Honour's Debt

by Joan Vincent

  “What’s to become of him?”

  “Court martial. I fear he will hang. Treason, you know,” the captain said grimly.

  “I also have a curiosity,” Medworth continued. “Does anyone know who sent the note about finding the free trader here?”

  Quentin chuckled. “I think you should ask Miss Benton about that.”

  “Do not be ridiculous,” Maddie exclaimed.

  “I believe you underestimate Aunt Prissy,” Quentin said.

  Medworth nodded agreement. “Something she said about it being good everything was exposed.”

  While her husband and Medworth exchanged knowing looks, Maddie cast a pleading glance at the baron.

  “But what of my cousin Jamey?”

  André tilted his head, hinted Medworth and Agatha away. He went down before her. “I am very sorry. There was nothing new.”

  Quentin tightened his grip on Maddie’s shoulder. “It is not hopeless. I know the country, the peasants. Jamey could still make his way back to Lisbon,” he told his wife.

  Maddie raised her hand to his and clutched it when he took hold. “Yes, we must believe that,” she said. “He was always one to come about.”

  * * *

  When they gathered before lunch, Maddie shared the bad news with Aunt Prissy and the children. She watched her aunt wipe her eyes and hugged her.

  Straightening determinedly, Maddie herded everyone into the dining room for the light nuncheon. With her guidance, a meal that had begun under gloomy conditions at taking leave, brightened as the novelty of their coming journey claimed the children’s attention.

  After they finished eating, a round of hugs and farewells began. Captain Medworth and de la Croix were the first to depart. Moments later, the others followed. Jessamine leaned out the window as the earl’s coach pulled away and blew a kiss.

  Maddie waved until the cavalcade was almost out of sight. “I do hope your father does not regret the invitation,” she said, lowering her hand.

  “I can’t remember when I have seen him in better spirits,” Quentin assured her. “Your sisters have him wrapped around their fingers. Besides, Phillip is there. He will set Malcolm at ease. Lynnette will entertain the girls. She always wanted sisters. You will like them both,” he continued, smiling down at her. “I hope you will like Bellum Castle.

  “But if you wish, we could leave Malcolm and the Petticoat Infantry to rusticate there while we inspect Trewes Priory.” Unable to read her expression he added, “You do remember it is to be our home until my father wishes me to take over the estate?”

  Maddie nodded but looked away from him. “Didn’t you say you would go to Hawking and advise Captain Medworth on some matter this afternoon?”

  Quentin winced at this obvious ploy to see him gone. “Yes, I did,” he said. “Shall we dine at six?”

  Watching Quentin walk away, the desire to call him back surged strongly in Maddie. Memories of that night and morning together filled her.

  The wall that had fallen between them when she asked about Jamey was still in place. Perhaps even more firmly with the lack of news. Since then there had been a shadow in his eyes every time they fell on her. For the past two nights Quentin had made certain she was asleep before he came to bed. But tonight they would be alone in the house.

  * * *

  Hart Cottage Tuesday Evening

  Excusing herself when Maves brought a glass of port for Quentin at supper’s end, Maddie made her way to the rose garden. A full moon hovered above her. She prayed as she strolled that her husband would join her. Maddie paused before a bush lush with white roses and thought of her wedding day and all that had happened in the short week since.

  Quentin studied his wife’s back for a moment before he quietly joined her. He reached past her and snapped one of the white blooms from the bush. “Rosa Campanulata alba,” he said. After snapping the thorns from the stem, he placed it in her hand.

  His hand brushed hers as he released it. The contact sent a thrill through Maddie. She breathed in the fragrance of the rose but tingled at the scent of his bay rum cologne. “I have it, you know,” she said.

  Quentin intertwined his fingers with those of her free hand. “Have what?”

  “The rose that was on our wedding cake.” She raised her eyes to his; saw something unreadable in the ice blue depths. “It must have come from this bush.”

  He traced the line of her jaw. “It did. I asked Aunt Prissy.”

  “Oh,” she murmured. “She is the one who rescued it that—day,” Maddie stumbled over the word. “She pressed it in the pages of The Taming of the Shrew.”

  “Quite an apt choice,” he teased.

  Maddie tried to read his strange mood.

  Quentin rested a finger against her chin. “Are you worried about him?”

  She drew her brows together. “Who?”

  “Your cousin James?”

  “No. Yes.” She sighed. “He has always managed to land on the sunny side of things. I pray that is so now.” Maddie freed her hand and resumed her stroll.

  Quentin fell into step with her. “He has a damnably tough hide.” He was silent for several steps and then said, “I need to tell you what he did.”

  “Another omission?” she chided in mock seriousness and sensed that he stiffened. “Has no one ever teased you,” she asked with a weak chuckle and turned to him.

  Her hand in his, Quentin led her to a nearby bench. He pressed her to sit with him.

  Maddie took in his troubled expression, and folded her hands in her lap. “Did Jamey do something so outrageous as to put him in your black books?”

  “Yes,” he clipped.

  She feigned alarm. “Do not tell me he eloped with a Spanish grandee’s daughter?”

  “Do be serious, love,” Quentin said, and looked up at the full moon.

  Maddie shook her head. “I have spent too much of my life being serious.”

  He leaned his forearms on his thighs and said a touch ruefully, “I know.”

  “Vincouer saved my life,” he blurted. Twice.”

  She looked at him, puzzled. “Yes?”

  “Actually it was three times,” Quentin told her ruefully.

  Her bafflement deepened. “That was not a bad thing.”

  Quentin rubbed one hand against the other. “I promised him I would pay the debt. I considered it a debt of honour.”

  With realization of what he meant hollowness welled inside Maddie. “What did you decide to do to pay that debt?”

  “He had told me about the difficulty with your grandfather’s will. Jamey said he would marry you if it came to it.”

  “Jamey had ... has a way with words,” she faltered. Her fear deepened when her husband continued to stare at his hands.

  “Then you, too, saved my life,” Quentin said morosely.

  “The debt increased,” she murmured, the words hitching in her throat.

  They sat in the moonlight. The silence between them grew deafening.

  For a stark moment she feared she knew why he had never told her he loved her. Maddie forced the question, though tears threatened to choke her. “The payment of the debt?”

  “A friend, Major Lord Blake, gave me that packet of your letters to Vincouer. The Horse Guards was going to return them to you. I decided I would bring them—”

  “And ... and you bought a special license, too?”

  “Yes.”

  Maddie leaped up and took a step but Quentin reached out and took hold her hand. “No,” she twisted, tried to free it. She did not want to hear the rest. That damnable bundle of letters and his omission in telling her sooner about them no longer held any importance

  He tugged her down onto his lap and held her against him until she stopped struggling. When Maddie was still, Quentin laid his cheek against her hair, draped his arms around her waist.

  “It was difficult for me when I got back from the Peninsula. My wound from Castantino did not heal and the first news I had from Bellum was of my brother
’s death. Then I learned Vincouer had disappeared at Biembre. I hoped to learn he had returned to England, but everyone believed him dead. The last time I was with him, he tied me to a mule.”

  Maddie tried to pull back but his arms tightened about her.

  “Please. Let me finish.” Quentin paused a moment. “He had Vicar—”

  “Jamey wrote about Lieutenant Goodchurch,” she murmured.

  “He had Vicar lead the mule away from the French chasseurs while he dashed to meet them.” Quentin fell silent.

  Maddie listened to his heart beat beneath her ear. She drew her hand down his side where the long red scar lay beneath his jacket.

  “When I was in London,” he continued, “I received a summons from my father. He ordered me to sell out and come to Bellum. He commanded me to take up my responsibilities there.

  “I sold out. I went home. We continued a brangle that began when I joined the 15th. He told me Thomas should have lived and I—”

  Maddie pressed fingers against his lips. “He didn’t mean it.”

  Quentin kissed her fingers. “I know that now. Loving you taught me that.”

  “Loving me?” she asked, her emptiness suddenly filled.

  “My father wanted me to take up my family responsibilities. Instead I accepted the task Lord Castlereagh offered me. Then I met you and saw what family responsibilities were. You taught me about sacrifice.”

  “So you forced yourself to wed me?”

  “Did I? You could believe that?” Quentin asked, his voice flat. “I’ve been in battle, Maddie, and though I feared death it was nothing beyond the usual. Then one night not too long ago I broke into a sweat at the thought I might die. Do you know why?”

  Maddie shook her head.

  “Because I knew if I did, you would be forced to marry Sanford. I couldn’t bear that. I grow cold just at the thought that it could have happened.” Quentin bent his head and kissed her. Then he caught her head in his hands, forced her to meet his gaze.

  “I love you, Madeline Angeline, Lady Broyal.” With a gentle laugh, he murmured in her ear. “I will have to find another way to pay my debt to James.” He lowered his head, kissed her ear, worked his way across her cheek until he came to her lips, moving his over hers until she opened her mouth.

  Her husband’s hand moved to her breast as Maddie touched her tongue to his. She melted against him, against his heart that beat a sharp inviting tattoo.

  A time later Maddie pulled away and braced her hands against his chest. “I love you, Quentin Cincinnatus Louis Marcus Bellaport, Lord Broyal.”

  Quentin surged to his feet, cradled her in his arms. He kissed her nose, her eyes, and captured her lips, then broke off and set her on her feet.

  Maddie swallowed her question, watching as Quentin removed a ring from his little finger. She did not speak until he began to remove the ring he had placed on her finger during their wedding ceremony. “What are you about?” she protested.

  “I know this ring is your mother’s—Aunt Benton told me that when she gave it to me before we left for church that day. And you may continue wearing it if you wish,” Quentin drew it off her finger, and placed it on her right hand.

  He took her left hand back in his and began to slide on the ring taken from his finger.

  “With this ring I thee wed,” he said pushing it in place. Removing a second ring from his other hand, he added in top of the first saying, “and pledge my troth as long as we both have life.” He raised her hand and kissed the rings.

  “They—they are—beautiful,” Maddie whispered and returned the kiss he feathered across her lips. When he tried to wrap his arms about her she braced her hands against him. “But unnecessary.”

  “They are most necessary,” Quentin insisted. “The first is a symbol of my love,” he explained between kisses. “The second is the Margonaut betrothal ring. You are the third viscountess to wear it. My only regret is that our mothers are not here.”

  This time Maddie let him tighten his embrace and used the end of his cravat to wipe away a tear. She regained her composure and looked at the rings on her hand. Gazing back at him, she smiled, too full of love to speak.

  “They came today with Father’s papers,” Quentin told her. “I hadn’t believed the jewellers could make up what I wanted so quickly. I am very thankful they did.”

  Sighing, she traced the edge of his lip with her tongue, and knew both of their hearts leapt. Maddie fumbled with the buttons beneath his cravat. When they were unfastened she slipped a hand inside and slowly traced the line of his scar, trailed kisses along his jaw, and nibbled on his ear.

  Quentin’s voice rumbled deep in his chest. “You know what that will get you?”

  “I trust I know exactly what it will get me,” Maddie said, tossing him a teasing smile. Grabbing her skirts, she sprinted for the house.

  Quentin held his breath as his wife ran through the moonlight, her long hair a black stream behind her. He released it when she turned, and beckoned to him. He chuckled.

  After he halted by the white rose bush he hurried through the front door and up the stairs two at time. He untied his cravat, shucked off his jacket and dropped them on the floor as he went inside the door of their bedchamber and closed the door.

  Stepping on something, he looked down and saw Maddie’s dress, a puddle in the moonlight. Her shift lay a few steps closer to the bed. Smiling, Quentin emptied his pockets on her bedside table. He kicked off his shoes while he unbuttoned his pantaloons. They joined Maddie’s stockings on the floor beside the bed. Hopping on one foot and then the other he tugged off his socks. He grinned when he heard a giggle behind the bed curtain.

  Quentin threw it back and snapped in his sternest officer’s voice, “Wife.” His eyes widened in admiration when he saw that Maddie wore nothing but her rings. “Wife,” he whispered as he dragged his gaze across her sensuous figure.

  Reading the invitation in her eyes, Quentin reached to the night table. He raised his hands above his bride and sifted white petals through his fingers.

  Maddie raised welcoming arms to him amidst the falling rose petals. He lowered himself, covering her soft curves with his hard body. She took his face in her hands. “Yes,” she murmured, “Henry was indeed right about the difference between men.”

  “You will explain that, wench,” he growled with a wolfish grin.

  “Some day,” she whispered and drew his lips to her.

  HONOUR’S DEBT APRIL 1808 – JUNE 1809

  Honours Debt Characters in order of introduction:

  Major Quentin Bellaport of the 15th Light Dragoons (Hussars)—2nd son of the Earl of Margonaut, estranged from his father. Viscount Broyal after his brother’s death

  Thomas Bellaport, Viscount Broyal—oldest son of Earl of Margonaut

  Philip August Bellaport, Earl of Margonaut—Phillip and Lynette Bellaport are his younger children.

  Madeline (Maddie) Vincouer—oldest daughter of Matthew; younger brother Malcolm and sisters Ruth, Helen, and Jessamine (Jessie)

  Albert Vincouer—Maddie’s uncle and father to Jamey and Barnabas

  Sanford Vincouer—son of deceased Percival, 1st cousin to Maddie and Jamey

  Pricilla (Aunt Prissy) Benton—Maddie’s maternal aunt who lives with the family

  Major Lord Blake Danbury of the 15th Light Dragoons (Hussars)—3rd son of the Duke of Devereaux, bears an habitual air of ennui

  Lieutenant James (Jamey) Vincouer of the 15th Light Dragoons (Hussars)—Maddie’s first cousin

  Lieutenant Samuel Goodchurch of the 15th Light Dragoons (Hussars)—nicknamed Vicar due his constant quoting from the Bible

  Ermintrude Vincouer—Sanford’s mother

  Agatha Vincouer—Sanford’s sister

  Donatien—French master spy whose disguises included Jacques Porteur and Squire George

  André Ribeymon, Baron de la Croix—Lady Juliane Tretain’s nephew whom she rescued as a young child with his infant sister from France during the Terror. She an
d her husband the Earl of Tretain raised them as their own. Presents a foppish appearance and manner to conceal his work as an English government agent

  Hadleigh Tarrant—nephew of Adrian Tarrant Earl of Tretain, recruited to become a government agent by best friend André Ribeymon, Baron de la Croix

  Mr. Lambert—Neighbor to Maddie’s family and host to Jacques Porteur

  Captain George Medworth—Excise officer in charge of capturing smugglers in Hayward area

  * * *

  Dedication

  Thank you, Mom, for good advice—though it took me over twenty years to follow it.

  Thank you, Vince, my loving and beloved husband

  Thank you, Vera, for gently but insistently pushing and prodding me back to writing and opening the door once more on all the joys and sorrows inherent therein; for reminding me about André in 2000 which inspired the Honour Series; for sharing your time, your talents, and your treasure—the greatest treasure is yourself, dearest and best of sisters.

  Thank you, Marilyn, for sharing your artistic talent with such wonderful results.

  Thank you, Rebecca, for your invaluable help.

  * * *

  Please note that Bond of Honour and The Curious Rogue are prequels to the Honour series. The author has used British spellings throughout.

  * * *

  About Joan Vincent

  Joan Vincent lives with her husband in Kansas. Her hobbies include sewing for and playing with her young grandchildren, crocheting, quilting, and flower arranging. Her husband claims her favorite hobby/passion is filling an ever-increasing number of bookcases with books on all facets of 18-19th century English, French, and Spanish life and politics. Her previously published books are also available at Regency Reads. Read more about Joan Vincent and her books at JOANVINCENT.NET Email Ms. Vincent at JVREGENCY@GMAIL.COM

  Copyright 2012 Joan Wesolowsky

  All Rights Reserved

  ISBN 978-0-9852913-1-0

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