My Scoundrel

by Cheryl Holt

  He had to earn her pardon, then wed her as rapidly as the deed could be accomplished. He wanted her bound to him forever, and until he was certain that she was his—with a marriage license to prove it—he wouldn’t rest easy.

  She came in slowly, appearing fragile and vulnerable. As she seated herself across from him, she was so altered from the quirky, animated woman he’d initially met that it didn’t seem possible she was the same person.

  “I just received a message from London,” he told her. “My men have the twins in their custody, and they’re fine. They’re on their way home. They should be here before the day is out.”

  He’d thought the news might enliven her, but she simply mouthed, Thank you.

  “Mason is gone, and he’ll never return.”

  She scowled and shook her head. Then, with a furious pencil, she scrawled, Don’t ever mention him to me again.

  “I won’t. I apologize. I hadn’t understood how much it would upset you.”

  He studied her, at a loss over how to proceed. He was searching for an opportunity to pour his heart out, to confess how he’d changed, but she evinced no interest in what he might wish to confide.

  “Were you informed about . . . Mrs. Merrick?”

  Yes.

  “Blair’s trial is tomorrow.”

  Jo was my only friend, she wrote. I hope he hangs.

  “That’s my intent.” He paused, feeling tongue-tied and awkward. “Ah . . . I’ve already found a minister to replace him.”

  She raised a brow in question.

  “He served in my regiment, and I ran into him in the city. His name is Ted Smith.” No reaction. “He was maimed—he lost an arm—so he’s had a rough patch. He’s a decent fellow and exactly the sort to rebuild the community after Blair.”

  He hurried on, worried that she wasn’t listening, that she didn’t care.

  “In fact, I’m sending Ted out with a team. He’ll hunt for some other of my injured veterans and bring them to the estate. To live. To work. I’m sorry I never appreciated my new position and wealth. You tried to convince me to cherish what I have, to help people who are struggling, but I refused to—”

  She held up a hand, cutting him off. Why are you here?

  “I had a frantic letter from Mrs. Merrick. It may have been her final act before her brother murdered her. She said you were in trouble, so I came at once.”

  Why? she wrote again.

  “Because I love you.”

  At his declaration, she gasped and penned, Don’t lie to me.

  “I’m not lying. I couldn’t bear to learn that you needed me, but I wasn’t here.”

  Where is your wife? Why isn’t she with you?

  “I didn’t marry her.” She frowned, and he added, “I couldn’t marry her.”

  Why? Apparently, it was the only word she knew.

  “I want to marry you instead. I want to marry you right away. Will you have me?”

  In huge, angry letters, she printed, NEVER IN A THOUSAND YEARS!!!

  Chaos erupted in the foyer, as the front door was slammed open. There was girlish babbling, stomping of feet, his brother calling for Nicholas.

  “Nan . . . Nell . . .” Emeline breathed, her voice sounding rusty and ruined.

  She hastened out without a goodbye.

  “Was that the last time you saw her?”

  “Yes, milord.”

  The housemaid from the vicarage simpered at the earl, trying to impress him with her testimony, and Oscar yearned to march over and throttle her.

  They were in the local tavern, the tables removed and the chairs arranged into a makeshift courtroom. People were jammed to the rafters, the entire citizenry keen to have him brought low.

  He was shackled to a bench, and because he kept interrupting, the earl had had him gagged. He could only intimidate with his eyes, which had no effect. The jurors assessed him with disdain.

  If the consequences hadn’t been so dire, he might have laughed at the absurdity. It seemed like a bad dream, as if the debacle was happening to some other poor sot.

  “Why did you leave Mrs. Merrick alone?” the earl asked the maid. “If you were afraid for her, why leave the parlor?”

  “She ran up to her bedchamber,” the girl said, “and locked her door. Then I went to the kitchen, to discuss matters with the cook. We had a lengthy conversation, and when I resumed my duties, the vicar and Mrs. Merrick were both gone.”

  “Did you see the vicar again that day?”

  “No, and I stayed until after dark. He missed his supper.”

  The crowd murmured with excitement. Oscar was renowned as a persnickety and punctual eater, and the fact that he’d skipped a meal sealed the general opinion that he was guilty. Their collective scowls inquired: Where had he been? Out in the woods, digging an unmarked grave?

  Lord Stafford peered out at the gathering. “Is there anyone else who saw Mrs. Merrick after the quarrel with her brother? Anyone? If you’re here, speak up.”

  There was grumbling and shuffling as the spectators glanced around, but Oscar hadn’t expected a response. Josephine had fled, but to where? Oscar had absolutely no clue, but no one would listen to him.

  The earl nodded to his brother who stood behind Oscar, and Lt. Price removed Oscar’s gag.

  “Well, Blair,” the earl said, “I’ll give you a final chance to come clean.”

  “I have no idea what’s become of Josephine.” He was innocent of malfeasance and wouldn’t exhibit any remorse to a roomful of fools.

  “If you didn’t kill her,” the earl pressed, “where is she? How would she have gotten there? Your maid testified that her belongings were all accounted for.”

  “She vanished,” Oscar tightly replied, “but it was none of my doing. When I returned home that evening, I’d been robbed, the collection money taken. I assume she stole it and used it to finance her departure.” He glowered at the earl. “If you’re so intent on pursuing a criminal, I suggest you find her and restore the church’s funds to me.”

  At Oscar’s comment, the observers gasped.

  From the jury box, Mr. Templeton chided, “You’re blaming a dead woman for the missing money?”

  “For shame,” several others muttered.

  Lt. Price was particularly incensed. “Don’t you dare besmirch her memory.” He seized Oscar by his coat. “If you insult her again, you won’t have to wait for the hangman’s noose. I’ll kill you right here, right now.”

  “That’s enough.” The earl interceded, and Lt. Price released his grip. The earl spun to the jury. “You’ve heard the evidence. What say all of you?”

  To a man, the puppets he’d assembled shouted, “Guilty!”

  “Thank you, gentlemen.” The earl’s stony gaze fell on Oscar. “Tell me where you buried her.”

  “I didn’t,” Oscar insisted.

  “You’ve been judged by your peers,” the earl spat. “Don’t make a mockery of their verdict.”

  “Their decision means naught to me.”

  “I’m sick of his whining,” Lt. Price told his brother. “Should I gag him again?”

  “Not just yet,” the earl replied. “Mr. Blair, will you—”

  “I am a man of God,” Oscar huffed, “and you will address me accordingly. It’s Vicar Blair to you.”

  “In your dreams maybe,” the earl retorted as the crowd snickered, “but not in reality. I’ve already given your job to someone else.”

  “What? No! I forbid it!”

  “He’s promised to say a nice prayer at your funeral. Now let’s get back to your sister. Where is her body?”

  “I don’t know!”

  “I want to bury her in the church cemetery. If you confess her whereabouts, I’ll show some respect for you after your demise—not that you deserve it.”

  “What wil
l you do?”

  “I’ll cut you down the moment we hang you, and I’ll bury you directly after.”

  “And if I don’t provide her location?” Oscar sneered, realizing too late that his question sounded like an admission.

  “You’ll dangle for weeks, so the crows can peck out your eyes and eat at your flesh. It’s what I’d pick for you, but I can’t imagine it’s what you’d prefer.”

  “You’re a monster!”

  “I definitely can be. What is your choice? Where is your sister?”

  Oscar’s mind raced, as he tried to formulate a plan to delay any action. Fleetingly, he considered lying, supplying a fake spot as to Josephine’s corpse. They’d all run off to check, and he’d buy himself some time. But when they found they’d been duped, they’d be even more eager for blood.

  “I wish to meet with an attorney,” Oscar declared.

  “Why would you need an attorney? You’ve had your trial. How could an attorney help you?”

  “Then I must speak with Benedict Mason.”

  “He’s on his way to the penal colonies in Australia.”

  “On what grounds?”

  “Kidnapping, attempted rape, and attempted murder.”

  Oscar blanched. “I demand to . . . to . . . confer with Sheriff Pratt.”

  Pratt was supposed to be a professional, but he’d mucked up the entire operation. He was responsible for the whole mess, so it was only fitting that he rescue Oscar.

  “Who is Sheriff Pratt?” the earl inquired.

  “Sheriff Pratt! Sheriff Pratt!”

  “Never heard of him.” The earl gestured to his brother. “Now you may gag him.”

  Lt. Price stuck the kerchief into Oscar’s mouth and untied his shackle to the bench. The earl rose, appearing regal and lethal. The courtroom rose with him. Oscar refused to join in. He glared mulishly, and Lt. Price jerked him to his feet.

  “Oscar Blair,” the earl solemnly proclaimed, “you stand convicted of the murder of your sister, Mrs. Josephine Merrick. The penalty for murder is death by hanging. I have given you a chance for mercy, a chance to admit where you’ve hidden her body, but you declined to take it, and I see no reason to delay sentence.”

  The earl motioned to his brother again. “Escort him out to the village green. To the oak tree on the south end.” He stared at the crowd. “Men, you may accompany me. Ladies, though your interest in justice is laudable, I will not let you attend. Please return to your homes and remain there until this sad business is over.”

  The men dawdled as the women trudged out. Lt. Price bound Oscar’s wrists and led him to the door. Oscar was bleating with fury, protesting his innocence, but he was muted by the gag. He struggled against Lt. Price’s firm grip, but couldn’t pry himself loose. Even if he could manage it, what was the point?

  He could never escape the Price brothers. They were like a force of nature, a gale that had blown into town and swept away all that was decent and good.

  They marched out of the tavern and across the grass, and Oscar’s legs failed him. Lt. Price hauled him along as if he was an invalid. They approached the tree and, the verdict having been a foregone conclusion, the noose was already in place, as was the chair where he would perch until it was kicked out from under him.

  Though the female residents had been ordered away, Emeline Wilson watched him come.

  Emeline! Emeline! he shrieked with his eyes. You know me! You know I wouldn’t kill Josephine! Stop them! Stop this!

  Lt. Price pulled Oscar forward until he was directly in front of her.

  “I am here to bear witness for Josephine.” Emeline’s voice was odd—as if she had a bad sore throat. “She was beautiful and kind. She was my friend. You didn’t deserve to have her as your sister.”

  Emeline moved away, and Lt. Price shoved him at the chair.

  “Climb up, Blair,” Lt. Price commanded.

  No, no! Oscar couldn’t comply, so the earl and his brother lifted him onto it. Lt. Price yanked away the kerchief, as Oscar wet himself, urine flooding his trousers.

  “Have you any last words?” the earl asked.

  “I didn’t do it!”

  “You still deny your perfidy?” the earl scoffed. “You’re about to meet your Maker, Blair. This might be the time to exhibit some humility.”

  A thin, maimed young man stepped forward, a Bible clutched to his chest.

  “I’m Ted Smith, Mr. Blair,” the man said. “I’d like to pray with you. Is there a certain passage you prefer?”

  “Get away from me!” Oscar kicked at the Holy Book, sending it flying to the ground, and he didn’t suffer an ounce of remorse.

  What benefit had the stupid text ever provided? His entire life, he’d abided by its teachings, yet in the end, he was being wrongfully hanged by a felonious scoundrel.

  Mr. Smith picked up the Bible and dusted it off. “You’re a tad distraught, which is understandable. I’ll select a Psalm for you.”

  He chose the Twenty-Third and began to read, but his speed was much too fast for Oscar’s liking. All too soon, he finished and snapped the book closed. The earl slipped the noose over Oscar’s head, and Oscar quivered with terror.

  “I won’t ask again, Blair,” the earl warned. “Any final words?”

  “Yes! Yes! I’ve always been a righteous person, a pious person. I worked hard and tried my best. I guided my congregation from sin to virtue, and I—”

  “Must we listen to this?” Lt. Price complained.

  “No.” The earl tugged on the rope, tightening it so it cut into Oscar’s neck.

  Oscar gazed out at the men of the village. They had been his flock, and he searched for a friendly face, but couldn’t find one. Was there no compassion in their hearts? Was there no sympathy? How could the world be so cruel?

  He was about to beg, to weep, when suddenly, a coach rounded the corner and rumbled into the square.

  A little girl appeared in the window, and everyone gawked as she called, “Papa! Papa! It’s me, Annie! I’ve come all the way from Belgium.”

  Lt. Price’s jaw dropped with surprise, and he rushed away from Oscar and hurried to the carriage.

  “Annie?” Lt. Price murmured, amazed. “Is it really you?”

  He reached for the door and pulled it open. The girl leapt out and into his arms.

  A woman emerged from behind her, and there was a communal gasp of shock.

  “Hello, Stephen,” Josephine said. “I have a confession to make. I hope you’re not angry.” She frowned, taking in the peculiar scene, the enraged citizens of the town, her brother on a chair with a noose circling his neck. “Have I missed something important?”

  “I’ll be damned,” the earl muttered. He looked over at Oscar. “I guess you were telling the truth.”

  Oscar fainted dead away.

  “Goodnight, my little darling.”

  “Goodnight, Papa.” Annie paused, then asked, “I surprised you, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “Are you happy I came?”

  “I am so happy. I can’t tell you how much.”

  Stephen pulled up her covers, tucking her in as he hadn’t since she was a tiny baby. He leaned down and kissed the top of her head.

  “Mrs. Merrick said you’d be glad.”

  “She was correct.”

  “I like her; she’s funny.” Annie’s eyes were drooping. She was yawning, nodding off. “I was afraid on the ship, but she told the best stories. It made me forget the rocking of the waves.”

  Since she’d arrived, she hadn’t stopped chattering. The words of a lifetime had been bottled inside her, and they were tumbling out. He hadn’t known that one small girl could be such a whirlwind.

  She was in her own room, but the Wilson twins were across the hall. The three were the same age, and they’d quickly bonded
. Very soon, he suspected they would be sharing quarters rather than occupying two separate chambers.

  In the morning, there would be children’s laughter in the mansion, singing and skipping and merry games on the stairs. He liked to think that the house was being reborn, welcoming family, resonating with the sounds of new joy. The prospect was enormously comforting.

  “You get to sleep now,” he murmured.

  “You’ll be here in the morning, won’t you?”

  “I’ll be right here. We won’t ever be parted again.”

  He prayed that was true, but it wasn’t the moment to mention it. He had to finish with the army, so there’d be some wrangling over his discharge. Hopefully, it could be handled with a bunch of paperwork so he wouldn’t have to leave Stafford.

  With Mason banished to Australia, and the estate suffering from a myriad of problems, Nicholas had urged Stephen to serve as land agent in Mason’s stead. Stephen had jumped at the chance. He intended to plant roots at Stafford, roots so deep that he could never be forced away.

  “Goodnight,” he repeated, but she didn’t reply.

  She’d finally run out of steam, and he stood, watching her, mesmerized by the rise and fall of the blankets as she inhaled and exhaled.

  Ultimately, exhaustion took its toll, and he tiptoed out. The past few days had been filled with drama and chaos, and he was relieved to have it over. Nicholas still had to deal with Oscar Blair, but with Josephine having reappeared, Nicholas’s choices weren’t so dire.

  However he punished Blair, Stephen didn’t care. Blair was complicit in the crimes committed against Emeline Wilson, and so long as Nicholas dispatched him far away, Stephen wasn’t concerned if Blair was dead or alive, imprisoned or free.

  He proceeded to his room, passing down the quiet corridors. He wasn’t staying in the earl’s grand suite as he had earlier in the summer. Then, Nicholas hadn’t been interested in the trappings of his title, and he’d refused the more ostentatious accommodations.

  However, upon their recent return, he’d claimed the space as his own on the assumption that he was about to marry Emeline. He’d built up an entire fantasy where he would rescue her and she’d be so grateful that she’d wed him immediately.