Page 46 of Indecently Daring

He might not be ready. He might be flawed and idiotic and a bloody bad bargain, but if she was willing to take a chance on him, he must risk it. This might be his only chance for happiness, for a life he’d thought lost to him. An idiot he might be, but not idiot enough to let a woman like that get away. Not any longer. He’d simply have to make it up to her, to beg for forgiveness. He’d done a fair bit of begging for forgiveness since he’d sobered up, and it wasn’t as if humiliating himself was an unfamiliar experience. If she wanted him on his knees, well, he’d had plenty of practice, and he could be patient. He could court her properly and show her how hard he would try to be everything he ought, everything she needed.

Harry slipped quietly out of the hall that was growing stuffy and close. He went outside, seeking fresh air and an opportunity to clear his head. His new housekeeper had begun work that morning, a Mrs Hogget. She was a cheerful soul, short and stout with a no-nonsense, friendly manner that would be perfect for dealing with his parishioners, and him. He suspected she was likely to become over-familiar enough to scold him, but would remain deferential enough to see that he could always work without interruption. Lady St Clair had found him the perfect solution to his household troubles. Even Jeb, after an hour or so of suspicious eyeballing, had warmed to Mrs Hogget, especially after she presented him with a plate laden with two hot buttered scones topped with jam. Her own jam. She’d brought it with her.

Harry sighed and sat down on the wall in front of the hall. If only he could make things up with Alana, this would be an exceptionally good day. He was just pondering how hard he was prepared to grovel when he heard someone calling him.

His head came up as he recognised both the voice and the sound of panic.

“Harry! Harry, oh, please come at once. Please!”

“Alana?” He scrambled to his feet. “Alana, what is it? What’s wrong?”

“Not now, Harry,” she said furiously, gesturing madly at him. “Just come!”

She turned and ran off again and Harry ran after her, catching her up. She was pink-cheeked from exertion and yet pale with worry.

“It’s Jeb,” she gasped as they ran. “His mother has some big lout with her, and they’ve carried him off.”

“What?” Harry said in alarm. “Where?”

“At the pub, a few minutes ago,” she gasped.

Harry muttered an oath. “Stay here. I’ll see to this.”

He ran flat out, leaving Alana behind and hoping she’d stay put. What he planned to do when he caught up with Jeb, he didn’t know. Mrs Maby was his mother, and the law was on her side. He had no rights to the boy. He didn’t doubt that, if he insisted or made a fuss, Mrs Maby would insinuate he just wanted free labour, or worse, had wicked intentions towards the boy. So far, his reputation had remained remarkably intact. Although certain people, Lady St Clair being one of them, were aware of his rather colourful past, most of his parishioners were not. Whilst he’d made a spectacle of himself, being a third son, the scandal rags had shown little interest in him. To them, he was of no importance or note, which was of course half the reason he’d made the spectacle in the first place, but now was not the time for such introspection. If Mrs Maby made a great fuss, his past would be bound to get dragged out into the light, but Harry could not let her just take the boy off against his will and do nothing.

He arrived at the Lamb to see Mrs Maby regarding a palmful of coin, but there was no sign of Jeb, or the big lout Alana had described.

“Where is he?” Harry demanded, his heart contracting with worry at the self-satisfied look Mrs Maby returned.

“Gone to London.” She smirked. “Gone to make his fortune.”

“To make his fortune? What the devil do you mean? Stop speaking in riddles. What have you done with him?”

“Got him out o’ your clutches, for one, eh?” she said, looking him up and down in disgust. “What you be wanting with my boy, anyway? Free labour, someone to shine your boots for free, or summat else?”

“Nothing of the sort, I promise you. Only to give him a roof over his head and someone who gave a damn about him,” Harry retorted, though he knew he ought not.

He ought to remain calm, to not pass judgement. That was his role here, but what had she done with Jeb? His stomach twisted but he took a breath, reminding himself that Mrs Maby was as in need of him as Jeb.

“Mrs Maby, I had no intention of keeping Jeb from you. Far from it. He needs you, and I only wish to help. He’s a good lad, and I’d like to make things better for him, for both of you, if you’d let me.”

“Bleedin’ do-gooder,” Mrs Maby said with disgust.

“Martin, are you looking for a boy?”

Harry looked up, startled to be addressed by the Marquess of Kilbane, who had just walked out of the pub. “Yes, did you see him?”

“I did, perhaps ten minutes ago. Some big ugly brute bundled him into a coach headed for London.”

Harry swung to look at Mrs Maby, who shrugged. “Told ye, didn’t I? He’s gone to London.”

“Why? Where did you get that money?”

“It’s my guess she sold him,” Kilbane, regarding Mrs Maby as though she were something he’d stepped in. “Isn’t that right, my dove? How much did you get? Enough to keep you in gin for a week or two, mayhap?”

“Damnation, I need to go,” Harry said desperately, raking a hand through his hair, tempted to pull it by the roots as anger and frustration gnawed at him. If only he hadn’t lost Pirate, if only he’d not been such a bloody waste of a man he might have helped, he might have done something.

Alana arrived, one hand pressed to her heart. “Where….” she gasped. “Where is he?”