The Convict's Bounty Bride

by Lena Dowling

  ‘Good.’

  He sounded pleased.

  Happy even.

  She sank back down on to his shoulder, resigned but not happy. Happiness was a state she couldn’t imagine ever knowing again.

  ‘My God, it must have been terrible out there — in Australia.’

  Focusing on his pain at least made hers shrink into the background again.

  ‘It was. More than you would ever imagine, but if I’d known what a spectacular woman, in every sense of the word, that I had waiting here for me here, it might not have been so hard.’

  She was spectacular? Not just for her looks but in every sense of the word?

  A bubble of pleasure spurted up through the pain. He cared for her. She was under no illusion he felt anything more for her than that, but it was a great deal more than what her own parents had as a basis for their marriage. Perhaps that was all one could realistically hope for. He was a decent man. He wouldn’t be a tyrant, she was sure of it, and he had promised she might still carry out some of the activities she enjoyed. It was a consolation of sorts.

  He kissed her, lifting her to free his arm, but the kiss this time was mechanical rather than lingering, and his voice was brusque, with none of the softness that had been there before.

  The bubble burst, reabsorbed back into reality.

  ‘I need to go now, if I’m to reach London before nightfall.’

  ‘You still mean to leave?’

  Thea jerked her head up from the pillow.

  ‘There are matters to attend to, and arrangements for the wedding must be made soon if we are to make passage on the HMS Adelaide a fortnight today.’

  Surely he wasn’t proposing they marry and set sail abroad when she had only just gone into mourning?

  ‘Where will we go?’

  ‘Home to Sydney, of course.’

  She sat up so fast, silver stars floated in front of her eyes. The sudden change in his tone and the news he meant to return to Terra Australis crashed through their intimacy. She looked around for her chemise. She needed to cover herself. A moment ago marriage to James had seemed like a life preserver, but not anymore.

  Spying the garment on the floor, she got up off the bed and pulled it on.

  ‘You never mentioned anything about living in Sydney.’

  ‘Surely, you didn’t think we would live in England?’

  ‘Why can’t we live here?’

  James shook his head.

  ‘Thea, I am a convict, an emancipated one, but nevertheless that moniker will follow me all my life.’

  ‘But you have money.’

  ‘Can you imagine an ex-convict owning an estate, operating a respectable business, or holding office here in England? All those things are possible in the colony, which is so starved of labour the governor and his cronies cannot afford to be too discerning.’

  ‘What about your family?’

  ‘What family? I wouldn’t give my brother the time of day, and my mother died three years into my sentence.’

  ‘At least she knew you were innocent.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘You did. You said you arranged the transmutation of your sentence through your mother’s family.’

  ‘Through a relative of hers, but not my mother. If she had known of my innocence she might have tried to stop me, and where would that have left her? She died thinking her son was a criminal.’

  His face was drawn in pain.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  He swallowed hard, pulled his hands back behind his head, his elbows against the pillows and studied the ceiling. She sat back down on the bed and placed a hand on his chest. He released a hand from behind his head to acknowledge her touch, squeezing her fingers. Finally he shrugged.

  ‘It was a long time ago. People adjust to their circumstances.’

  ‘You are asking me to do more than adjust. You are asking me to leave everything behind.’

  ‘What are you leaving, Thea? The ton? Your matchmaking mother? A father who quakes at his wife’s sight, and who was willing to gamble his blameless daughter’s life for his guilty son?’

  James was right. It would be an escape. She twisted pursed lips from one side and then to the other.

  ‘I suppose so, but what about me, what would I do in a new country?’

  James released her hand and got up off the bed to gather up his own clothes.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know, ride astride over my lands, bathe in your own swimming hole, and a few other things I might name.’

  He smiled at her as if she were a child who only needed coaxing.

  That was a mistake.

  She was no longer an innocent. If she had learnt nothing else these past few days, it was that she could trust no one but herself with her own happiness. The New World was a dangerous place. Her tutor had spoken of giant lizards several feet long, desert wolves that would attack a man, and a dozen species of poisonous snakes.

  ‘What about the wild beasts?’

  ‘They generally stay out in the bush away from people, but I’ll be there to protect you.’

  He held out his breeches, and stepped in with one sturdy leg, followed by the other.

  She looked at his lean hard body as he donned his clothes and recalled the tangle of raised scars beneath her fingertips as she ran her hands over his back during their lovemaking. James would be capable of any feat of strength or endurance necessary to keep her safe, she was sure of that, but from now on she would make her own decisions.

  Despite his betrayal, she couldn’t imagine leaving her dear, sweet father. He had let her down, but in his position she might have acted the same. She might even have volunteered to marry in order to save Stephen, if anyone had thought to ask her in the first place.

  She got back up off the bed and gathered up her corset and her gown.

  ‘I’m sorry James. But I can’t accompany you. I simply can’t.’

  Chapter Eight

  Back in London the days passed as if Thea were in a fog. She remembered visiting the dressmaker to organise the making of a wardrobe of mourning clothes, helping the valet box up Stephen’s belongings to donate to the poorhouse, and then snatches of the funeral service.

  The vicar gave a fabrication of a eulogy that bore testament only to her mother’s ability to manipulate any situation to avoid social disadvantage. The minister painted her wastrel brother’s life as high-spirited, fun loving, and creative, cut short before that creativity could bear fruit. Stephen’s death was described as the tragic result of a heart attack. There was no hint of the real cause, and yet Thea was grateful for the falsehood.

  As little as she cared for the endorsement of the ton, public humiliation in addition to everything else would have been too much. Stephen hadn’t lived long enough to defend himself or give any reasons that might mitigate his skulduggery. She at least took comfort from the fact that her brother died with his reputation intact.

  Except when pressed to another task, Thea found refuge in the library. Her mother never ventured there, and her father only stepped in at intervals to take some reading material back to his study.

  A new shipment of books had arrived and she recorded them in her father’s ledger. Once she would have fallen on them, fought Stephen to read her choices first, and then devoured the lot. Only later would she have gotten around to updating the library catalogue. Now, she could hardly bear to drag one book at a time out of the carton, and recording each detail from the flyleaf was a great labour.

  Given what had happened with James she probably should have feared pregnancy, but her mind was too full to entertain any thoughts of greater tragedy than the loss of Stephen. She gave it little thought until her courses arrived, and now the danger had passed.

  ‘What has come for us this time, Thea, anything of interest?’ her father asked, appearing at her side.

  ‘I can’t read any more, Father. A few sentences and I have lost concentration. Nor can I eat, or sleep, or even sit still long enough t
o complete a simple task. Everything is heavy and dark as if all the light in the world has been extinguished.’

  ‘They are the symptoms of two great maladies, my dear.’

  ‘Two?’

  Besides Stephen’s death she couldn’t think what other illness might be responsible for the way she felt. It was as if weighed down by granite she was forced to bear an insufferable burden with every movement.

  ‘Grief and lovesickness. Which one do you think afflicts you most?’

  Thea closed the book from which she had been recording the flyleaf details and gave her father a quizzical look.

  ‘You think I’m in love?’

  ‘Do you?’

  The earl squeezed her arm.

  Thea stopped still. Understanding descended slowly to the deepest depths of her consciousness like a pebble casually dropped into a pool. Her father was right. Stephen wasn’t the only person she missed terribly. Losing James was an ever-present shadow she had been unable to wrench from her mind.

  ‘Perhaps I might be, Father.’

  ‘Then you must act. Mr Hunter has shown himself to be a man of integrity and substance well beyond his rank. He will make a good husband. Not here of course — that would never do — but in the colony where his past and lack of breeding is less of an impediment.’

  She wanted James? That’s what all the heaviness and the lack of purpose was all about? Not just grief for Stephen? Did James feel the same or was she simply a prize won, a bounty due for collection?

  Even if she did love James, there was still her father to think about. How could she leave him to suffer her mother alone?

  ‘But you and mother?’

  ‘Your mother has been a good wife so far as the management of our domestic affairs are concerned, but we do not love one another. Believe me, my dear, as the years go on, love is more important. Do not worry for me.’ The earl paused and stroked his chin as if marshalling a thought. ‘You know, there is nothing to stop Hunter clearing his name and returning to society a respectable gentleman. He hardly need suffer continued exile in the colonies now.’

  ‘Then why hasn’t he?’

  ‘Why indeed, my dear, why indeed?’

  Biggs pulled samples of Lord Willers’ handwriting and the counterfeit bond, bribed from a clerk of evidence at the Old Bailey, from his satchel and handed them to James.

  ‘A most unfortunate business and the devil’s stroke of luck, sir, but I thought now that Willers is dead, you might wish for me to take steps to put things right.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary, Biggs.’

  ‘Of course, sir, I should have realised that it would be something you would want to attend to personally.’

  ‘No, I won’t be clearing my name.’

  ‘Why not? Now that the engagement to her ladyship is off, exoneration is the only way you will achieve real influence in the colony. Vindicated, you might even be able to cash up your interests in New South Wales and return to England comfortably off, possibly even readmitted into society.’

  ‘I have my reasons.’

  James hid his hands behind his back to prevent Biggs from observing him clenching and unclenching his fists.

  It wasn’t until James was well into the return journey to London from Marven that it had occurred to him the way was now clear to have his conviction overturned. But upon consideration he had decided to leave things. He had tried to convince himself it was because life in the colony was not altogether disagreeable and, despite the many hardships, opportunities abounded for those with the fortitude to seize them. Although he could barely admit it, the truth was he didn’t care to humiliate Thea by publicly disgracing her brother, even posthumously.

  After years of relying on his innate mental and physical strength for survival, the woman had exposed a weakness in him that, despite serious self-admonishment, he had been unable to overcome. For whatever reason, he had been overwhelmed by some foolish need to protect Thea, from the moment he prevented her from embarrassing herself at Almack’s, to when he had picked her up, limp and lifeless from the cobbles at Marven. Now, once again, he couldn’t bring himself to act in a way that would result in shame to her family.

  He sighed.

  Thea might not ascribe much value to her position in society but, as he could most bitterly attest, it was not until one lost all respectability that its true value became apparent.

  ‘Very well, sir, I’ll wish you safe journeys.’

  ‘Thank you, Biggs, you have acquitted yourself well — your payment.’

  James pressed a bag of guineas into the man’s hand, taking the man’s lower arm with his other hand and, at the same time, affecting a shake of Biggs’s chubby paw.

  ‘Your ship sails soon?’

  ‘Tomorrow, at daybreak.’

  ‘Well, sir, I’ll take my leave.’

  ‘Biggs, one last thing, the watercolour, I’d like to keep the miniature, if I may.’

  He had paid for the image after all, and a memento — he would like to have that if nothing else.

  ‘Of course, sir.’

  Biggs stowed the bag bearing his payment in a side-pocket to his satchel then reached deep into the main compartment. He placed the object in its fabric case on the table, lingering to draw his fingers across the velvet, before nodding to James and turning to see himself out.

  James pulled the picture from the case. His man of business had been right, the portrait, although quite good, did not do Thea justice.

  Nowhere near it.

  It was a pity. A capable wife with a quick intellect would have been an asset in the colony, and her tendency for scheming up opportunity even more so. But worse than the loss of a companion, Thea’s image haunted him. His traitorous mind returned to the memory of her creamy naked white body, legs parted hesitantly before him, again and again, and yet despite the recurrent image, he had lost all appetite for carnal relations.

  Memories of Nellie Malone seemed colourless and tawdry in comparison. Not even one of Covent Garden’s most talented and expensive courtesans was able to distract him. Paying up front, he had departed her premises significantly lighter in the pocket but no more satisfied than when he had arrived.

  He slammed his fist down on the occasional table, causing the miniature to jump before dropping back down on to the fine inlaid tabletop with a thump.

  He might have been leaving London a free man, but his heart was scarcely lighter than when he had left, years earlier, manacled below deck.

  Her father’s words tormented Thea all night. She loved James, but did he love her? Had he decided to leave England so Stephen’s and the family name remained unblemished, as her father had hinted, or because the spoils of his colonial business interests provided too great an incentive? The questions circled her brain making sleep impossible. Before dawn she was already in a hackney, heading for the docks, hoping she would arrive in time.

  But the carriage must have been drawn by a horse not long for the glue factory, it lumbered so slowly. If willpower alone could have boosted the horse’s speed, the carriage would have taken flight. Instead, the animal ploughed on slower than she would have been capable of running but for the nobbling effect of her gown and shoes.

  Breathless and trembling, fearful that they would be too late, Thea finally caught sight of the docks as soft light began to break from the east.

  As it happened, the ship had not yet sailed. Her driver found the correct mooring and deposited her, and the trunk she had packed just in case, at the gangway.

  Her relief at finding the ship was short-lived. When she moved to step on to the wooden ramp, a rank sailor obstructed her. She held a gloved finger under her nose, and shouted at him from three or four feet, staunching the fearsome stink from his fetid body, rather than risk any closer advancement.

  ‘I’m sorry, miss, I can’t let you on-board.’

  ‘But I’m Mr Hunter’s fiancée.’

  ‘No one is permitted on-board now unless they’re on the passenger list.’


  ‘Then send Mr Hunter to meet me on-shore.’

  ‘No person or cargo is allowed on or off this ship. She’s ready to sail.’

  Nausea swept over her. She couldn’t come this close and fail in her quest to see James. She just couldn’t. Renewed determination wrenched forth an idea.

  ‘Silly me, did I say fiancée? I meant wife. Mr Hunter will not sail without his wife, so unless you want to be unloading all of his goods, which I’m sure must be considerable…’ she said.

  ‘Wife?’

  ‘That’s right — hurry and find him. Tell him Lady Hunter is here.’

  ‘Begging your pardon. Yes, m’lady.’

  Once the sailor returned to the ship, she stepped on to the gangplank and, squatting down, used both hands and all the power in her legs to yank her trunk up the ramp. It was a most undignified pose, but necessary. She was desperate to ensure that the vessel could not sail until she had spoken to James. The gangplank swayed and pitched with the tide and she stumbled backwards, ending up on her rump, saving her modesty only by planting her hands across her gown as she fell.

  A familiar laugh sounded from behind her, smooth and mellow as chocolate. A rough yet neatly manicured hand appeared in front of her. She slipped her palm into his, immediately pulling herself up to her full height, to meet his intoxicatingly dark brown eyes.

  Her heart pulsed erratically in her chest as the four words she had practised a thousand times in the hackney tumbled from her mouth.

  ‘Do you love me?’

  ‘What?’ James said, still chuckling, without answering her question.

  For a moment she thought James had ignored her query, but then she realised he hadn’t heard her over the noise of boats rocking into moorings, workmen yelling instructions, and the creaking hulks that surrounded them.

  She trembled, almost ready to turn and run, but she had come this far, she wasn’t going to back out now.

  ‘Do you love me?’ she croaked, determined not to waste a moment of the precious little time that they had left together.

  James broke her gaze, glancing away, uncharacteristically abashed.