Honour's Debt

by Joan Vincent

  “God’s teeth,” Quentin swore as he watched Maddie pull away from Sanford, her colour heightened. "Damme if I won’t deal that bloody fellow a facer."

  “Best you lie down,” Jenks advised. “Sooner or later you are going to have to make an appearance or, far better, take your leave. I’d like you well rested for whatever comes. You’ve had a few too many holes put through you the past few months. They’ve addled your brains.” The batman watched Broyal tug on his ear. Or else Miss Vincouer has.

  * * *

  Sanford lengthened his stride, following as Maddie hurried away from him. “Now, coz, you know I speak the truth. Your father will agree when I see him on the morrow. With James gone—”

  Maddie rounded on him. “Do not speak in this manner. Jamey is not dead.”

  “Madeline, Madeline,” Sanford said in a nasal, patronizing tone. “We both know your betrothal to him was a sham.” He raised his sloped shoulders. “Actually it no longer matters whether it was a charade or not,” he sniggered. “I am here and he will never return.”

  Swallowing with difficulty, Maddie turned her back to Sanford. She balled her hands into fists. Tears threatened when she looked at the doors behind the balustrade of her father’s balcony. Why do you have to be a free trader? A traitor for all I know. If only—

  Sanford’s continuing sermon washed over Maddie unheard. She had toyed with asking Broyal to pretend to be her fiancée in the early hours before dawn but had put the idea aside. Her emotions, Maddie had decided, proved too treacherous whenever she was near him. They were too uncertain for her to trust her judgment. She could not risk her family’s welfare on a stranger’s whims. A clammy hand gripping hers jerked her thoughts back to the present situation.

  Sanford leered at her. “You are wise not to disagree.”

  “Disagree?” Maddie asked, puzzled.

  “I knew you would be sensible. After all, you wish Malcolm to finish his schooling.” Sanford captured her other hand.

  “Why would Malcolm not complete his education?” she asked, anger tinting her words.

  “There are not ample funds for it.” He raised both brows for a moment. “How else was it to be? Malcolm told me that it had been you who have managed your father’s affairs these past few years.”

  “What do you imply by that?” Maddie tried to wrench free and was shocked to find Sanford much stronger than he looked.

  “You have diddled it away,” Sanford replied, a biting edge matched his tightening grip. “You should be careful, coz, if you wish me to be generous with your brother after your father dies. His death will be sooner rather than later.”

  Maddie’s shuddered, knew anger blazed across her cheeks. Frightened for the first time, she began to struggle.

  “Miss, miss,” Maves called as he shuffled up to them. He watched with some satisfaction as Sanford released his hold and stepped away from Maddie. “Miss, a note has come for you. I left it on the salver in the entry hall.”

  “Thank you,” Maddie said. Despite her thumping heart, she managed to walk to the house with measured steps. Her cousin was on her heels when she gained the entryway.

  “I will read that,” he ordered as she broke the seal.

  Aunt Prissy sailed into the hall. She plastered a wide smile on her face upon hearing his demand. “Cousin Sanford, there you are.” She took his arm. “My, may I say again how handsome you are today. I saw many ladies at St. Edwin’s sighing over that striped waistcoat.

  “Do join us,” she said and drew the reluctant man forward. “Your mother wishes to speak to you.”

  Miss Benton looked over her shoulder at Maddie who was scanning the note. “Come to us after you check on your father.”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “What is it, sis?” Malcolm asked moments later as he ambled down the stairs.

  “Nothing,” Maddie replied abstractly. She hesitated. “Make whatever excuses you need for me,” Maddie told him. “I—I must get away by myself for a time.”

  “Our cousin is rather a more nasty sort than I recalled,” Malcolm noted. He looked at his sister. “Has he crossed the line? I will—”

  “No,” Maddie hastened to assure him. “I just want to get away for a time.”

  “I will see to things here, don’t fear,” Malcolm told her. “You will let me know if you need help with our cousin?”

  Maddie forced a smile. “Of course.”

  * * *

  Maddie spied the stone mausoleum amidst the cluster of trees in the vale’s centre. The closed padlock on the wrought iron gate reassured her. She sat on the bench facing it.

  The walk had calmed her but had not eased the fear that had descended upon her during her confrontation with Sanford. Maddie’s desperation grew as she waited.

  When Petit cleared his throat some time later, Maddie jumped to her feet. Relief came with sight of the dwarf. She smiled wondering what he could be doing here.

  Petit took a deep slow breath. He winced at the anxiety behind her kind gaze. “Pardon, mademoiselle,” he began. He shifted his weight and motioned her to sit. “Je regrette,” he paused, stared at the ground and kicked at a tuft of grass. “I am sorry, Mademoiselle Vincouer,” he said without looking at her, “but I must warn you that your family is in danger.”

  Maddie crinkled her forehead, baffled.

  “Something unfortunate may happen to vous frère et ta sœur—your brother and sister.”

  Bewildered, she asked, “What?”

  Petit faced the mausoleum. “He always knows who lies inside, mademoiselle. He has told me to tell you that if anyone else learns this, your brother and sister shall be forfeit.”

  “Be forfeit,” Maddie repeated. “What do you mean?”

  “The man I speak for is très cruel. If anyone learns that your father has been dead these past months, he will give your brother and youngest sister to Letu—an evil man you do not wish them to encounter.”

  Maddie went numb. Light-headedness engulfed her. “How does he know—”

  “My master knows everything,” Petit swore.

  Giving her head a shake to clear it, Maddie asked, “What do you mean—give Malcolm and Jessie to Letu?” A nervous shrill laugh escaped. “You are joking. Of course, a jest. A horrid jest.”

  “Non, mademoiselle. Truly, I wish it were.”

  “Who makes this threat?” she demanded.

  “It would cost your life if I revealed that,” Petit said with calm surety. “Do not doubt me. Letu is as evil as our master. After he finishes with them, he will either drown your brother and sister or sell them in France,” he said quietly.

  “And if you tell M. Broyal,” the dwarf continued, “he too will die. You understand?”

  Maddie blanched. Petit’s master knew far too much if he knew Quentin was at Hart Cottage. The threat was all too real and far more dangerous than Sanford’s.

  * * *

  Ermintrude descended on her niece the moment Maddie returned to the house. “Madeline, where have you been?”

  Sanford strode into the entry hall. “Mother, I shall go and find—”

  Miss Benton followed on his heels. “It really is not necessary to concern yourselves. Madeline—”

  “No need, dear, she has returned,” Ermintrude interrupted. She folded her arms and frowned at Maddie.

  “I am sorry, Aunt Prissy,” Maddie said with a touch of panic. “Excuse me. I must go—”

  Sanford stepped forward and took hold of her arm. “It is time to end this foolishness.”

  “What do you mean?” Maddie asked. Her voice rose, cracked with panic.

  Alarmed by her niece’s look, Miss Benton flitted forward. “Now Cousin Sanford, do let Maddie rest for a time. This can all be discussed after supper.” When this had no effect, she took a hold of his sleeve and gave it a tug.

  Sanford shook Miss Benton off. “Now is as good a time as any to tell your father our good news.” He tightened his grip on Maddie. “Mother and I have decided that would be best fo
r everyone concerned,” he added.

  Malcolm heard the commotion in the hall and came down the stairs two at a time. “What have you decided?”

  “Why, your sister’s betrothal to me.” Sanford pushed Aunt Prissy’s hand away.

  “No,” Maddie said. She raked those assembled in the entry hall with a defiant gaze. “No. Never.”

  Sanford jerked her closer and slapped Maddie hard across the face.

  Shocked, Maddie shrank back, a hand to her stinging cheek.

  “Let go of Maddie this instant,” demanded Malcolm. He took a wild swing at his cousin.

  Sanford released Maddie, sidestepped the youngster’s jab, and thrust out a leg.

  Malcolm tripped and sprawled to the floor.

  “Remember, please, it is the Sabbath, Mr. Vincouer,” Aunt Prissy cried. She grabbed Sanford’s coat tail. When he kicked at her, she released it and looked around for a weapon.

  Single-minded, Miss Benton did not question the open front door or the elderly man, gold-headed cane in hand, who gazed intently at the scene before him. She grabbed his cane from his hand and rushed back into the fray.

  A deep, authoritative voice at the top of the stairs froze the combatants in place. “Stop this at once. Remove your hands from my fiancée,” Quentin commanded with controlled rage. He descended, his gaze darkening as he looked from the red blotch on Maddie’s white cheek to Sanford’s anger-mottled face.

  Quentin put a hand to the sabre at his side. “If you ever dare raise your hand to my betrothed—to anyone in this family again, you will lose it.”

  Maddie gaped at the descending figure dressed in the blue and silver of the 15th Hussars. She stepped backwards, a hand to her mouth. Had she gone mad? “Jamey?” she whispered, and then slipped to the floor in a faint.

  Infuriated, Miss Benton brought the cane down on Sanford’s back with a resounding thwack. “Oh, my, what have you done?” she demanded and struck him again. “You were always a most ill-mannered, pompous young ass.”

  She shook the cane at him as he crouched with hands raised to ward off the blows then rounded on Ermintrude. “And you—you spiteful, mean-spirited old—” she spluttered to a halt in face of the woman’s continued defiant hauteur and hurried to Quentin at Maddie’s side.

  Broyal gathered Maddie into his arms and cradled her against his chest. Her paleness alarmed him. Quentin dammed himself for not having intervened earlier, for taking time to put on his uniform in case Medworth was present.

  “Miss Benton, please come with me,” Quentin said.

  “Malcolm,” the harder edge of his voice stopped the young man’s progress towards his cousin, “see to your sisters.” He nodded toward the three young girls peering over the balustrade.

  Then Quentin bent a searing gaze at Sanford and his mother. “After I have made certain Maddie is unharmed, I will deal with you both. Await me in—”

  “The sitting room,” Aunt Prissy supplied.

  “Who are you to order us about?” Sanford blustered.

  “Now really,” a deep voice stated behind them, “I do not think it is wise to use that tone with the major. Not at all wise.”

  Everyone turned and gaped at the tall, white haired gentleman dressed with conservative elegance. He sauntered into the house with haughty dignity.

  Staring hard at Quentin, the earl pretended not to notice the unconscious woman in his son’s arms. Relief flowed through his veins when his son did not reject him outright.

  The Earl of Margonaut bowed with a flourish to include everyone. A wry smile curved his lips as he gently retrieved his cane from Miss Benton’s hand. He turned to Sanford and Ermintrude, his most severe aristocratic manner assumed.

  “I do not know who you are or what has transpired here,” he said in an unchallengeable voice, “but you, sir,” he tapped Sanford’s chest with the gold headed cane, “are very bad ton. In my day a cad like you would be horsewhipped for such utter disregard for the proprieties.”

  Sanford stuttered a few syllables but turned on his heels and fled when the earl tapped the gold tip of his cane in his gloved hand. Ermintrude appeared to shrink before the earl’s cutting stare. She too beat a hasty retreat.

  Quentin rapidly assessed the situation and decided he could not palm off his father as a commoner. “My lord,” he said in greeting. Meeting the earl’s steady gaze with a protective dare, he tightened his hold on Maddie.

  Margonaut tapped his cane against his hand again, his gaze on the unconscious woman in his son’s arms. He arched one brow. “Your fiancée?”

  “Fiancée!?” swore Captain Medworth behind the earl in the open doorway. “I’ll be dammed if that’s true. More like, you’re the bloody free trader we wounded last week.”

  Margonaut’s voice cracked. “Show respect when you speak to your betters.”

  “Who are you?” Medworth demanded.

  “He is Bellaport, Viscount Broyal,” Quentin interrupted before his father revealed his true identity. A flash of movement to the side alerted him to the danger of further farce. “Maves, that will not be necessary,” he ordered.

  Lowering the ancient blunderbuss he held, the butler shuffled to a halt in the entry hall.

  “Captain Medworth, wait with my father.” Broyal nodded to the earl, “You will excuse me.” With that he turned and carried Maddie up the stairs.

  Miss Benton swayed to the steps, the back of her hand to her brow. “I must—I must see to my niece. Lord Broyal,” she breathed with a haphazard curtsey to Margonaut. “Maves, show his lordship and Captain Medworth to the—the small salon. I shall come there as soon as I may,” she twittered and rushed up the stairs.

  Medworth started forward but found a cane against his chest. He met the earl’s implacable chilled blue gaze.

  “You will forgive my son’s poor manners and I shall forgive you yours,” Margonaut said and lowered his cane.

  Eyeing him speculatively, Medworth removed his bicorne. A nervous giggle from behind the railing above them made him aware of the three young girls. When Jessamine waved at him, he winked. “Master Vincouer, see to your sisters,” he advised young Vincouer.

  With a grimace and a roll of his eyes Malcolm, who still contemplated going after Sanford, acquiesced.

  Maves, the blunderbuss tucked to his side, led the newest guests to the salon.

  With a graceful bow, the captain motioned the earl to precede him.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Hart Cottage Later Sunday Afternoon

  Quentin's fear-leaden weight of a heart plummeted to his heels as he laid Maddie upon her bed. Her features were very pale except for the bright red splotch on her cheek. Sanford was a bully just as Jamey had said. Quentin remembered Jamey’s letters concealed in his sabretache and guilt rose.

  Jamey. Maddie thought me him, Quentin thought gloomily. The joy had faded far too quickly from her features when she realized it was not her cousin. Quentin vowed he’d have Sanford’s head. He swore he’d let no one hurt Maddie again and was stunned at the strength of his attachment to her.

  Gently chaffing her hands he put all his emotions to voice. “Maddie.” Her hands were small and fragile in his large callused grip. “Be easy, Maddie. All is well,” he crooned as he smoothed back stray wisps of curls from her face.

  Maddie stiffened, wrenched open her eyes. She gripped Quentin’s hand with a death grip. “You must make certain he doesn’t discover—that Father—make certain Father—lives,” she babbled without making sense.

  When he didn’t respond, Maddie grew frantic. “Watch over Jessamine and Malcolm. Take great heed of them. They are in great danger. Promise?”

  Her gaze seared Quentin’s soul. He would have promised his own if she had asked. “Of course,” he assured her. “I shall see to everything if you will promise to rest. Miss Benton is here. Be easy.” He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “I will return after I see to everything.”

  Only as he made to rise did he feel Miss Benton’s hand upon his shoulder.
He turned to her and saw her blink back tears.

  “I am so thankful you love Maddie as much as she loves you. That she has entrusted you with our secret. Go, she will be fine,” Aunt Prissy assured him. She raised a half-filled glass. “Laudanum will ensure she rests.

  “Deal Sanford a facer for me,” she added under her breath as he headed out of the room.

  In the corridor outside of Maddie’s bedchamber he took stock and tried to make sense of Maddie’s ramblings. Maddie’s frantic garbled pleas about her father confirmed what he had deduced as did Miss Benton’s words about a secret. The certainty, even desperation in Maddie’s eyes when she spoke about Malcolm and Jessamine being in great danger puzzled and troubled him. How were they connected in her scheme about her father?

  When Miss Benton proposed a dose of laudanum for Maddie, Quentin had been relieved. Maddie needed rest and he required time to sort out the myriad problems that awaited him below. To act was what he needed. With military precision he began to prioritise matters. In the midst of this he was startled when he realized Jenks was on the stairs and not hidden in Matthew Vincouer’s bedchamber.

  The batman, grinning, joined him. “That was quite a set to. When I saw his lordship, I was tempted to turn tail. Can’t say I know the old gaffer’s ways well, but he took things bloody calm like.”

  “Yes, he did,” agreed Quentin. “Though how Margonaut came to be at Hart Cottage I can’t hazard. It couldn’t bode well for me or my plans.” He entered his chamber and motioned Jenks to close the door.

  “What about Miss Vincouer earlier today?”

  Jenks’ grin turned into a concerned frown. “I followed her just like you said. She met a weird little man with large head. I couldn’t hear everything, but I know French when I hear it.”

  Quentin tugged at his ear. “Where did this take place?”

  “At the family mausoleum,” Jenks said. “And the miss were none too happy with whatever he told her. He said something like tray cruel and her brother and sister. She were very upset by what he said.”

  Quentin took a turn about the room considering what to do. He halted before Jenks and gave him an apologetic grin. “You need to prepare for your death.”