Always Yours

by Cheryl Holt

  Obviously, Nathan’s trek home had been extremely difficult, and he was still very angry over what had happened there. Sebastian wasn’t in any mood to be pummeled again, but at least he’d be better prepared. The prior occasion, he’d been too stunned to defend himself.

  He glared at Judah. “Would you like to come with me? You have some topics to address with him.”

  “I can’t accompany you,” Judah said. “From how you’ve described him, he’s mentally unbalanced. If I heard him telling lies about me, I can’t predict how I’d react.”

  “Would it be pistols at dawn?” Raven facetiously inquired.

  “It might be,” Judah firmly stated.

  Sebastian studied him, wondering what was true, and he wished there was some sort of machine he could hook to Judah to gauge his veracity. Wouldn’t that be a neat trick?

  The catastrophe in Africa had been chaotic and terrifying, with a native tribe chasing them through the jungle and hell-bent on murdering the whole crew. They’d barely survived.

  With Nathan’s fate a mystery, he’d sent Judah with two other men to locate him. They still swore he was dead when they’d stumbled on him, that they hadn’t recovered his body because a group of natives had espied them, and they’d run for their lives.

  Later, when matters had calmed, Sebastian had had emissaries attempt to retrieve his father and Nathan. He’d been given his father’s corpse, but Nathan’s had vanished, and tribal leaders had insisted they didn’t have it. Sebastian had left for England without his friend, and it had turned out to be another bad decision in a long line of them.

  His many vacillations were the best evidence of why Sir Sidney had been in charge of their expeditions, and Sebastian had simply been the favored son who’d followed him and obeyed his orders.

  “Guess what Ophelia asked me yesterday.” He was desperate to change the subject. “She wants to travel to Africa with us on our next trip.”

  Raven and Judah blanched, and Judah said, “As a member of the team? That’s deranged. Africa is no place for a woman.”

  Raven snorted with disgust. “I hope you refused.”

  “I did, but she’s furious about it.”

  “Well, let her be furious,” Raven said, “and if she doesn’t stop being furious, ignore her. You’re an utter milksop with females. You always cave in.”

  “Not on this.”

  Raven never deemed Sebastian to be tough enough in any situation, but in light of Raven’s temper and steely attitude, it was impossible to match him in rage or determination.

  When he was a boy, his father had been duped in a swindle, and his family had lost everything. They’d been cast out of their home, and his father had died in prison. His mother had then died of shame. The bitter history meant he had scant sympathy for others, and you’d hate to have him as an enemy. He felt the slightest sign of weakness should be stamped out.

  Sebastian switched his attention to Judah. “How should we mend your rift with Nathan? I’m curious as to how you think we should resolve it.”

  “You don’t need to resolve it. He and I have to be the ones.”

  “I won’t permit you to duel with him.”

  “Then he should shut his mouth and cease spreading stories that aren’t true.”

  “If we can’t fix it, how can I go to Africa with both of you?”

  “Is that what’s worrying you? Nathan loathes us now, so he won’t be joining us on any future ventures. It will never be an issue.”

  “Probably not,” Sebastian mumbled.

  “Does your comment indicate there’s to be a new expedition? Will we start preparing?”

  The question was posed constantly. The crew especially was waiting to hear his opinion, but he couldn’t imagine journeying to the Dark Continent again. Not when there was a potential for such violence and not without Sir Sidney. Not without Nathan. The very idea seemed like blasphemy.

  Vaguely, he noted Raven was over by the door and talking to a footman. Suddenly, he bristled, then he marched over to Sebastian. His expression lethal, he leaned down and murmured, “Your presence is required in the foyer immediately.”

  “What is it?”

  “Miss Robertson is here, and she has two…ah…young friends with her.”

  Sebastian was glad he was sitting down. If he hadn’t been, he might have fallen down. “You’re joking.”

  Raven never joked. “See for yourself.”

  “What’s wrong?” Judah asked.

  “Nothing’s wrong,” Sebastian claimed.

  “Not yet anyway,” Raven fumed.

  Sebastian stomped out to the foyer, and there, seated on a bench, was Sarah Robertson. Petunia was nestled by her side, and Noah was standing, hovering over them in a protective way.

  He looked magnificent and stout-hearted, but the two females looked beaten down and bedraggled. Miss Robertson was particularly bereft. He wanted to shout at them. He wanted to storm over and shake her, but she was so morose it would have been like kicking a puppy.

  In the fleet minute since he’d emerged to confront them, at least three of his men had strolled by. There were never any children at the Haven, and everyone was peeking at them, wondering who they were.

  Why couldn’t the accursed woman have walked around to the servant’s entrance? He’d explicitly warned her he couldn’t have the children’s identities being bandied. Why hadn’t she listened? Why couldn’t she—just once—behave as was appropriate?

  Apparently, his past chastisements had had no effect on her. Was she deaf? Was she stark raving mad? Quite possibly so. It was obvious he needed to be much clearer with her, but before he could begin, Noah stepped between them.

  “I recognize that we’ve surprised you,” Noah said, “and Miss Robertson was convinced you’d be angry.”

  “Miss Robertson was correct,” Sebastian irately replied.

  “To prevent you from lashing out at her, I must clarify that it was my idea to come here. Not hers. I brought us.”

  “Is that right?” Sebastian’s tone was dubious.

  “Yes, that’s right, Mr. Sinclair,” Noah retorted. “I am not a liar and never have been, so I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t accuse me of duplicity. Your temper is flaring, but you will not berate her. I’m sorry, but I can’t allow it.”

  Sebastian was completely flummoxed. How old was the boy? Twelve? Yet he carried himself like a king, and Sebastian couldn’t devise a suitable response.

  The problem was exacerbated by the fact that the little ass was an exact replica of Sir Sidney. His haughty demeanor made it seem as if Sebastian’s father had been shrunk down to a smaller size. Petunia so closely resembled his sister Ophelia that the same could be true of her. She was a small Ophelia. At the realization, he felt dizzy and disoriented.

  What was he to do with them? He couldn’t be the only one who’d noticed the similarities. If his drunken companions were too inebriated to figure it out, the servants certainly would, and they were the worst gossips in the world. News that two of Sir Sidney’s bastards were at Hero’s Haven would race through the kingdom like a wildfire.

  “Raven,” he said, “take the children down to the kitchen and have them fed.”

  Noah shook his head. “We won’t leave Miss Robertson alone with you. Not if you intend to castigate her.”

  Sebastian had never spent much time around children, and those with whom he’d socialized had been quiet and polite. How was he to deal with such a fierce character?

  A horrifying vision flashed in his mind—of himself quarreling with the boy and losing the argument—but Miss Robertson saved him.

  “I’m not afraid of Mr. Sinclair,” she said. “He would never hurt me.”

  “Maybe not physically,” Noah said, “but he could verbally insult you, and I am the one who should be criticized. Not you.”

  She smiled a weary smile. “You haven’t had any breakfast though, and Pet is starving. Why don’t you eat while he and I talk?”

  Noah s
cowled. “If you’re sure?”

  “I’m sure. You go on.”

  Noah pulled himself up to his full height and addressed Sebastian. “When you’re done speaking to Miss Robertson, I should like to have my own conversation with you.”

  “There’s no need,” Sebastian told him. “Miss Robertson has been very open with me as to your situation.”

  “Yes, but she is a stranger to you, so she has no stake in what will happen to Petunia and me. I, on the other hand, am your—”

  Before he could voice the word brother, Raven leapt over and clamped a palm over his mouth. Noah kicked him in the shin and attempted to wriggle away, but Raven held tight.

  Raven leaned down, his manner very threatening. “Let’s you and I escort Miss Petunia down to the kitchen and get her some breakfast. Don’t sass me about it.”

  Noah yanked away. “I don’t take orders from anyone—especially not from a man I’ve never even met.”

  “You’ll take them from me,” Raven seethed, and Miss Robertson saved them all again.

  “Noah, please. I can’t bear to bicker. I’m too sad.”

  At her plaintive remark, the boy relented, his shoulders sagging with defeat. “Fine. I’ll stay with Petunia until you’re finished.”

  “I won’t be long.”

  Raven guided him away, Petunia walking behind. She cast a scathing glance at Sebastian, apprising him that she didn’t like him, didn’t approve of his treatment of them, and wouldn’t countenance any rude behavior toward Miss Robertson.

  Sebastian dawdled until they’d vanished, then he clasped Miss Robertson by the arm, raised her to her feet, and dragged her down the hall. Judah watched them and tried to follow, but Sebastian waved him away.

  “What is it with the men in this house?” she grumpily asked. “Why do all of you think it’s acceptable to manhandle a female?”

  “We don’t manhandle all females, Miss Robertson. Just those who are a nuisance.”

  He arrived at an empty parlor, flung open the door, and marched her in.

  “How dare you come here!” he raged as he slammed it. “I insisted I couldn’t help you, but you keep showing up like a bad penny.”

  “Yes, that’s me,” she snidely responded, “sweeping in like a plague of locusts.”

  He spun on her, ready to bellow at her, but before he could commence his tirade, she staggered over to the sofa and eased down.

  She was still as a statue, her elbows on her knees, her head in her hands. She appeared so forlorn that he wondered if she wasn’t crying.

  He’d spent two decades with tough, brave, manly men and none of it with British females. He’d never tarried with one during a personal crisis and had definitely never comforted one when she was distraught. His fury waned. How could a fellow admonish a woman who was so clearly anguished?

  Finally, she straightened, and she swabbed her fingers across her eyes, wiping away any evidence of tears. Then she stared up at him and said, “This has been the very worst day of my life—except for the day my father died. Might I have a whiskey?”

  She was trembling. With regret? With fear? With a chill? He couldn’t guess, but he went to the sideboard and filled a glass for her. He abstained from pouring one for himself. He’d had plenty, and he had to sober up and confer with her in a sane way. If he wasn’t careful, what deranged assistance might he ultimately offer?

  He delivered the beverage, and he’d brought the decanter too, figuring she might need more than a single shot. She proved him right, swiftly downing the first serving in a quick gulp, then she extended the glass, and he filled it again. She sipped the contents more slowly.

  “What happened?” he asked. “And supply me with the shortened version. I don’t require a drawn-out soliloquy.”

  “Could you sit down? It’s exasperating to have you loom over me like a torturer.”

  He rather liked looming over her. From their prior encounters, he’d discovered that he had to stay on his toes or she would seize every advantage, and he had no intention of letting her.

  But she was simply too miserable for words, so he decided to oblige her for once. He grabbed a chair and pulled it over, but of course, he positioned it much too close so their feet and legs were tangled together. Yet he didn’t push it back. He didn’t want her to assume she rattled him.

  She didn’t.

  He glared, irked by her pretty blue eyes. They were luminous, shimmering with the tears she’d refused to shed, and for a moment, he felt as if he was drowning, as if he couldn’t look away. He physically shook himself, jerking away from an unnamed abyss into which he might have tumbled.

  He was struggling to keep his temper at bay. He’d previously learned that it was futile to shout at her, and if he raised his voice, he was certain she’d tattle to Noah. Bizarre as it sounded, Sebastian couldn’t bear to be scolded by the boy. It would be too much like being scolded by Sir Sidney.

  “Why are you here?” he asked in a more even tone.

  “My building was sold,” she said, “and the new owner came earlier than I anticipated. I thought I was prepared, but…but…” Her sentence trailed off, her woe too great to clarify.

  “How long have you been there?”

  “Since I was three—when I was left on the stoop.”

  “So it’s always been your home. It must be very hard for you to lose it.”

  “Mr. Sinclair, you have no idea.” She downed her slug of whiskey and shuddered with a mixture of dread and sadness. “I was too stunned to react, so they set the last of my things out on the street.”

  “You had to abandon all of it?”

  “No. A neighboring business owner loaned me his wagon. We loaded my possessions in it, and we drove it to the Haven.”

  “Your belongings are out in my driveway?”

  “Yes, sorry.”

  “I can see that you’re distressed, Miss Robertson, but why didn’t you make arrangements for yourself? You’ve known the sale was about to conclude. Why didn’t you plan ahead? Why didn’t you…ah…find another job or another building or another home? Why dawdle until disaster struck?”

  “I don’t have any money. How would I have moved precisely? And I did try to find a job. I’ve sought assistance everywhere, but there are so many people in the city who are searching for work too.”

  “I understand,” he murmured.

  Women flocked to London, anxious for employment, but there were too many of them and not enough spots. Most of them ended up toiling away in slaughterhouses or as seamstresses. The unlucky ones became whores.

  She was so magnificent, and the prospect of her winding up in a brothel was appalling.

  But was it his responsibility to rescue her from such a fate? The line of desperate females was long and growing longer, and she was a member of that tormented group. He couldn’t save the whole world, but if he simply gave her a few pounds and sent her away, wouldn’t he always be ashamed of himself?

  “In my own defense,” she continued, “I didn’t have much time to fuss over my own plight. A month ago, I still had twelve children residing with me. I’ve been busy, hunting for lodging for them.”

  “Rather than for yourself.” He clucked his tongue like a mother hen. “You are a do-gooder, Miss Robertson, which means you are the very sort of person who annoys me the most. Have you no sense of self-preservation?”

  “I was born to help others,” she said, “and if I wasn’t born to it, my father led me into it. I couldn’t turn my back on his legacy. I’m following in his footsteps.”

  “Look where it’s left you.”

  “I apologize for bothering you, but when the door was locked behind us at the orphanage, I was in such a state, I really went quite mad. Noah was telling the truth that he brought us here. I was too despondent to decide on a destination.”

  “What is it you expect from me?”

  “From you? I don’t expect anything from you. Noah does, but not me. Before I met you, I’d hoped you might have some red
eeming qualities, but I’ve had to accept that you probably have none at all.”

  He snorted with amusement. “I have a few positive attributes.”

  “I haven’t witnessed them.” She rubbed a weary hand over her eyes and, as if he wasn’t present, she mumbled, “I’m such a fool. I couldn’t convince myself that she’d proceed. Deep down, I was so sure she wouldn’t. I can’t believe she detests me that much.”

  “Who are you talking about?” he asked.

  She didn’t answer him, but kept on. “I constantly prayed for a miracle, that God would soften her heart, but it was pointless. Miracles never occur when people like me beg for them.”

  He clasped hold of her wrist, forcing her to look at him. Touching her, bare skin to bare skin, was like touching fire. He felt as if he’d been burned, and he whipped his appendage away, lest he leave it exactly where it shouldn’t be.

  “Who was it and what did she do to you?” he inquired.

  “Don’t pay any attention to me.” She waved him away. “I’m being completely morbid.”

  He leaned in so they were nose to nose. “Who hurt you?”

  She dithered forever, then admitted, “My sister and her husband. They inherited the building from my father. Actually, they coerced him into changing his Will when he was in declining health. They’re in financial trouble, and they needed the money.” She glanced down, as if she was embarrassed. “My brother-in-law is a gambler, so their debts are enormous. They’re nearly out on the streets themselves.”

  “Gambling is a scourge in families.” He was certain he could guess what her reply would be, but he posed his question anyway. “Can you stay with them now?”

  She scoffed. “I’d camp in a ditch first. The orphanage was my father’s pride and joy, his life’s work, and they tossed it away. It’s as if they’ve spit on his grave.”

  Sebastian didn’t have to be told about fathers and graves and legacies. He was dealing with many of the same emotional issues himself.

  “Who is your brother-in-law?” he asked.

  “Cuthbert Maudsen. Might you know him?”

  “No, but gad, just from his name, he sounds tedious.”