James smiled and tucked the missive into his jacket pocket. Most people would find such a letter morbid. The fact that Abigail didn’t and that she actually encouraged this strange form of humor made her all the more interesting. She was fun and she was different and heaven help him if he wasn’t falling for her in ways he never would have expected.
It was eleven o’clock by the time all the guests were seated in the pews at the church. Standing near the altar with William by his side, James waited expectantly for his bride to arrive. The doors at the far end of the aisle would open at any moment, they’d say their vows, endure a tedious wedding breakfast at Foxborough House, and finally embark on their happily ever after.
Someone coughed, the sound reverberating through the building. Fabric rustled as some of the guests shifted in their seats. William sighed but refrained from uttering a word. James caught Charles’s gaze and started to panic. Surely she ought to have been here by now.
Retrieving his pocket watch, he took quick note of the time. It was ten after eleven. He glanced at the vicar, who raised his brows and shrugged his shoulders, which wasn’t the least bit helpful.
And then the doors at the end of the aisle did start to open and James breathed a sigh of relief. Until he saw that Abigail was absent. Only her father, Lord Foxborough, appeared, and he was now walking swiftly toward him.
A strange and uncomfortable feeling grabbed hold of James’s gut. He knew before Foxborough spoke that something dreadful had happened, for the look in the marquess’s eyes revealed both anger and fear.
“What is it?” James asked. “Where’s Abby?”
“She’s been kidnapped,” Foxborough whispered, so low only James and William would hear. “Mr. Chesterfield snatched her straight out of the carriage and whisked her away. They’re on their way to Gretna Green as we speak.”
A chill swept across James’s shoulders as angst panic into his bones. And then, determined to reject the feeling, anger set it. He balled both hands into fists. “Thank you for letting me know.”
He crossed to where his family sat, waiting for him to explain what was happening while murmurs began filling the air. “I’m heading to Scotland,” he said, directing the comment mostly at Charles and his father.
“Good heavens,” his mother exclaimed. “You can’t do that. You’re about to be married and—”
“Only if I can manage to find Abby.”
His mother gasped and started saying something about causing a scandal, which was understandable since it apparently seemed impossible for any of her sons to marry without one. And while James sympathized, he hadn’t the time to ease her concerns. He turned and headed toward the exit, almost reaching it when he realized he was being followed by Abigail’s brother.
“We can take my carriage,” Lance said as they burst out into the street. “It’s right over there.”
“I don’t need your help,” James told him icily.
“I’m offering it anyway,” Lance said. “My phaeton will be faster than any of the cumbersome landaus.”
Accepting the truth in his comment, James relented and followed Lance across the street to where the sportiest vehicle he’d ever seen stood waiting. It wasn’t the most comfortable thing he’d ever sat in, he decided as Lance whipped the horses into motion. In fact, the speed at which it travelled combined with its spindly wheels made it a rather terrifying mode of transportation.
“You know,” James said as they headed toward the north road, “Abby would be my wife by now if it weren’t for your idiot friend.” Perhaps talking would distract him from his visions of death and disaster at the hands of Lance’s insane driving skills.
“Hence my eagerness to help you find her,” Lance remarked. “Toby isn’t so bad but he’s not the right match for my sister. No matter how much he’d like to be.”
James gritted his teeth. He wasn’t particularly keen on resorting to murder, but he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop himself where Mr. Chesterfield was concerned. The foolish man had crossed a line and somehow, he was going to have to pay.
