Debt of Honor

by Ann Clement

  “Wycombe Oaks?” he asked, his voice hitching with a high note of irritation and surprise. “Forgive me, but I do not understand this at all. Surely, you cannot expect to start a divorce over an old family home! You do not need to set your foot in there ever again if you dislike it so much, but—”

  “I just want to divorce you!” she interrupted him impatiently. “That is all I want. Just do it, Percy! You can convince the Commons to grant you a divorce. You can keep whatever my father gave you as my dowry, I do not care. Just make it happen!”

  She was not going to forgive him, then. Percy tried to swallow the growing helplessness that stemmed as much from Lettie’s stubbornness as it did from his apparent inability to convince her. Did she really expect him to deny his child the protection of his name? And what did Wycombe Oaks have to do with it all?

  “Lettie, what is behind all this?” He grasped at the last straw. “And, please, do not try to get rid of me with another tall tale. If you want to divorce me, I must know why. Is it that you cannot bear my presence at all? I can understand why you detest me so much. Do you wish to live in separation? I can agree to that. But not to a divorce.”

  She shook her head. “And I cannot agree to anything less than a divorce. Think what you please.”

  Lettie watched him ball his hands into fists. She felt restless with the need to convince him, yet nothing she said seemed to work. Percy would not divorce her, no matter what. His explanation had shaken her to the core again and opened floodgates for all the feelings she had tried to persuade herself were unreciprocated.

  But she could not give in to the whims of her heart, and his horrible stubbornness was not making it any easier for her to follow the chosen road to justice. Whatever he thought about her could not change the course she felt obliged to take.

  “I’ll tell you what I think, then,” he replied on a growl. “I think that you have been lying to me for the past half hour. First, you lied about having a lover. I can understand your anger. I can understand that you cannot forgive me my stupid behavior three days ago. After all, I put that idea in your head. But you cannot even name that imaginary person. Even if what you said were true, even if I decided to divorce you, I could not do it without identifying the man responsible for your adultery.”

  She turned away from him, but he caught her by the arm and turned her back.

  “Then you kept lying by omission about everything else. You want a divorce, but you are not giving me any reason why I should agree to it. None besides my own stupidity. I may never be able to apologize enough for what I have done, but do you truly think that I would divorce you now and deny my child the protection of my name? You know better than that, Lettie. No, there is another reason behind your stubbornness. And I cannot tell you if it merits such a drastic solution as divorce without knowing what it is. If you want an answer from me, then stop lying. I must know what is truly behind your request.”

  He let go of her arm then, but held her gaze.

  Her carefully erected façade crumpled. She had to tell him then.

  Letitia took in a deep breath. “It is Wycombe Oaks,” she said softly. “What you know is not true. Your father did not sell it to mine. My father obtained the deed to it by means of a card game, a dishonest way to divest someone of his property.”

  But instead of the shock she expected after this announcement, Percy responded with a calm and steady gaze. “I have always known about it,” he replied. “But that does not change anything between us. You and I are not responsible for the decisions of our parents.”

  The room whirled around her.

  “You knew?” she exclaimed. “You knew? And you still agreed to his terms? And you didn’t tell me when I wondered why my father bought it from yours?”

  “I saw no reason to burden you with this knowledge, to make you feel exactly how you are feeling now, guilty by association. If my father was foolish enough to wager his very soul and your father callous enough to accept such a wager, you are the last person on earth to be blamed for it.”

  “That is all?” she asked. “This is all you know?”

  “Is there more?” He arched a brow.

  “Yes! You do not know even the half of it,” she rejoined. “My father cheated and that is how he won!”

  Percy flinched as if she’d struck him. Her heart shattered again, but this was her last chance. She rushed on.

  “There were witnesses to the game. My father cheated openly, with others knowing of his intent. That is, the other partners except your father. Apparently, our fathers had been friends of long standing—until your mother chose between them. Did you know that? And do you know how my father managed his trick? He convinced others he wanted to help his friend shed the drinking and gambling habits, and bring him back to his senses by pretending to have won his ancestral seat. It was my father who suggested the stakes. He assured the two others that he would return the deed to your father as soon as the initial shock began to produce the desired results, but no later than a month from the day they played. That was the other partners’ condition.

  “They all parted the following morning. Mr. Welburton went to the West Indies, where he shortly died of yellow fever. Sir Philip Ashton, from whom I have this information, left for India within days and did not return until about a fortnight ago. He learned about your father’s death from a mutual acquaintance and, having deduced the rest, came to Park Lane yesterday to confront my father. Instead, he met me.”

  Even the dim light of candles could not disguise the paleness of Percy’s face. He opened his mouth to speak, but she upheld her hand.

  “You married me in order to regain something you believed passed on to my father legally, if not honorably. But since it was never his to barter, the only way to undo some of his treachery is for you to divorce me. There is no other way justice can be served at last.”

  Exhausted, she leaned against the bedpost and watched him anxiously.

  Percy too watched her in silence for a long moment. “Isn’t there?” he said. “How would divorcing you remedy anything at all?”

  “It is simple!” she cried, on the brink of exploding. “Wycombe Oaks was never my father’s. You owned it all along. It was only through his connivance that you believed otherwise. You did not need to marry me in order to have it. Can you not see that you are the one paying twice while you should not be paying anything at all?”

  “Then this is your notion of justice,” he returned, “that you ought to pay for other people’s sins and mistakes? It is too late—nay, it is impossible—to reverse our fathers’ ill-conceived and ill-fated night of gambling. But it is not too late for us to have a good life together. If you want to correct any of the old wrongs, don’t leave me! I love you, Lettie, with all my heart and soul. Your intentions are noble, but the result would amount to yet another tragedy.”

  He was more stubborn than the most stubborn ass. She snorted with derision to show him how little his words mattered, but a sob escaped her at the same time. Percy’s eyes burned into hers.

  “I might have married you to get back Wycombe Oaks,” he resumed, “but that was three months ago. Since then, my whole world has shifted and centered on you. You’ve brought light and happiness into my life. You’ve been my constant friend, my wonderful companion and my beautiful, passionate lover. You gave me all I ever dreamed of having in a wife. Your father gave me far more than he ever imagined or intended. Damn the castle! It means nothing now without you. If you leave me, instead of giving me something, you will take away what I desire the most—our future together. Is this the justice you want?”

  Agitated, he took her hands in his. “If you truly have my interests in mind, Lettie, do not talk any more about leaving me. I cannot imagine life without you, and nothing, nothing at all, could induce me to divorce you now! If you leave me, the destruction of my family that your father began will have become complete.”
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  Letitia tried desperately to swallow the tears crowding her throat, but they burst out of her with a total disregard for her will. “But it is so unfair to you…” Her lips trembled, and then she began to cry in earnest.

  Percy’s arms closed around her with fierceness. He held her so tightly she could hardly breathe, as if he was afraid she’d disappear.

  Letitia sighed and let her head rest on his chest. The strong rhythm of his heartbeat infused her with sudden peace.

  Percy’s hand moved soothingly along her spine. He kissed her hair.

  Reluctantly at first, she put her arms around his waist. He felt so wonderful, and his mouth, busy covering the side of her face with kisses, was better than any balm to her soul.

  “My love,” he murmured, “my life.”

  She burrowed deeper into his coat but tilted her head and her face was now right against those clever lips that were beginning to make her skin tingle with excitement. Three days without him since she left Bromsholme had felt like an eternity. She turned her head upward and kissed his chin.

  “I love you,” she said before his mouth descended on hers. “I love you so much it hurts.”

  The touch of his lips, so familiar and so sweet, was the magic that took away all the worries squeezing her heart and stooping her shoulders.

  “I love you more than life itself, Lettie,” he murmured in reply, and then plunged in.

  She pressed her hands to his back, pulling him closer. Deliriously, she reveled in the urgency of his kiss, in the need his invading tongue stoked in her, in his gentle strength that made his embrace the only place on earth she wanted to be.

  “Oh, Percy,” she murmured when he lifted his head and gazed at her. “There never was anyone but you. There will never be anyone but you.”

  He kissed her temples and her eyes, his own uncharacteristically shiny. “I know, my love,” he murmured. “There never will be anyone but you for me either.”

  She laughed softly and reached for his mouth once more. “It feels so good to be home again,” she murmured after a moment and burrowed deeper into him.

  “Yes, it does.” He smiled into her hair. “We will go back to Bromsholme tomorrow.”

  “Oh.” She suddenly remembered. “Where could Josepha have gone all this time? She shouldn’t be alone in the taproom.”

  “Miss Fourier was on her way downstairs to order the dinner for you two just when I arrived. She graciously agreed to a solitary meal in my room. I hope she enjoyed the food. By the way, she can have that room all to herself, since I don’t intend to use it tonight.” He grinned.

  “I would be very put out if you did.” Letitia grinned back and pulled his head down to make sure he couldn’t change his mind.

  Epilogue

  Norfolk, England, July 1810

  Percy stood in the center of a small riding ring outside the stable block, patiently instructing his son mounted on a pony. Johnny had progressed in no time to a nice trot and was showing great promise as a future steeplechase winner. At the moment, he was steering Prospero towards the rails laid down across his path. The task was still new to him. His face was comically contorted with concentration while he focused his gaze on the obstacles ahead of him.

  “Focus on what’s ahead and not at the ground in front of you, Johnny,” Percy said. “You have to know where you want to go after clearing the rails. If you are ready for the next step, you’ll find it easier to give Prospero the signal to step over them at the right moment.”

  Johnny focused ahead as instructed and took the pony easily over the first rail. Pleased with himself, he gave his father a quick glance.

  Percy smiled. “Do you think you can show your mother how much you have learned?”

  Johnny followed his gaze. His little face brightened as soon as he noticed three figures walking down the slope.

  “Mama and Nell are coming!” he exclaimed.

  “Keep your pace, though,” Percy said, laughing. “The steeplechase is not until September. You will give Mama a fit of the vapors if you let Prospero canter now.”

  “Mama never has fits of the vapors,” Johnny replied. “But Mrs. Fogerhill did when she saw a snake.”

  Percy bit his lip to keep from laughing at the recollection of that incident. It would not help their neighbor’s standing in the eyes of his son if he did. He walked to the fence to meet the approaching group. Lettie, holding Nell by the hand, walked slowly down the slope. Behind them trailed the nursemaid.

  “Mama, watch me!” Johnny cried from his elevated position while Prospero obediently stepped over the next rail.

  “Very nice, my darling.” Lettie gave him a warm smile. “You should soon be able to ride out with your father.”

  Nell pulled her hand free and launched herself like a cannonball at the fence.

  “May I try? Please, Papa!”

  Percy leaned over and stretched his arms to catch the little body hurling itself in his direction. He caught the child under her arms and swung her above the top rail, for which he was rewarded with squeals of delight.

  “You will start your lessons when you turn four, Nell.” He swung her sideways for good measure, and because the bells of her giggles were always a source of the greatest pleasure to him. “It will be just a few more months. Now you and Johnny go on and play.”

  He helped the boy down and motioned for the waiting groom to take the horse back to the stables.

  As soon as her brother was standing on his own legs, Nell forgot about her request.

  “Catch me!” she challenged him and started down the slope with the careless abandon of a three-year-old.

  “I am faster than you!” Johnny shouted while his legs stampeded on the grass.

  The nursemaid, a young woman, followed them.

  Percy’s gaze lingered on the frolicking children before shifting to Lettie standing by his side. His arm curled around her shoulders. The laughter bubbling in his throat at the children’s antics changed into a warm smile as he pulled her into his arms and kissed her lightly.

  “Well, my love, we better return to the house before the guests start arriving,” he said and, putting his hand on her slightly protruding stomach, added with concern, “How are you feeling?”

  “You know I never feel poorly at this stage,” she replied, covering his hand with hers. “I am perfectly fine.”

  “Promise me you will rest enough. Our guests will understand.”

  Lettie started protesting, but he silenced her with another kiss until she returned it with all the vigor he had hoped for.

  “I love you,” he murmured and, taking her by the hand, began a slow ascent up the slope, in the direction of the house.

  Their splendid new old house.

  The castle stood at a short distance, the walls of the keep bright in the strong afternoon sun. Below, where the back of the Tudor mansion leaned against it, the color intensified to a dark sand on its stucco. An ancient oak reigned over the walled courtyard in front of it.

  When he gazed at Lettie, her face reflected the happiness filling his heart.

  “You did it,” she said, smiling at him. “You returned your castle to its former glory. I daresay it hasn’t been this splendid in centuries.”

  “We did it,” he corrected her. “Without you, I might never have achieved half of what we have done.”

  “I so hope your aunt will approve.” Lettie had been a little anxious, even though they had talked with his family about their plans many times over the years.

  “Why should she not? Perhaps it is no longer exactly what she remembers from her childhood, but she has told you already how pleased she is with its revival. I’m sure she will admire everything you have done, my love.”

  The restoration had taken over five years and included more than mere repairs to the half-ruined buildings. Recognizing that it might be a
long time before anyone made any alterations again, Percy and Letitia decided to modernize the house as much as possible. There were several bathrooms to accommodate guest rooms and a separate one in the nursery. Percy and Letitia’s apartment had no fewer than two of them and a new sitting room connected the baronet’s and baronetess’s bedchambers and dressing rooms.

  In the library, the sun gliding along the shelves drew warmth from the golden hue of the restored bookcases. And while the renovations were in progress, the Earl of Stanville sent back the magnificent chandeliers from the great hall. They would be fully lit for the first time during the ball next week. The chandeliers had been followed by several other shipments that contained paintings, busts, silver and a number of other objects. The gallery upstairs had been filled once more with the family portraits, and two new ones, those of the present owners.

  As they reached the gate, Percy saw that the courtyard had become a veritable beehive of activity since the morning. Several men carried and set up trestle tables that would be used for meals when the house party began in earnest on the morrow and, later, for the supper on the day of the ball. Two gardeners put finishing touches to the topiary, making sure that not a twig was out of line. Another watered the stone vases filled with flowers.

  Percy thought of the abandoned, empty place with broken windows and gardens taken over by tree saplings. What would have happened if he had not married Lettie?

  He looked down at her and met her gaze, full of that warm light that had become his heart’s beacon six years earlier.

  “I was just thinking what my life would be like if I’d married Darnley,” she said. “I never believed one could be destined for something until it happened to me. You know, I think I was destined to marry you all along.”

  Percy raised her hand to his lips.

  “And I was just thinking what my life would be like if your father had not baited me into marriage, with my own home. I would never have what I have now—a gift far grander than I ever dreamed of. You are my gift of love, Lettie.”