Scandal's Reward

by Jean R. Ewing

  “It’s all right, Annie,” Dagonet said. “We’re both here. Now drink this, then lie back down like a good girl.”

  Annie had dropped back into a restless sleep, but as the night wore on the fever mounted and she sat up in the disordered bed with a start and shouted, “It was George, wasn’t it? Sir George Montagu! I’ve thought and thought and I know it wasn’t you. It was George. George! George!”

  “Hush, Annie, we’re here, Cathy and Mr. de Dagonet. Sir George Montagu is in London.”

  Catherine tried to bathe the burning forehead, while Dagonet took Annie by the hand. Annie’s little fingers clung onto Dagonet’s like claws.

  “I know you didn’t do it!” she cried. “I know it! I know it! You must tell me. I’ve thought and thought and thought, and it’s the wager, isn’t it? You must tell me about the wager!”

  “Hush, Annie,” Catherine began, but the little girl began to thrash in the bed. “Annie, you must lie still!”

  “I won’t lie still! I won’t! Devil Dagonet didn’t do it!”

  “Didn’t do what, Annie?” Dagonet asked quietly.

  “You didn’t drown that Milly girl. I won’t believe it. You must tell me the truth! It was to be George’s baby, wasn’t it? And that’s what the wager was all about, when you jumped through the lych-gate. It was George! You must tell me. You must tell me.”

  “If I do, will you be quiet and lie down and go to sleep?”

  Annie clung to him. She was rapidly becoming hysterical. “Why did you jump through the lych-gate? You must tell me about the wager! I don’t care about all that gentleman stuff. It was George’s fault. Milly was in love with George!”

  And quietly, his face set in a mask, Dagonet replied, “Yes, she was.”

  Catherine would have left immediately, but Annie clasped at her dress and wouldn’t let her go. “You can’t leave! All that gentleman stuff about honor and all that is silly. I want to know about the wager. Dagonet must tell me! He must!”

  “Annie, if there is some matter of honor between gentlemen, of course Mr. de Dagonet can’t tell you about it. You know that.”

  But Annie would not lie down. The fever raged behind her glassy eyes, and her dry skin was stretched tightly over her little face.

  “Nonsense,” Dagonet said firmly. “Annie’s right, it’s very silly. And neither Miss Hunter nor Miss Annabella will tell a soul, so it doesn’t matter.”

  Immediately Annie became quiet. She clung to Dagonet as if she were drowning and only he could rescue her. Dagonet’s voice was entirely without emotion as he began, and Catherine, to her immense discomfort, knew that she was going to hear the truth about something that, however much she had wanted to know, she had no business hearing.

  “Milly was a silly girl, Annie. She thought that George loved her and would take care of her. So you were right about that part. But it wasn’t very suitable, was it? And I knew that our grandfather wouldn’t like it very much. I was a rather arrogant and conceited young man, you know, and I thought I could make George leave her alone. He said he would not unless I could jump my horse through the lych-gate. If I won the wager, I must tell no one about him and Milly, but he would give Milly up, so that she could fall back out of love before any harm was done. If I lost, he would keep Milly and I would not interfere, and I would give him my best horse, too.”

  “But you won,” Annie said. “And you kept your word, but he broke his. Because you didn’t tell anybody, and he kept being Milly’s lover so that she was going to have a baby. And even when everybody thought it was you, you didn’t tell, because you had given George your word.”

  “That was very silly, wasn’t it?”

  “I knew it! I knew it! I thought and thought, you see. You took the blame for George, but I knew you couldn’t have done it. You had too much honor and George had none. I knew it was the wager.”

  And with that she broke into a sudden drenching sweat. In silence, Catherine bathed and dried the skinny limbs, as Dagonet stripped off the bed and laid clean sheets. A few moments later, Annie dropped into a sound sleep, her breathing deep and even. The fever was broken.

  Catherine sat back on her stool. Her face felt white.

  “So you have been in the habit of wagering over women’s virtue for a long time. A poor serving girl for a horse!”

  Instantly she wished the words unspoken. How could she be so unfair! Annie owed her life to Charles de Dagonet, and she could be no more generous than that? He could not have prevented George from seducing Millicent Trumble. All he had tried to do was to put a stop to it. Had George possessed any honor, the wager would have succeeded. How else was he to try to influence his cousin’s behavior? Yet somehow she could not help herself.

  He stood and went to the window. His voice was perfectly smooth and cultured. “I do not excuse it.”

  “And your precious word of honor? Your word to George is broken now.”

  “It doesn’t matter, does it? You will tell no one what you have learned and neither will Annie. I believe I already told you that, not being a gentleman, my word is negotiable.”

  Yet, of course, it had not been negotiated to save his own reputation or against his grandfather’s wrath. Only to save a little girl from her delirium. Had he told what he knew about George and Millicent Trumble at the time, he might now have been the possessor of Lion Court. But he had given his word to his cousin. And though George had broken faith, he had not, even though he would pay a terrible price for it. Yet still, there was that inexcusable arrogance. To wager that he could jump his horse through a seemingly impossible obstacle! Did the fact that he had succeeded change that?

  “And the drowning? Was George responsible for that, too?”

  “He was not there.” Dagonet’s voice was almost casual, but he kept his back to her. “He had spent the day in Fernbridge with Lady Montagu and friends. George was in the company of many people all day. That fact cannot be questioned. No, the drowning may still be laid at my door, though I never did enjoy the humble charms of the fair Milly.” He turned and faced her, the controlled voice unchanged. “I don’t know what happened. You found out yourself that I wrote Millicent a note inviting her to meet me there. I don’t know why. I remember nothing of it. I was apparently so stinking drunk at the time that I have blacked out the entire day. Clumsy of me, wasn’t it?”

  Catherine’s thoughts made a confused whirl in her head. If he had not been involved with Milly, why meet her? Had the girl asked him for help when she found out that she was with child? Did she believe Dagonet could intercede for her with George? Nothing else made sense.

  She tried to remember the exact wording of the note that Millicent Trumble’s sister, Mary, had shown her at Lion Court. Most of the words came back. She realized now that there was nothing in it that implied that Milly had ever been Dagonet’s mistress. That construction of events had somehow been superimposed afterward and because of his word of honor to George, Dagonet had allowed it to pass unquestioned.

  Catherine clearly remembered her father’s description of the scene at Lion Court when Lord Somerdale had come down. It had taken an extraordinary courage and determination for Dagonet to withstand all that wrath when he had not in fact been Milly’s lover. Which meant that even if George had been entirely unconnected with the drowning, it had still been incredible that he had allowed his cousin to take all the blame for what had happened. That he had stood by while Dagonet was thrown from the house, and then benefited by becoming their grandfather’s heir, made his behavior all the more vile.

  No wonder there was bad blood between the cousins! And in spite of all that had now been revealed, they were no closer to knowing the truth about Milly’s death, or what had made Dagonet apparently drink himself into a stupor. Which meant that whatever it was that John Catchpole was hiding was all the more critical.

  “Perhaps when you sent the note you meant well by it,” she ventured.

  “Yet Milly died. Rather spoils an attempted reconstruction of my role as
that of rescuer of the fair maiden, doesn’t it? I should have saved my horse the trouble at the lych-gate. It was unconscionable to put such a fine animal at risk. Now if you’ll excuse me, Miss Hunter, I am going out. Annie will sleep peacefully now. The danger is over.”

  With that he threw on his greatcoat and walked quietly from the room, and Catherine was left to her thoughts.

  Chapter 15

  Dagonet walked the silent streets of Marlborough totally unaware of the snow that was coating his hat and shoulders. He was well aware of the cruel irony with which fate was determined to couple his actions. He had sworn to himself not to get involved again with Catherine Hunter, and here they were trapped together by circumstance at an inn.

  He must remove her from his life. The fact that she now knew the truth about who Millicent Trumble’s lover had actually been, changed nothing. Her honor was sufficient that she would let the knowledge go no further. Annie, if she remembered at all when she awoke in the morning, was also to be trusted. His oath to George still held. The world would still believe the worst of him. If he only knew himself how poor foolish Milly had drowned!

  As he had told Catherine, he had always prided himself on his competence. Yet the girl had died. For seven years the image had haunted him. Poor Milly, frantically pacing beside the water, and then perhaps casting herself in when no help arrived. When he had discovered from Catherine about the note, it had been a terrible blow. If he had arranged to meet Milly when she was so desperate and had then carelessly let her wait in vain by the lake, it was the unforgivable action of a blackguard. His sense of honor informed him that he was as responsible for her death as if he had pushed her.

  George must have spurned her without a backward thought when he knew she was pregnant. Dagonet had been furious when he had discovered that George had seduced her. She was only fifteen, for God’s sake! He himself had enjoyed some amorous adventures, of course, but only with women who knew exactly what they were doing, not with a helpless maidservant, five years younger. He could still recall the day he had faced George down over it. His cousin had begun by denying everything, then become defensive.

  “You’re the one with the reputation for being a rake, not me! You have a mistress in Oxford, don’t you? I told Grandfather you did.”

  “Grandfather doesn’t give a damn about my mistress, George. But he would give a great many damns if he thought that either of us had so lost all sense of honor as to take advantage of a maidservant in his house. Thanks to your tale telling, I have already had to face him over my so-called libertine behavior, and it wasn’t pleasant. He doesn’t care if we are involved with women, but he cares a great deal whether we conduct ourselves with any sense of decency. I gave him my word of honor that no innocent maid would suffer over my actions, but I won’t answer for yours. You must give the girl up right away.”

  “I’m damned if I will! It’s no business of yours. You can’t make me do it.”

  “I’ll do anything you say, if it will save her.”

  “Then I’ll make you a wager. Take that precious stallion of yours and jump him through the lych-gate at the Fernbridge church and I’ll never touch her again. I’ll give her up and you’ll give me your word that, whatever happens, you won’t tell a soul. Fail and the horse is mine.”

  “You’re a bloody bastard, aren’t you, George? You have always envied me the horse, but your attempt to win him might cripple him, instead. The jump can’t possibly be done.”

  “Well, that’s my offer. Take it or leave it!”

  And of course he had done it, and George had his promise. He had not realized until he had stood facing the wrath of his uncle and grandfather that George had not kept his side of the bargain and not given up poor Milly, after all. Now, thanks to Catherine’s talk with the girl’s sister, he knew that he had arranged to meet her when she had no one else to turn to, and he had failed her, too. Poor little wench! He could never forgive himself.

  He had known at the time how he had been found, and that he must somehow be involved and had foundered. Milly Trumble had died all alone at the lake, while he lay in the woods with a bottle. That his grandfather and uncle had thought that he was also her lover hadn’t mattered at all compared to the enormity of that. Why? Why had he failed her? He must find out! John Catchpole was his only hope.

  In the meantime, there was Kate Hunter. He had never met anyone like her, but unless he could first clear his name, he must give her up.

  When he returned to the Rose and Crown, he went straight to Annie’s room. Catherine still sat where he had left her.

  As he entered, she leapt up. “I think I have behaved abominably, sir,” she said.

  “Have you? I’m not sure how you can think so. Does Annie still sleep?” He went to the bed and checked the little girl’s pulse and forehead. He smiled at Catherine. “She will rest now until morning. I have asked the chambermaid to sit with her and engaged a private parlor for us. We have not had a proper meal since we arrived. You look like a positive ragamuffin, as usual. Go and change your dress, and we shall celebrate Annie’s recovery in style.”

  Catherine looked down at her crumpled frock and gave him a rueful grin. It was the same dress she had traveled in. “I don’t have a change with me.”

  He tossed her a package. “Here you are. I hope it fits. I’ll be ready in fifteen minutes.”

  It was closer to twenty minutes before Catherine was prepared. The pale amber silk fit her perfectly. Wherever in Marlborough had he found such a garment at such short notice? She brushed out her hair, coiled it at the nape of her neck and wove a white ribbon into it. No doubt some poor shopkeeper had fallen victim to that iron determination, and been forced to open his store. Without question, he had also been the object of enough charm to make him feel privileged to have done so.

  She had no jewelry with her, but she knew she looked well. In spite of her exhaustion, Annie’s recovery had done wonders for her spirits and her color was high. Why not have dinner together? She owed him her little sister’s life, and had given him nothing but harsh words in exchange. Surely she could guard her heart, yet still be civil?

  They went down the narrow stair, and the innkeeper showed them to a private dining room. As he opened the door and Dagonet began to usher Catherine inside, she was horrified to find that two ladies already sat at the table.

  “What is the meaning of this? We asked for a private parlor,” the first began, raising heavily plucked brows. “We were just shown in here by the maid. Innkeeper! There must be some mistake.”

  The innkeeper began to mumble and bow, but Catherine was not in the least concerned with his embarrassment. In order to quench her own, she was trying to back out of the room. It was too late. The other lady had turned her head and was looking at them, mouth agape.

  “Miss Hunter! And Charles de Dagonet! I declare I shall faint!”

  It was Charlotte Clay.

  “Oh, how completely perfect!” Charlotte’s companion rose to greet them. Her sharp features were alight with mischief. “Here alone together? And so late at night? Were you not Lady Montagu’s companion, Miss Hunter? I have never had the pleasure of meeting the gentleman you are accompanying, but I am aware of him by reputation. I happened to see your name in the register, sir. I didn’t see yours, Miss Hunter. But, ‘Charles de Dagonet’: not an easy name to overlook. You had booked only the one room, sir, had you not? I am so pleased to make your acquaintance, after hearing so much about you. I am Lady Pander.”

  Dagonet bowed over the hand she proffered. “My pleasure, my lady. Your reputation is also well established, of course.”

  Charlotte Clay ignored these barbed pleasantries. “Whatever do you do here, sir? Oh, how dreadful! With Miss Hunter! And sharing a room! Have you lost all sense of the proprieties?”

  “I might ask the same, Mrs. Clay. Your inquiry is indelicate, don’t you think? You are also delayed by the storm, I take it?”

  “We are on our way to Bath, Mr. de Dagonet. And are quite
trapped here, or I should leave this instant. You shall not turn aside my comments. I believe in plain speaking. You and Miss Hunter here together! What else is one to think? Everyone has been caught by this snow for days. Oh! If Mr. Clay should have lived to see the day when I should sleep under the same roof with such blatant indecency! My salts, Lady Pander! I am quite overcome.”

  Catherine wished the floor would open and swallow her, amber silk, white ribbon and all. This was a disaster. Her reputation would never survive Charlotte’s account of this meeting at the Rose and Crown. Lady Pander would make sure it became the on-dit of the day. If it had been anyone else but Devil Dagonet, perhaps she could explain it away, but to be caught staying at an inn with a notorious rake, with no other chaperone than her little sister, was unpardonable. It would be humiliating for Amelia, too, who must now cope with these vicious gossips in high society. She could never live it down.

  “Your concerns are all due to a misplaced sensibility, Charlotte. How could you think so ill of Lady Montagu’s friend?” It was Dagonet. His voice was bland with unconcern, but surely this time even he could not rescue her? Lady Pander and her friends would tear her reputation to shreds like a mouse in the claws of an eagle. How could he seem so relaxed? His expression was so open, she was totally unprepared for his next statement. “I have neglected to inform you of the happy event, dear cousin,” Dagonet went on in dulcet tones. “But Miss Hunter and I are married.”

  Catherine turned to him, eyes blazing. Oh, this was even worse! “Whatever are you saying? We are not . . .”

  He cut her off with a warning squeeze to the arm. “We are not telling anyone yet, is what my wife wishes to say. A quiet country wedding was better suited to our tastes. Until the event is formally announced, we know we can rely on your discretion, Charlotte, and Lady Pander’s is, of course, well known.”

  Without letting go of her arm, he made polite good-byes and whisked Catherine out of the room. In the next instant he turned on the innkeeper, who had stood mouth agape throughout this exchange. “Now, sir, if you would kindly shown us to a parlor that is not already occupied, perhaps we can eat our dinner.”