Aylesbury imagined that they could be strung together to express such movement as this cinematograph. “Incredible.”

“You said that,” Fiona
whispered teasingly by his side, though her eyes too were glued to the captivating motion of the men pulling the oars through the water.

“It bears repeating.”

“Yes it does,” she agreed, laughing aloud when the wake trailing behind the boats lapped against the edge of the moving image, drawing shocked cries and exclamations from the viewers in the front row as if they expected to get wet.

Fiona turned to look at him as he joined her in laughter, her eyes dancing with laughter, pure enjoyment for the spectacle
.

“Thank you for letting me come along,” he whispered, squeezing her hand affectionately.

“Thank you for coming.”

“Not that you left me any choice.”

Though her mouth opened to offer an apology for not asking him to straightaway, nothing emerged as her eyes slid over his shoulder and widened. Quickly, she turned back to the screen but her shoulders had tensed, her smile fled.

“What is it?”

Fiona chewed her lip nervously. She was as rattled as Aylesbury had ever seen her. For what reason? “Fiona?”

“He’s here,” she choked out
.

“Who
? Ramsay?”

“No, that fellow from the other day
. From Harrowby’s,” she clarified shakily, her suddenly cold hand clenching his. “Not three rows behind us. He’s watching me. Don’t look!”

He didn’t need to
. He believed her. Nothing else could have frightened her so. Still, never had he imagined that the villain seeking to kidnap Fiona would have tailed them the entire way across town and into a crowded theater. Also, there had been no sign of them along the way. Analyzing their options, Aylesbury made a quick decision. “Come with me,” he whispered, cupping his hand beneath her elbow and propelling her along with him as they quickly worked their way through the protesting spectators to the side of the theater opposite the would-be kidnapper.

As they made their way to the aisle, a quick glance over his shoulder revealed not only the ruffian
from Harrowby’s but also two others making their way across the crowd. Bloody hell, three of them. Aylesbury fumed silently, cursing inwardly. He might have been able to take on a pair but was admittedly outnumbered with the addition of a third. As it was, he was unarmed and outnumbered. His mind scrambled for a solution as they exited the theater.

He had sent his driver off for a pint and instructions to pick them up at the Café Royal on Regent Street in two hours, anticipating a long stroll and intimate tea with Fiona after the
short film. There were no cabs out front waiting to be hired, no carriages nearby or other vehicles beyond the occasional horse cart.

Aylesbury did a quick mental tally of the surrounding area
. Nothing. Nothing but theaters, taverns, gambling houses and others businesses of ill repute.

No bobbies
. No one to call on for help other than vendors hawking wares of oranges and meat pies, and newsboys calling out the news of playwright Oscar Wilde’s recent conviction on charges of gross indecency. His sentence of two years hard labor was nothing compared to the punishment Aylesbury wanted to inflict on the bastards chasing them.

Once he had Fiona safe
, that was.

Taking Fiona by the hand, he tugged her along with him, setting off at a brisk pace to the west
. Their best chance for assistance would be that way, toward Piccadilly Circus and the café where his coachman awaited them beyond. Still, it was nearly a dozen streets away.

“What do we do, Harry?” Fiona asked, her voice laced with the onset of
uncharacteristic panic as she panted along beside him. A panic that might cripple their chances of a neat escape. He couldn’t have that.

“You feel up for a bit of a race, my dear?”

“A race?” she asked in confusion, resting a palm across her flat stomach, drawing his eyes to her narrow waist. Bloody hell, she was bound into that appealing hourglass figure by a steel cage. It limited not only her movement but also her ability to draw even a deep breath.