The Gentleman's Quest

by Camille Elliot

  "This is Aunt Sugues. She was the spinster sister of one of the past Lady Merritts."

  "If she is not a Dunbar, why is her portrait here?" It had apparently hung in the far corner of the room, the only space that could accommodate its size—now replaced with a picture of baying hounds pursuing a fox.

  "Her sister died in childbirth, leaving seven children motherless. Aunt Sugues came to Merritton to take charge of the household and care for the children. She never married, although she had many offers, and she is much beloved for coming to care for the family in their time of need." Honoria finally straightened, her fingers absently tapping the surface of the puzzle box in her hands. "How strange. I stared at this portrait many times as a child, but only because it is now on the ground did I notice the flower design on the brooch."

  "Perhaps her brother-in-law, Lord Merritt, gave her the brooch as a gift."

  "We can find out." Her eyes had turned to amber in her excitement. "My Great-Aunt Elizabeth now owns that brooch."

  He had a flash of memory of an elderly woman with snow-white hair, a loud, deep voice because of her failing hearing, and hardly any chin at all. "You're sure?"

  "I recall seeing her wearing the brooch once or twice. I never noticed the flower carved in the ivory, but I recognize the elaborate gold filigree surrounding the oval. Aunt Elizabeth was one of the children that Aunt Sugues cared for."

  "Where does she live?"

  "It is another long journey, I fear. Aunt Elizabeth lives in Bath."

  "What are you doing here?" demanded a voice edged with anger and malice.

  They turned to see Honoria's cousin Aubrey in the open doorway.

  Chapter 6

  Honoria had not thought to consider how she would feel to see Aubrey again after all these years, but she would never have imagined the vehemence of her revulsion. She was also surprised by the low buzzing of fear that vibrated through her body, she who had always disregarded her apprehensions and plunged forward to face whatever frightened her.

  Her uncle wanted her obedience. Mr. Criddle wanted her body. But Aubrey … he wanted her humiliation. And no matter how brave she imagined herself to be, she was still only a woman in a man's world.

  Aubrey saw Christopher first, and hatred boiled in his gaze and the red splotches across his sallow skin. Then he saw Honoria.

  There flashed in Aubrey's eyes that violent desire that she remembered so well. In comparison, Mr. Criddle's desire for her was a milder thing. Aubrey wanted to rip her identity apart, so that once she was naked and vulnerable, he could own her and control her completely.

  "Honoria." It burst from Aubrey's lips like a dagger tip drawn over gravel. His mouth pulled wide, baring his teeth.

  A sharp breath from Christopher, and a sharper look that he darted between herself and Aubrey. She felt a thud behind her breastbone.

  Christopher knew why Aubrey had thrown her and her mother from Merritton.

  And then she was staring directly at Christopher's wide back. She blinked. Yes, that was the contour of his shoulder blades through his blue coat.

  "Good day, Lord Merritt," Christopher said. "Good shooting?"

  "What are you doing in my library?"

  Honoria finally gathered her wits enough to step to the side, around Christopher's form, to face Aubrey. "It is the Dunbar family library."

  "Your mother graciously allowed us to view the family portraits before they were to be stored away," Christopher said.

  "Why are you here?" Aubrey's mouth curled into an ugly smile. "Changed your mind, Honoria?"

  His expression made her tremble, but she spat out, "That would be an unlikely event."

  Aubrey's eyes narrowed and he took a half step toward them.

  Christopher's arm shot out in front of Honoria, exerting slow but steady pressure to force her a step behind him. She became aware of his height, the steel strength in his arm, the way he used his body to shield her.

  She'd never had a man protect her. As a child, there had been bully boys like Jem Rauser, from whom Stephen and Christopher protected her, but the two of them had also been proving themselves to the pack of local children, not necessarily championing her. As she grew older, because she was a Dunbar and sheltered by her family's money and name, there had not been any man who threatened her—until Aubrey. When he had approached her, it had only been when Stephen was not at home, and she had had to avoid him with her own resources. When Stephen died, Aubrey's attentions had become darker, more focused. She had faced him alone, and had bested him that last time seven years ago.

  She ought to shove Christopher aside, to fight her own battles. But the oppressiveness of her uncle's house had drained her strength, and a cold hopelessness grew within her every day. Lately, she had even wondered if God had abandoned her.

  But Christopher's defence of her now, rather than making her feel weak, gave her strength. Perhaps God had sent Christopher into her path to restore to her the hope she had lost.

  "You will tell me what you are about," Aubrey said.

  "No," Christopher said. "I think not."

  Aubrey jerked in surprise. Then his pale blue eyes took on the colour of cold steel. "Find something interesting about Aunt Sugues's portrait?"

  "Rather stern-looking woman, wasn't she?" Christopher said.

  "I'll be sure to burn it."

  "Simply because I find it distasteful? How considerate of you."

  "I rather wonder at your interest in our family, seeing as how you are utterly unconnected to it." He fingered his waistcoat, a dark green in sturdy cloth for shooting. "Or am I mistaken? My mother mentioned that you volunteered as escort for my dear cousin, but has there been an announcement of which I am ignorant?"

  Christopher stiffened but did not reply.

  "Ah. Well then, I am relieved that as head of the family, I have not been kept in the dark." Despite his smooth voice, something in Aubrey's face made it seem as if the room darkened, as though Aubrey's shadow on the carpet grew and swelled. Honoria grasped Christopher's arm.

  "I am afraid we must be leaving, Lord Merritt," Christopher said.

  Aubrey didn't move from where he blocked the doorway.

  "Or perhaps you would like us to stay?" Christopher's soft words rang like the unsheathing of a sword.

  Aubrey's gaze at Christopher was strangely dispassionate, but then he looked at Honoria. His smile was not pleasant. "By all means, I would not wish to keep you." He stepped aside, the gracious host.

  Honoria followed Christopher, taking slow steps so that she would not give Aubrey the satisfaction of seeing her stumble. But as she passed him in the open doorway, he spoke.

  "Honoria, I apologize that I have neglected two members of my family these past years. I shall make arrangements to remedy that soon, so we may become reacquainted."

  Her stomach clenched, but she answered him calmly and firmly. "I assure you, I am no different than I was seven years ago."

  "I am inclined to believe that time changes us all."

  He would find that she was quite willing to bestow upon him a second scar.

  Then Christopher was there, tucking her arm in his and leading her down the hallway toward the main staircase.

  Christopher's rock-hard expression caused the butler, just coming up the stairs with indolent steps, to hasten forward. "Yes, sir?"

  "Order my carriage to be brought 'round."

  "At once." He dashed off.

  Aubrey had come up beside her. His eyes flattened as he watched the man, no doubt comparing the butler's alacrity to his typical response to Aubrey's or Aunt Dunbar's commands.

  Thankfully, Sally met them immediately in the entrance hall. No servants came forward, so she helped Honoria first with her traveling cloak until the butler returned to assist Christopher with his great coat. The servants' presence prevented Aubrey from speaking further to them, and the silence was strained. They heard the carriage on the driveway outside the front door, and Honoria turned to Aubrey.

  "
Convey our thanks and farewells to your mother." Then she turned and swept out the door that the butler held open. She did not look at Aubrey after she had seated herself in the carriage. Christopher joined her, and Sally climbed onto the box. Then they were away.

  It was only as they were driving through the front gates to Merritton did she realize she still held her dress crumpled in her clenched hands. She relaxed them and smoothed the fabric.

  Christopher sat across from her, his expression black. She was just about to thank the Lord that he did not seem inclined to talk when he turned to glare at her. "I believe I now have the right to know, Honoria."

  She didn't want to speak of it, but he would not allow her to avoid answering him again. "Why do you care? Aubrey and I had a falling out. It is all in the past."

  "Evidently not, if he is intending to become 'reacquainted' with you."

  She looked out the window and ignored the stifling weight on her chest.

  There was silence between them for several minutes, then he said in a low voice, "Honoria, I did not know he felt that way about you."

  "It was not your concern."

  "Did Stephen know?"

  "I tried to explain, but he could not understand because he had not seen it." The wanting, the calculation in Aubrey's eyes. "And then Stephen died."

  "Did Aubrey propose marriage—or something else?" he asked in a growl.

  "He proposed marriage, but I rejected him."

  When she did not elaborate, he said, "There was far more to it than that, Honoria." Christopher's tone warned her not to try his patience.

  Her hands began to shake. She didn't want him to see, so she clenched them together in the folds of her skirt. "He had come upon me unawares in the far gardens, and he was more demanding than I expected, especially because we were alone. My resistance enraged him. He wanted to ruin me so that I would be forced to accept him."

  Aubrey had almost succeeded. She still remembered the scent of earth that had been kicked up by her struggles, the acrid stench of his sweat and lust.

  "I took hold of a gardening spade and injured him in his …" She swallowed, willing herself to move her mind aside from the hideous memory of what she'd seen, what she'd done. "The doctor had to be called, and it was humiliating for Aubrey, even though the doctor kept his tongue between his teeth, and no one else from the village knew about it, as far as I know."

  In his shock, Christopher's mouth cracked open. "He waited until you had no one to protect you."

  "I should have been more cautious. Aubrey had been unnaturally drawn to me when my father was alive, and I had been on my guard because Stephen was often away at school."

  "Your father did nothing?"

  She made a scoffing noise. "You remember my father. Even when I told him about Aubrey, he insisted I had misunderstood my cousin's intentions. He would not have exerted any effort on my behalf. He would have happily married me to Aubrey so that he would no longer need to bother with me."

  Christopher's gaze dropped. "You are right. I had forgotten how he was. But you could not have stopped Aubrey."

  "I simply regret that I had become complacent about Aubrey after my father died. Even when his mother came to visit me, Aubrey rarely accompanied her when Stephen was in residence. And then after Stephen died, because of what I'd done to him, he gave us only a week to leave Merritton."

  "How could you have wanted to come to Merritton with me, after all that had happened?"

  "The map is important, and … if I would not let Aubrey force my body, why would I let his presence control my decisions? I am not so cow-hearted."

  He surprised her by reaching across to pull her hands from her skirts, gripping them in his own. His touch struck a deeper chord within her, as if she could draw his strength into her.

  Christopher's eyes were wide and tortured, close enough that she could see the ring of indigo around his dark grey irises. "I am ashamed, Honoria."

  "Whatever for?"

  "After Stephen died, I withdrew." He swallowed.

  "You missed him as much as I did—"

  "No, I … Honoria. It was my fault."

  She grew completely still, because her bones felt they would shatter with the least movement.

  "Stephen wasn't planning to buy those horses," Christopher said. "But I convinced him they were prime goers. I should have known they were too high-strung for Stephen's abilities at the reins. It was to have simply been a pleasant drive on a spring day, but the horses startled at something—I don't know what—and suddenly I was on the ground, without a scratch, and Stephen was …"

  She closed her eyes. She could see Stephen's limp, white body being brought back to Merritton, and Christopher's face even whiter. It had been a horrible moment. But although she and her mother had suffered, she had been able to see in Christopher's eyes that he suffered tenfold.

  He had watched his friend die.

  "I couldn't face you," he said.

  She opened her eyes, saw again the expression in his face that he had worn that day. "Did you want me to forgive you?" she asked. "I cannot, because I never blamed you."

  "Honoria—"

  "I knew about the horses, Christopher. Stephen told me you convinced him to buy them."

  He swallowed hard.

  "I told Stephen," she continued, "just before the two of you left on that drive, to be careful because they were nervous and might start at the least thing." Her voice faltered on the last words.

  Christopher bowed his head over their clasped hands, squeezing hers tightly. His sudden movement caused his beaver hat to topple to the floor, but he did not seem to notice.

  "If you have thought, all this time, that I would condemn you, there is nothing I can say to convince you that it is a falsehood." She tightened her grip on his hands, trying to convey with her fingers what she didn't know how to speak with her mouth. "You must convince yourself that you are blameless."

  He sat up. "I am not. When I withdrew, I also abandoned you when you were in need."

  "You didn't know about Aubrey."

  "I might have noticed. My presence in your life could have prevented him from believing you were completely at his mercy, from behaving so aggressively toward you. I should have been there to help you—"

  "In what way does it help me for you to blame yourself now?"

  He looked startled, and he stared at her for a minute. "You are so much stronger than I." The words were low, as if he didn't realize he were speaking aloud.

  "I am not strong." Daily she questioned her decisions in her uncle's household, how she chose not to fight him. Were those the right choices for herself and her mother? "It is God's strength. I can only rely on God."

  He released her hands, although she hadn't wanted him to, and leaned back against the squabs. He shook his head. "You know I cannot understand that type of faith. They are empty, hollow words to me, especially now."

  "I cannot argue with you as Stephen did. I only know that the Scriptures promise that God will be with me always."

  "Where was God in the garden with Aubrey?"

  "He was there. Else it would have ended very differently. And He was with you and Stephen, else there would have been two funerals."

  He turned pale—she could not tell if it was with anger or some other emotion—and looked away, but he refrained from arguing further with her.

  Suddenly there was the sound of a crack! and the coach jolted. Christopher was flung forward into Honoria, but there was another jolt as the coach wheels bounced and sent them both to the floor. She fell atop Christopher, her elbow landing hard on his midsection, and he let out a pained "Oof!"

  She was aware of the sound of horses squealing, the coachman shouting, and Sally screaming. Then they skidded to a halt.

  She lay there, too shocked to move, before she gathered her wits and struggled to rise to a more dignified position than sprawled atop a man. She was not looking directly into Christopher's face—he was perhaps a foot to the left—but his face w
as unnervingly close to hers. Her skirts tangled about her knees, and she reached down to tug ineffectually at her exposed petticoat.

  He reached to help her up. "Are you—"

  "Halt!"

  The unfamiliar man's voice outside the coach made them both freeze. Christopher's hands went to her waist, tightening for a moment, holding her close.

  From the direction of the box came the coachman's inarticulate sputtering and Sally's sobs, but the man snapped, "None of that." A pause, then in a louder voice, "I'll have the lady step out of the coach now, or I'll put a bullet in your coachman's heart."

  Sally gave a short cry.

  Christopher's hands at her waist wouldn't allow her to move. "I won't let you out there," he hissed.

  "What choice do we have?"

  With the suddenness of the accident and the surprise of the man's appearance, her heartbeat was galloping in her throat, but she managed to shove herself onto her hands and knees, grasping the seat to push herself upright. The action was difficult because the coach was tilted, and her reticule strings dug into her wrist, but they were too twisted for her to easily drop her bag. Christopher had to lift his boot so she could tug her skirt free, and she reached over to the latch on the coach door. It slid under her hand more easily than she expected, and she was suddenly tumbling out of the coach. She fell to the dirt of the road with a slight skidding of her outstretched hands and a hard slap to her chest.

  The man sniggered, but she took her time to rise. Her indignity was worth the precious moments to cast a look about her.

  There was only one man, the same one she'd seen in her room at the inn—Winarc. He had high, narrow cheekbones and a gauntness to his jaw and neck that was emphasized by the long ash-brown hair pulled back from his high forehead into a stringy queue. He sat awkwardly atop his horse, a hired hack, but the bony hand holding the pistol aimed at her was steady enough.

  Christopher stumbled from the coach behind her and helped her to her feet.

  "Now, Mr. Creager, you'll pass me that puzzle box you found," Winarc said.

  The man did not know they had found the map. He perhaps did not know the existence of the map, if he were simply hired to get the box for someone else. They could give him what he asked for—but if they were too willing, he may realize they were concealing something.