The Fifth Wife

by Sahara Kelly

  “You don’t have to tell me.” Dev chuckled. “I adore Hannah. If she wasn’t head over heels for you, I’d be trying to court her favors myself.”

  Charles didn’t take this declaration amiss. “I believe I always knew you had good taste.”

  “Probably because I never responded to Miss DeVere’s wiles.”

  “Why was that, Dev? She seduced every other man she met. Lucius was caught in her toils, and myself. Why were you immune? Was it the Obsession?” He glanced at his companion as they strolled over the snow-covered path.

  “Could be. I have no idea.” Dev shrugged. “I looked at her eyes, I suppose. It’s always the eyes. They say a lot, but in hers there was nothing there. No spark of laughter or joy. Just…”

  “Just what?”

  Dev thought about it. “Greed, Charles. That’s all I ever saw. Naked greed.”

  They walked on silently for a while. Dev, realized Charles, was about as brilliant a man as he could ever hope to meet. Quiet, unassuming and outwardly modest, he possessed a mind that could outthink most—if not all—their contemporaries.

  And now he demonstrated an intuition, an almost frightening ability to read people that far surpassed any Charles could hope to attain.

  “You scare me, my friend. Don’t ever let me get on your bad side.”

  Dev laughed. “I won’t. I’ll just shoot you.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.” Charles laughed back.

  They walked on, mutually satisfied in each other’s company, for about a mile or so. Then Charles made an unpleasant discovery. “My boots are leaking.”

  “And my feet are cold. Let’s turn back, shall we?”

  On the return journey, Charles broached a topic that had been occupying the part of his mind that wasn’t thinking of Hannah. Which was a small part, but an annoying part, all the same.

  “Hannah’s father. What on earth am I going to do about the man?”

  “Good question.”

  “He had his own daughter kidnapped and compromised in a brothel so that he could blackmail her into doing what he wanted.” Charles shook his head. “What the hell kind of a father is that, and how do we deal with it?”

  “Horsewhipping comes to mind,” said Dev dryly. “But since he’s your father-in-law, that probably isn’t the best notion.”

  “I like it, but you’re right. It wouldn’t do.”

  “Do you want to punish him? Damage him? What kind of retribution do you want, Charles? Once you decide that, we’ll plan a course of action.”

  Charles grinned. “You’re much too Machiavellian for my liking. I go back to an earlier statement. You scare me sometimes.”

  Dev looked smug. “Of course. All part of my plan.”

  “However, you’re right. I don’t know what I want to do to him. Yes, I’d like to wring his damn neck for what he put Hannah through. But she has another sister and a brother at home. They have to deal with him still. So I’d rather not anger him too much, lest he take it out on them.”

  Dev was silent. “So somehow we need to punish this man on a very personal level. And yet do it in a way that doesn’t turn him into a raging beast raining terror down on innocent heads.”

  “Precisely.” Charles nodded. Then stopped short. “Of course.” He snapped his fingers. “I have it.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes. All we need to do is find the damn talisman.”

  *~~*~~*

  On Saturday morning, promptly at eleven o’clock, Hannah Derby and Charles Fontaine, Lord Penvale, were joined together in Holy Matrimony by the Reverend Timothy Fletcher.

  Hannah believed that the sunshine filling the little church was a final blessing on their union. A lasting reminder of how smoothly everything had gone up to now. With the arrival of the license, the legalities were finalized, and all Hannah had to do was slide into the magnificent silk gown she and Agatha had found tucked away in a very old trunk. It had needed a bit of alteration for Hannah’s slight figure, but with the addition of the white silk rose coronet, she felt every inch a bride.

  Agatha had glowed when Hannah asked if she might carry Agatha’s family bible instead of flowers. After all, it was still mid-winter and although the snowdrops would be peeking up shortly, there wasn’t a bud or a blossom anywhere that she could see herself carrying up the aisle.

  So with her arm in Dev’s, Hannah solemnly walked the length of the church in borrowed finery. And with such love in her heart she thought she might burst.

  The ceremony was traditional, the words simple but binding. And when it came time, her “I do” rang across the empty pews.

  It wasn’t any kind of a fancy wedding, but for Hannah it was everything she could ever have dreamed of. Her future lay in the blue eyes of the man now placing a ring on her finger. Where he’d gotten it, she had no idea, but it was a glowing gold band and it slipped over her knuckle into place as if it was made for her.

  At Reverend Fletcher’s direction, Charles kissed her lightly, then gave her a huge hug, lifting her clean off her feet.

  There was a scattering of applause from the members of Agatha’s small staff, who had been invited to attend the event. The half dozen people could have been a hundred and Hannah wouldn’t have noticed. She was in her own little world of happiness, and nothing would detract from this special moment.

  Walking from the church on his arm, and then being handed into Agatha’s carriage for the brief trip back to the Chase—these were minutes that flew by on brilliant wings. They were back in Agatha’s warm salon before she knew it and suddenly there was a glass of something in her hand and she was being toasted.

  How had it happened? How had she gone from being a servant at a little New Forest inn, to the depths of a bawdy house, to here? To being the wife of Lord Penvale?

  She didn’t, just then, have any idea at all how she came to be there. But it didn’t matter. She was the wife of a man she never believed existed. A man who could come into her life and sweep her heart into his keeping within seconds of their meeting.

  She stood next to him and looked up into his face. “I’ll try and be a good wife to you Charles.”

  “You don’t need to say that, Hannah love. You are the wife I want. Don’t change, don’t try, don’t do anything but be you.”

  “Damn, that was well said.” Dev strolled past at that moment. “I must remember that.” He mimed making a note on his hand.

  “You’re an ass, but today I forgive you.” Charles shook his head.

  Hannah leaned over, went up on tiptoe and kissed Dev on the cheek. “You’re our hero, Dev. Part of our big adventure. We’ll never forget it, you know.”

  “We certainly won’t, “ said Charles. “He’ll remind us every opportunity he gets.”

  “Oh for Heaven’s sake.” Hannah threw up her hands. “You two are incorrigible. Go and be horrid to each other while I find Agatha. I need to change.”

  She hurried off to find their hostess, and prepare for the first leg of her trip to her new home.

  It had been agreed that she and Charles would spend their wedding night at the Sow’s Ear. Both of them wanted to reassure Martin that all was well, and since they hadn’t had chance to invite him to the ceremony, they decided to make him part of their day as best they could.

  It wasn’t easy saying goodbye to Agatha. Hannah had developed a fondness for the older woman and was happy to promise to visit as soon as she had the chance.

  Dev got a huge hug and another kiss on the cheek, along with the command to drop in and see them at Fontaine house whenever he wished. Hannah swore she would pine away if he didn’t show up within the month.

  Charles snorted out a laugh, punched his friend on the shoulder, shook his hand and departed, leaving his wife rolling her eyes at the strange ways displayed by the male of the species.

  However, their farewells were finally said and the carriage—loaned by Agatha—rumbled away toward the New Forest.

  “Alone at last.” He grinned dow
n at her. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting to say that?”

  “No, and it’s an awful phrase I’ve read so many times in novels, I’m shocked to hear you use it.” She grinned back.

  “Come here.”

  He gathered her close, removed her bonnet with what she considered quite unseemly haste and proceeded to kiss the daylights out of her.

  Lady Penvale should have objected to such rough treatment, of course. But Hannah was thrilled to her marrow, and returned his kisses with enthusiasm.

  Several miles passed in this pleasant fashion, and by the time they neared the Sow’s Ear, Charles was in physical pain and Hannah’s dress was barely covering her assets.

  “Good God. Look at us.” She laughed and began to straighten her clothing. “Martin will never let us live it down if we appear looking more like gypsies than Lord and Lady Penvale.”

  “I’ll simply order two kegs of his finest ale. He’ll be so happy he’ll forgive us anything.” Charles leaned forward and looked outside. “We’re almost there.”

  “Here, hold this.” She passed him her reticule. “I need to straighten my stockings.”

  Obediently Charles took her little bag, a bit stunned at the weight, but distracted at the glimpse of her shapely thigh and the garter holding up her stocking.

  “I want you.” The words slipped out unbidden, driven by a deep lust that had awakened the day they met.

  “Good.” She looked quite content with his bold statement. “That’s as it should be. After all, it would be rather embarrassing if I were the only one of us suffering the—er—pangs of desire.”

  Charles choked down a laugh. “And what did you say about those romantic novels?”

  “Oh hush. We’re here.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Hannah took Charles’s hand and let him help her down onto the mushy ground, as the coachman unloaded their two small carpetbags.

  She was a little surprised that Martin wasn’t already opening the door to the Sow’s Ear, but guessed he was probably inside pouring a tankard of ale for his guests.

  “Hannah…” Charles held her back with a frown. “Wait a moment.” He stood next to their bags, listening.

  “What is it?” She stood still as the carriage left them to return to Agatha’s.

  “I don’t know. But something isn’t right.”

  She looked around, sensing his tension. “The door. It’s ajar.”

  That wasn’t like Martin. Especially in the cold weather. He’d open it on warm evenings, but it was far too cold to allow any kind of draft at this time of year.

  “I want you to stay outside. Here.” He led her over to a low wooden bench used by patrons on those hot summer afternoons.

  “But…”

  “Please, love,” he whispered. “We don’t know what’s going on inside. Let me find out. Stay safe here and I can focus on what’s happening. It may be nothing. I hope it is nothing. But I need to know you’re all right.”

  She bit her lip with frustration. “Very well.”

  He walked quietly to the door, eased it open a little more, and slipped through.

  As soon as he vanished, Hannah followed, pausing on the threshold, listening. All was quiet for a moment or two, then she heard a chair scrape.

  “Who are y-y-y-you?” The male voice was loud and nervous. “G-g-g-go away.”

  Hannah blinked. She knew that voice. And it belonged to a person she was quite eager to speak to. Reaching into her reticule, she pulled out a small gun, a weapon she’d borrowed from Agatha. Charles didn’t know about it, of course. Men were a bit odd when it came to women and guns.

  This one was a muff gun—designed to fit neatly into a lady’s muff, where it would be admirably concealed, but ready for use at the first sign of danger.

  It fit not only a muff, but Hannah’s hand, and she gripped it firmly as she pushed the door wide and stalked into the room.

  “Hallo Cousin Benby. I’m glad you’re here. I need a word.” She leveled the gun at him.

  “Er, Hannah?” Charles was standing next to Martin who was tied to a chair. The older man looked ruffled and uncertain, but other than a slight bruise on his cheek, he seemed unscathed.

  “Are you all right, Martin?” Hannah’s voice was steady.

  “I am that, thankee, girl. Seems this-this person is lookin’ fer yer.”

  “Hannah—er—you have a gun in your hand…” Charles sounded more than a little confused.

  “I do indeed, my Lord. And I can assure you it’s loaded. I checked. So,” she swung her attention back to her cousin, “I’d like you to step away from the table, Benby, while my husband unties my dear friend. I can’t imagine how he ended up in such a situation, but I’m sure you were about to release him.” She took a step forward. “Weren’t you?”

  Eyes glued to her weapon, Benby nodded, sweat breaking out on his brow. “I...I...was looking for you. I was told he knew where you w-w-w-were.” He was tall, rather overweight, and his skin was pale since he spent little time outdoors.

  Hannah had always felt for him, because his treatment hadn’t been beneficial to one who needed special care. So she carefully clicked the safety latch back on and put the little gun back into her reticule. “Sit down, Benby, do.”

  She motioned to a chair and obediently the big man sat. “S-s-s-sorry, Cousin Hannah.” He twisted his hands together on the table. “About the k-k-k-kidnapping and—and this…” His face contorted and he sobbed. “I d-d-d-didn’t mean to hurt y-y-you…”

  Sighing, Hannah put the gun back into her reticule. Charles had untied Martin and the older man was rubbing his wrists and looking fiercely at Benby.

  “I’m sure you didn’t mean to hurt anybody, Benby. You’ve always been quite gentle.” She moved to his side and patted his shoulder. “Now here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to ask Martin if he’ll be so kind as to make us a nice cup of tea. Then we’re all going to sit here at this comfy table and you can tell us all about it. You’ll feel ever so much better after getting it off your chest, won’t you?”

  She nodded firmly and Benby, his gaze fixed on her face, nodded as well. “Y-y-y-yes, Cousin Hannah.”

  “There we are. Good boy.” She patted him again, and her gaze drifted to Martin.

  He frowned, but agreed. “Right then. I’ll get yer tea.” He glanced at Charles. “Ale fer yer, I’d guess, lad.”

  Charles looked at Hannah, down at her lumpy reticule and back up at her face. “Make it a large one, Martin. I need it.”

  It didn’t take long for everyone to follow Hannah’s directions, and she sipped her tea while talking to Benby in a soft and calming tone of voice. He was not a cruel or violent person, as far as she knew. But he was slow, and always did what he was told, no matter what it was.

  She had come to his rescue once or twice during her childhood—the older ones had taken a malicious pleasure in making sure Benby got into trouble instead of them.

  It was cruel and she’d stepped in where she could. However, she realized that his gentle nature made him a perfect target. Anyone who wanted some dirty work done would find Benby an ideal associate.

  She believed that was what had happened here.

  And the simplest way to find out was to ask. So she did.

  “So tell me, cousin. Did my father ask you to kidnap me? Was he the one who gave you the laudanum to render me unconscious?”

  Benby blinked at her. “Oh no, cousin Hannah. Not your father. Fathers do not do things like that.” He seemed shocked.

  She gave a little laugh. “I don’t believe it was your idea, Benby. We’re friends. Do you remember when I helped you send George Robinson into the pond? He was going to trick you into falling in, but we turned the tables on him.”

  Benby’s face lit up. “Oh yes, cousin. I remember. That was funny. So funny. Hahahaha.”

  “You see? We’re friends. So I know you wouldn’t hurt me. All you have to do is tell me who asked you to take me away from here to that h
ouse in Redbridge. Tell me what happened, dear friend.” She rested her hand on his arm.

  It was his undoing. His face turned sad and his chin wobbled. “I didn’t want to do it, you know. I told him I could just ask you and you’d come with me. But he said you might not have a winter coat and you’d be c-c-c-cold in the snow, so you’d be better wrapped up in a nice warm blanket and sleeping. All t-t-t-tucked in like a b-b-b-bug in a rug, he said.”

  “Who was it, Benby?” Hannah probed with caution. He was talking now, and the others were letting her ease the information from him. She could feel Charles’s tension, but blessed him for staying silent.

  “He said…he s-s-s-said his name was Mr. S-s-s-smith.”

  Hannah closed her eyes for a moment and uttered several unladylike curses beneath her breath.

  “Was he a friend of yours too, Benby? Like you and cousin Hannah?” This time Charles couldn’t keep quiet, but at least he kept his question calm and his voice level.

  “Oh no.” Benby shook his head. “I didn’t know him. We met at a dog show. I had Sully with me…” He turned to Hannah. “D’you recall him, cousin? My sweet Sully. He liked you a lot.”

  “I do remember him, Benby. An Irish setter and a lovely little ball of red fluff. He must be a big fellow now.”

  “He is. And he took third prize. He pranced like a champion.” Benby lifted his chin and smiled with pride.

  Hannah noted he’d lost his stammer. When he was talking about comfortable things, his speech was quite ordinary. He only stuttered if he was prey to the less comfortable emotions of fear, or anxiety. She hoped she could maintain his current disposition.

  “Did Mr. Smith like Sully? I’m sure everyone must have loved seeing him trotting around with all that shining red hair swinging this way and that…”

  “He did.” Benby grinned. “Said Sully was the best setter he’d ever seen and deserved first place. Said he was a credit to the Sullivan line.”