Debt of Honor

by Ann Clement

  On the other hand, it would be faster if, to start, they could divide the search between several men and check all the roads leading out of London. If she left town, she had to stop to change horses.

  But even that would take time. And what if she was still in town now and then left after they checked a particular location? The task seemed almost impossible, even if he excluded some areas, beginning with St. Giles, Southwark and the docks. And if she did not leave town and took lodgings instead, it might be a long time before he discovered her pied-à-terre.

  Percy pulled on the ribbons. He would start at the Bow Street office and then check the roads leading to Berkshire, the location of Stanville’s family seat, while the runners worked in other parts of town. There was a slim chance that Lettie went to Fratton Hall. After all, she had stayed at Park Lane last night.

  Three hours later, topped with a generous dose of frustration, Percy left the Bow Street office. Not only he had wasted precious time on waiting—waiting was apparently a quintessential expectation runners had of their clients—but no one would start the search until two days later, since all had other assignments, and he was warned not to expect any results for a few more days after that. In that time, he could easily scour the entire perimeter of the metropolis himself.

  He slapped the horses’ rumps with the ribbons and headed west for Fratton Hall.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Letitia rubbed her face. A headache throbbed through her temples to the rhythm of turning carriage wheels, and exhaustion settled in her bones.

  She would have loved nothing better than to stay in bed today and postpone the confrontation with her father until tomorrow. But she knew she would not be able to rest, burning with the need to find out from him directly if Sir Philip Ashton had reason for his wrath. It was paramount, given the document Sir Philip had shown her.

  He had gone to his solicitor with Jasper as his escort, waking the poor man in the early morning hours, and retrieved proof of the most damning kind. Dissuading Sir Philip from galloping to Fratton at dawn had put her social skills to a serious test. Now, the final decision about her own future depended on her father’s reply to those horrible accusations. She could not, under such circumstances, spend a day wallowing in bed.

  Letitia glanced at Josie, whose face was creased with worry.

  “Are you sure this visit is necessary?” Josie asked again. Letitia had been an object of her watchful scrutiny all morning. “The earl is going to upset you, to be sure.”

  “I don’t have a choice,” Letitia muttered. “I must know the whole truth.”

  Josepha smoothed her skirt thoughtfully. “Sir Percival would be very worried about you now.”

  “Worried, Josie?” Letitia sighed. “If he is worried about anything now, it’s probably how long his petition to Parliament might take before he’s granted the divorce.”

  But Josepha only shook her head.

  “There you are very wrong. He adores you with all his heart.”

  “Oh no he does not. His heart is filled with suspicion and distrust where I am concerned.” Letitia turned toward the window while battling tears at the same time.

  Despite everything, deep in her heart she missed Percy with an almost-physical pain. She missed the sense of security and happiness she had learned to associate with his presence and his embrace. No, she would do well to remember how false her security and happiness turned out to be. A mere will-o’-the-wisp leading her into the bog of heartbreak.

  By midafternoon, the carriage turned into the lane leading to Fratton Hall.

  Her father’s butler opened the door.

  “Good afternoon, Caster,” Letitia greeted him with a pleasant smile. “Is my father home?”

  Caster’s mouth moved a few times, but no words came out. Had he been given orders to never admit her to any of her father’s residences? That would be unfortunate for the butler. She had not spent all morning rattling along country roads to have the door of her former home shut in her face.

  “Announce me, please,” she said politely but firmly, and handed him her gloves before he could utter some excuse and block the entrance.

  Without waiting for him, she walked into the hall and turned directly toward her father’s study. If he was home, she would find him there.

  Caster caught up with her, trepidation in his step.

  “I beg your pardon, my lady. His lordship is busy. Perhaps my lady would like to wait in the blue drawing room?”

  “No.” Her curt reply nearly stopped him in his tracks. Poor Caster. “Please announce me.”

  Resigned, Caster trotted up to the study door and opened it. From behind his back, she saw two men seated at the desk, across from her father.

  The Earl of Stanville lifted his head from the papers strewn on the desk.

  “What is it, Caster? I told you, no interruptions.”

  “I beg your lordship’s pardon.” Caster bowed and gestured helplessly toward her. “It is Lady Letitia.”

  Her father’s head jerked up as if Caster had announced a ghost. His features tightened.

  Letitia stepped around the butler and came inside the room. “I’m sorry for the interruption, Father,” she said before he could utter a word. “I hope you can give me a moment of your time.”

  “Not now,” he barked. “If you came to see whether I’m still alive, then let me assure you, I’m well. You may go.”

  In her old life, she would have hurried away, glad to have avoided worse treatment. But not now.

  While he turned his attention back to the two men who had in the meantime risen from their chairs in acknowledgment of her presence, Letitia walked to one of those chairs and sat in it.

  “I am happy to hear that you are well, Father,” she replied calmly. “Even more so since I came here on a business I wish to settle immediately.”

  “I am occupied otherwise,” he said gruffly and wiggled his fingers at the butler. “You most rudely interrupted our conference. Go out now and wait.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Letitia noticed Caster’s reluctant progress in her direction. Poor Caster, he had just been ordered to toss her out on her ear. Embarrassment mixed with apprehension radiated even from his starched collar.

  “No, do not bother, Caster.” She smiled at him and turned to the desk again. “I’m afraid, Father, that what you propose is not possible. The business I have with you has waited twenty-five years. I am certain your kind guests will excuse a short delay of their own.”

  She nodded at the two men with a polite half smile.

  “Wait in the drawing room,” the earl demanded of his companions. His voice had acquired a different pitch. There was a streak of uncertainty in it.

  His visitors wordlessly bowed before being ushered out by a much-relieved Caster.

  As soon as the door closed behind them, the earl sprang out of his chair.

  “What is this? How dare you behave in such manner in front of my business partners! And above all, did I not tell you that I do not wish to see you ever again?”

  Her fingers almost hurt from squeezing the arms of the chair. Apparently, old habits did not die easily. She was still afraid of him. But what had brought her here was stronger than fear.

  “I had not planned on seeing you again, according to your wishes, Father,” Letitia said as calmly as she could, taking in his enraged countenance. “Unfortunately for both of us, one of your old acquaintances made your wish null.”

  She reached into her reticule and withdrew a sheet of paper folded several times into a small rectangle.

  “It was Sir Philip Ashton who has just returned from India. This is his and Mr. Welburton’s account of certain events that took place before his departure and concern both you and my husband’s father. I suppose you can easily guess to what it pertains.”

  The heightened color drained from
her father’s face, to be replaced by a grayish white. Almost translucent, Letitia observed to herself, part of her brain thinking with complete detachment of what colors she would have to mix in order to achieve such effect in a painting.

  For a brief second, she thought her father would swoon behind the desk, but he somehow managed to straighten up. Yet his hand shook when he pulled a large handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the sweat from his brow.

  “Did Hanbury see it?” he demanded through his clenched teeth. “Did he?”

  “No.”

  “Give it to me!” He thrust a shaking palm in her direction.

  Letitia leaned over the desk, the paper in her outstretched hand.

  Her father snatched it, marched to the fireplace and tossed it onto the glowing pyre of logs.

  “There,” he barked. “I do not know any Sir Philip Ashton. You may take yourself off now!”

  He stood by the fireplace, his gaze focused on the flames swallowing her paper until nothing was left but cinders lifted by the hot air before they floated down to perish in the ashes. He wiped his forehead again.

  Letitia’s heart was heavy with pain and disappointment. All day she had fervently hoped that Sir Philip was wrong and her father would produce in no time a perfectly dull and exonerating legal proof of sale. Instead, he walked to the side table and poured himself a snifter of brandy.

  “If I were your husband,” he remarked almost conversationally, turning back to face her, a contemptuous smirk on his lips glistening with alcohol, “you would sleep on your stomach for at least a week after such an infuriating show of insubordination.”

  “But you are not he,” Letitia rejoined without moving from her chair.

  The earl scowled.

  “Get out!” he ordered, motioning towards the door with the empty snifter. “We have nothing to say to each other!”

  Despite the growing trembling in her limbs, Letitia only raised her chin.

  “To the contrary, Father,” she replied softly, yet pronounced each word in a crisp, clipped tone. “What you condemned to the fire was only a copy of Sir Philip’s document. You did not so much as unfold it, but if you had, you would have noticed the difference. The real document is again safe in Sir Philip’s solicitor’s office. Sir Philip and your other friend, present that long ago night, Mr. Welburton, dictated it to said solicitor the morning after. It was signed in his presence by the two of them and two additional witnesses. He copied it for me last night.

  “Unlike you, I read with great interest and even greater shame what compelled Sir Philip and Mr. Welburton to write down their account as a safeguard of your promises. In fact, I read it so many times, I almost memorized it. But then, perhaps you do not need to read it after all. I’m certain your memory of the events it describes is quite vivid.”

  The smirk of superiority and self-assurance on her father’s face faded away while she spoke.

  “You little harlot,” he spat. “You have no proof of anything. Their words mean nothing!”

  “Do not try to intimidate me, Father. I am not afraid of you any longer,” Letitia said firmly, despite the uncomfortable jitters in her stomach. “I am, however, deeply ashamed of being your daughter. It is a relief that neither Mama nor John must partake in this shame and suffer the consequences of your unprincipled behavior. Did you not ever wonder what John would be forced to go through had he lived to meet Sir Philip? What a fine inheritance you planned for your son, Father!”

  The earl swayed on his feet and gripped the back of a nearby wing chair.

  “When I sent you my list,” Letitia went on, “I merely hoped to persuade you to make us a gift of a few objects, and perhaps allow me to purchase a few more. It appears now that you have no right to anything you removed from Wycombe Oaks because, in truth, nothing is yours. You stole Sir George Hanbury’s property!”

  The earl glanced nervously around as if afraid that someone might hear her.

  Letitia clenched her fists in anger.

  “You were a very wealthy man. You did not need yet another estate. But even if you were a complete pauper, nothing would exonerate you! You did a dishonorable thing, depriving your friend of his family seat. How could you? How did you ever expect your children to live with such a burden? How do you expect me to look Percy in the eye, now that I know what you did? You knew the truth when you went to him to negotiate our marriage. For God’s sake, why did you do such a thing?”

  She had never said so many words to him at once in her entire life. Exhausted, Letitia leaned back in her chair, trying to calm her breathing, her heart heavy at the sight of her father’s contorted features.

  Aloofness and irritation had drained from his countenance. His lips trembled, and a shadow of pain passed through his face, though it quickly gave way to a sneer of disdain.

  “Hanbury played me for a fool, that’s why,” he growled. “You say I stole his property? He stole from me first!”

  Letitia sat up in her chair.

  “What do you mean?”

  Her father’s lips compressed into a thin line. At first, she thought he would not answer, but he did.

  “I wanted to marry Albinia Cunningham, your husband’s mother,” he said gruffly.

  Marry…Percy’s mother? The punch his words delivered made Letitia press back into the chair’s cushion. “Wh-what?” she stammered.

  “You heard me,” he answered brusquely and grimaced. “She was the only woman in the world who mattered to me. She favored me with her regard and would surely have accepted my hand in marriage, but for my old friend Hanbury.” His eyes narrowed. “He came to London and, before I had time to blink, married her. Made me look like a fool!”

  He turned back to the side table. Glass rattled against glass as he poured another snifter of brandy.

  “On the day of their wedding, I swore to pay him back.” His hand shook, but the frigid calmness of his words chilled Letitia’s blood. “Years passed until a perfect opportunity arose at last. She was no more, and he… Well, he was drowning his despair in gin, howling like an animal every time her name was mentioned. He gave me a chance so easy it was laughable. Damn Ashton for his scruples. He knew nothing about my real motive. Damn them all!” His voice grated like a metal blade against stone. “I had to punish Hanbury for taking her away from me.”

  In the ensuing silence, the pounding of her heart drowned out the ticking of the mantel clock.

  Her father sat heavily in the armchair, resting his elbows on his thighs. He glanced at her wearily. A scowl contorting his features added years to the already deep lines etched there by his disdain for others.

  “Sir George Hanbury,” he muttered with a derisive chuckle. “The handsome George, no longer even remotely resembling his old, swaggering self. Once, he had female heads turn on the sly in admiration. No, the night he came to that Norwich tavern, his clothes were crumpled and his hair unbrushed and in disarray, eyes red from lack of sleep and excess alcohol.” He winced. “Giving Hanbury a helping hand to drown himself completely was almost an act of compassion. This nearly incessant talk about Albinia… What right did he have to inflict the subject of her death on others? It felt like a currycomb dragged through a raw wound. Damn if I wanted to listen to the recollections of his former happiness.”

  She may have opened that still-raw wound, but despite what her father said about Percy’s mother, the only feeling Letitia had seen on parade was his misguided pride.

  And with his every word, she slid deeper into the abyss of helplessness and guilt. Her marriage had been based on a terrible fraud. Her life had become a fraud. She could never face Percy after having learned all she had since Sir Philip Ashton’s ill-advised, drunken visit to Park Lane.

  “Father,” she said, breaking the silence in the room, “I am sorry for your disappointment, but you know it was not an excuse or justification for what you did. You must re
stitute to my husband what is rightfully his. You must do it immediately and completely.”

  At first, he just gaped at her.

  And then he laughed.

  “You want me to apologize to him and tell him why?” he asked. “Are you insane?”

  “Perhaps,” Letitia returned. “If you do not do what you ought, I shall be forced to leave him, because I cannot pretend ignorance when I know the truth.”

  His face contorted in incredulity. “You’re threatening me,” he muttered with an undisguised amazement. Then he began to laugh. “Apologize what? Ha! Haven’t I done enough by letting him have the estate back? Bastard, he still got the dowry I promised Darnley. And what did I get in the end? How dare you propose such an insult to my reputation?”

  Ire constricted her throat and her heart. “Your reputation?” she choked out. “Shouldn’t you have considered your reputation, Father, before depriving Sir George Hanbury of his property?”

  “Believe me, I have,” he snapped. “With Welburton gone to the West Indies and soon dead from yellow fever, and Ashton gone to India, there was nothing to fear. Hanbury deserved punishment. He drank himself to death anyway.”

  Letitia’s fingers tightened on the armrests.

  “You are a monster,” she hissed. “You were always mean to Mama and you treated me badly, but such depravity? Did you spare even a moment’s thought to consider John’s shame?”

  “Do not mention him!” Her father bounced out of his armchair and glared at her from across his desk. “He had no right to buy a commission against my will and get himself killed, leaving me with what? A whore of a daughter? Why would I ever care about the future effect of that night on him? John was but a baby in the cradle then. And never mention that spineless, meek woman I married only for her plantations. It’s enough that I’m reminded of her every time I see you. She couldn’t even give me a second son!”

  Tremors of indignation nearly took her breath away. “Perhaps you spent your life blaming the wrong person for your disappointment,” she ground out. “Its author was not Sir George Hanbury but you. Perhaps my husband’s mother recognized your character and, unlike Mama, could decide freely.”