His Forbidden Debutante

by Anabelle Bryant

  ‘Quite a different outcome without your rapier.’ Allington approached and kicked the sole of Penwick’s boot. The unsettling vibration shimmied up his leg, the muscles strangely lethargic, his body trapped in an unfamiliar torpor worse than any ramifications due to over-imbibement or consequence from sickness.

  ‘What did you put in my drink, you bastard?’

  ‘How like you, Penwick. Clever on both counts.’ He gave a humourless laugh. ‘A familiar tincture of liquid persuasion. Two splashes of laudanum, enough to subdue, but not kill. And you’ve guessed with precision. I am, indeed, my father’s bastard. Well-loved and taken care of, but illegitimate all the same. Lady Allington welcomed me, the pathetic, soft-hearted creature. It was a blessing when she passed and I no longer needed to play the doting son.’

  ‘But what could you possibly wish to gain? You already have your father’s loyalty and the promise of a lucrative future in diamond sales.’ He shot his head upward, forgetting the after-effect caused by the drug would cause hell for the motion. He clenched his teeth to deter the desire to wince.

  ‘I’ll blame the laudanum for your dull-witted deduction skills.’ Allington blew out a long exhale as if suffering fools was far beneath him and, under his inspection, Penwick shifted on the floor, failing to find a sense of energy in his heavy limbs. ‘Inconvenient and uncomfortable, the binds, but they were necessary to move you here. Just for one night. The vicar is arranged for the morning, so you will wed my lovely sister as planned. Then you will be rid of me. I’ll have everything I need.’ Self-satisfaction inflated the pronouncement. ‘With your title attached to the family and Father’s new entry into high society, he will have little use for a bastard son. I’ve known for years through ambitious personal investigating that the old man has no intention of leaving me the business. It all goes to Claire, never mind he’s done me the wrong.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’ The longer he could stall with conversation and diversion, the better chance he’d reclaim his natural strength. Still, he would have to choose the opportunity with care. He’d have only one attempt to overtake Allington and escape.

  ‘You wouldn’t. How could you?’ Sarcasm crept into his tone. ‘You are a polished aristocrat with pristine title, revered status and a level of unmitigated respect. These qualities are inherent to you and far detached from someone born on the wrong side of the blanket, but not provided for. Until now. I’ve been collecting the finest gemstones as an investment in my future. With your marriage and the exquisite bauble designed for your gift to Claire, I’ll have all the money I’ll ever need.’

  Penwick surveyed Allington who stood over him with a hard glint in his eye, having advanced with each comment as if the facts were accusations which somehow he’d perpetrated. ‘I believe you have confused loyalty with duty. Some say I’m a victim of circumstance. I never expected to inherit the title and up to this point wasn’t sure I appreciated it. Now I know for certain, I wish the earldom never fell to me. We cannot choose our past, most especially when impacted by the choices of our family. Everyone is prey to the same effect.’

  Allington slanted a sceptical glance, as if the notion of disliking inheritance of title presented lunacy. Yet he only paused a moment before continuing. ‘I’ve worked hard to collect my wealth, skimming my father’s imported diamond shipments and amassing my own fortune, one which no one can claim. I knew once Claire married a titled gentleman as Father intended, I would fall out of favour, left to fend for myself. Your proposal has initiated additional planning, and when my father boasted of the finest diamonds ever mined for Claire’s gift, I couldn’t ignore such promise of wealth. With this theft I have everything needed to leave England and begin anew in America. I contacted a few men at the mines, arranged for a convenient delay in shipment, and instead had the gems made into shoe clips, easily transported through the regular channels I’ve always used for my smuggling endeavours. A shoe store, a few boxes and a livery uniform is all the effort it took. One finds all kinds of hoodlums willing to earn a few extra coin.’

  ‘You might have remained with your father and stifled your greed. You would have no need for wealth as he would have offered you whatever lifestyle you desired.’ Penwick attempted to sort through Allington’s convoluted reasoning. ‘Furthermore, had you cultured a better relationship with me, you’d have become welcomed in any aristocratic circle.’

  ‘As their lesser.’

  ‘No.’ Penwick gave a slight shake of the head, though the after-effects of the drug still tainted his clarity. ‘We can still talk to your father and settle this without harm.’

  ‘We’re not telling Father I’ve bilked him out of thousands of pounds. You’re not sharing that I’ve skimmed profit and smuggled diamonds. You don’t understand the half of it.’ Severity, and perhaps a bit of desperation, pulled Allington’s features tight and his words sliced through the silent stable, his pointed glare fixed on Penwick. ‘You make it sound so simple. Claire wants the honour and prestige, convinced for years by her father that she deserves a title. Lady Allington, bless her forgiving, deceased soul, accepted the situation and welcomed me as a son, but not rightful heir, the one aspect incredibly clear. In agreement with her taking me in, she finagled her husband to ensure Claire receives the lion’s share of wealth. That line was drawn in black ink on every document connected to my father’s inheritance. After her death, I pursued the subject with him and the old fool wouldn’t see reason. How easily someone could take it all away. I cannot take the chance of not having what I want. So you will get married and I will have those diamonds. Then I’ll leave, travel to America and find my own way. In the end, everyone is happy. No harm done.’

  Penwick’s brain twisted, attempting to follow the confused reasoning Allington uttered. For a madman, it made sense. But couldn’t the same have been achieved with honest intention? Allied in brotherhood, Penwick might have persuaded Bertram to look more kindly on including Jonathan in the inheritance.

  All consideration ceased when a horse whinnied in a nearby stall. Penwick heard voices outside the stable wall, two males at least, and the arrival of some type of conveyance. He watched irritation flash across Allington’s face before the cur made for the door, seemingly confident Penwick remained of little use in his drugged state, but each moment that passed brought clarity. With the rush of panic pumping through his veins, the drug would diminish faster, and he hoped to be returned to normal in the near future. He tensed his muscles and released them, shifted his legs and flexed his arms while he maintained the same prone position on the floor. If Allington assumed he remained languid, there’d be an element of surprise. At the moment, it was his only weapon. What he wouldn’t give for his sword. He’d drive the blade straight through Allington’s black heart.

  But these thoughts were cut short by a distracting interruption a few stalls over. Male voices spoke in hushed conversation, and there was the dull sound of heavy dragging as if the men unloaded something and moved it within. He couldn’t risk standing to observe and investigate. The only way to freedom was to pretend he still experienced the effects of the laudanum. Straining for scraps of conversation, he watched shadows fall across the floor as the men stepped into the main aisle of the stable, offering the chance to discern their words more clearly and watch a part of their meeting.

  ‘Gave us a bit of trouble, the gel, but she says she ‘as the diamonds on ‘er,’ a male voice cut through the silence.

  ‘You took her at her word?’ Sarcasm declared Allington’s question rhetorical. ‘And when you searched her, what did you find?’

  ‘Didn’t put my mitts on ‘er after she bit my ‘and and ‘it Booth in the noggin with ‘er shoe. He wasn’t any ‘elp. All ‘e wanted to do was feel ‘er bubs. But she’s too uppity a piece for me. And mouthy – that’s why we gagged ‘er with my stockin’. The other gel ran away.’

  ‘Other one?’

  ‘The chit wasn’t alone. I’ve been watchin’ this one and she’s always knitted at the h
ip with the blonde miss. After we got ‘old of ‘er the other made tail for the street.’

  Allington huffed an impatient breath. ‘You say she has the diamonds on her, then it will be fun finding where they’re hidden. Leave her in the end stall and secure the door on your way out. Use the lock and chain across the latch. I’ve released the stable hands so secure it good and tight. I don’t want anyone coming in or going out this evening.’

  ‘There’s these – I reckon she’s ‘opeless without them.’ The stranger hesitated, then handed something forward before wiping his palms on his dirty trouser legs. ‘I’ll be leaving then.’ But he didn’t take a step.

  ‘You’ll get your share when I get my goods. Now leave. I have things to tend and you’re a distraction. Keep your mouth shut and control Booth. The last thing I need is a visit from the constable when I’m so close to completing my plan. If you manage to do as you’re told, I’ll be in touch with your payment. Go.’

  Dismissed, Hawkins left and Penwick heard the scrape of the back door and the click of a series of locks against the stable enclosure.

  Who had they dumped in the far stall and why would a woman be involved in whatever mayhem Allington perpetrated? Was his father aware? It would be difficult to imagine it true, although none of this was expected. Penwick had to get Allington talking so he could understand the extent of his intentions.

  ‘Now, where were we?’

  Allington approached with a wicked gleam in his eye until he stood directly above him. Penwick waited. Another moment or two and he would vault from the floor and overtake the man. He tensed his muscles, relieved they seemed to have regained some strength, and tried to engage Allington in an attempt to gain valuable minutes. ‘You can’t force me to marry your sister. I made that clear earlier today and the circumstances haven’t changed.’

  ‘I’d say they’ve changed significantly, my friend.’ With a solid swing, Allington connected with Penwick’s jaw and knocked him unconscious.

  It was several hours later when Penwick awoke. He slitted his eyes, rubbed his jaw and viewed the sky through the half window of the loft. An owl flew past. A bounty of light flooded the hay, the full moon two days past. His ribs ached more than his jaw. Allington must have kicked or punched his body after he’d lost consciousness, the evidence to be hidden under his clothing rather than on his face.

  He lay still and listened to the subtle breathing of the horses. A soft whicker broke the quiet and another undetermined noise. It took several minutes before he realised it was a female crying. A woman wept not far from where he lay. Gingerly, for his body ached and his head throbbed, he rose to investigate, full knowing any inclination to try the door would prove fruitless, the locks secured from the outside.

  With careful steps he approached, passing several stalls, many dark with livestock asleep inside. It was cold, the season turned, and even the cattle had blankets draped across their backs. He worked his fingers to loosen the joints in case defence proved necessary, but no. No one waited or watched in the darkness. Aside from the flooding light from the angular window above, no lantern was lit, no candle burned.

  He stopped before the stall in question and his heart squeezed with despair. There was no mistaking the solemn sound of a woman’s crying now. Though muffled and low, he knew it with certainty and every fibre of his being angered at the man who would cage a woman, treat her poorly and enclose her in the pitch-black darkness of a stable stall. The very last thing he wished was to startle, yet he needed to comfort her and console she remained unthreatened.

  Straining his eyes, he stared through the barred window and breathed deep, hoping by some semblance of intuition the lady would come to know she was no longer alone. And she did. The weeping silenced and he heard the rustle of her gown against the wooden planks of the far wall. So he dared to speak, tempering his voice as gentle as possible though his heart pounded and his skin itched as if he were about to uncover something terrible… irreparable and completely out of his control.

  ‘It will be all right. I will see to your safety.’ He braced himself for the inevitable; a scream of alarm, a fresh onslaught of crying, or worse, hysteria.

  But the lady gasped, choked almost, whether from his statement or her own tears he did not know, and then she rushed to the barred window, her slim arms outstretched as if in caution, the top of her head barely able to clear the small square opening.

  ‘Randolph?’ Emotion broke the word, as if shock was quickly replaced by relief.

  Anger spiked through him, white hot and deadly.

  ‘Lavinia.’

  He was on the edge of madness, a thousand reactions shredding his composure. How dare Allington? And why? Why?

  ‘Are you all right, my love?’ His voice shook with unreleased rage but he needed to calm her before he attended to the anger that fired he act. He would release Livie, find a way out of the stable, and kill Allington. His brain planned with efficient exactitude, despite his heart sought to appease.

  ‘My spectacles. The men took my glasses and I…’ She stifled a sudden sob. ‘I need them.’

  ‘Of course. Let me find a lantern. There must be something in the harness room or grooms’ chambers. May I leave you while I search?’ He fought to keep his voice calm, wishing to reassure though his entire body thrummed with unspent anger.

  ‘Yes.’ A sniffle followed the single word. ‘My heart recognised you before I heard your voice.’

  Her despairing whisper amalgamated his resolve and he moved with swift determination, the shadows and splintered moonlight a resource for investigation. As suspected, he found a tall lantern in the grooms’ chambers, though the wick was blunt and would only last a short while.

  ‘I’m here, Livie, and I have your spectacles. Can you stand on your tiptoes and come to me? I will hand them through the bars.’ She needed reassurance, as did he. If her clothing appeared torn or destroyed in any way, it would equal further pain for Allington when he wrapped his fingers around the bastard’s yellow neck. A smile twisted his mouth at the thought.

  ‘Yes. I can.’ She shuffled closer. ‘I’m so very glad you’re here.’

  Lamplight glossed the top of her head and he hooked the lantern on the ironwork outside the stall and lifted the thick iron latch that kept the paddock locked. ‘Bear with me, love. The light is limited.’ A moment later he flung the door open and captured Lavinia in his arms, spectacles rightfully in place. Then he held her, tighter than he intended, as if to seal her body to his and keep her forever out of harm’s way. They stood that way, in silent relief, for several minutes.

  Absorbing her trembling, he eased her to the wooden bench outside the tack room. ‘Were you taken because of me, Livie? Did Allington tell you why he brought you here?’

  ‘Allington? Claire? No. I don’t know.’ She pulled from his chest and tipped her chin up to meet his shadowy gaze. ‘I don’t know who brought me here but he certainly wasn’t a gentleman. Two foul thieves cornered Esme and me in the alley behind Lott’s shoe store. It’s a long story of which I’m solely to blame, but I don’t have the diamond shoe clips. Esme tucked them into her reticule before we entered the alley. With hope she’s reached Kirby Park and alerted Dashwood to begin a search.’ Her words grew weaker as she muttered the explanation.

  ‘Diamonds?’ He tipped her chin higher so he could affirm she was indeed all right. Her lashes glistened from recent tears and, in the low light of the high-strung lantern, the only thought that made sense was to kiss her. Kiss her and never stop. Never let her go. The act would reassure the both of them.

  ‘There is no way to leave, is there?’ Her whisper camouflaged a fair degree of fear.

  ‘No. Allington has locked the doors from the outside. The shutters to each stall are the same and I suspect, unless we jump from the loft window and invite death, we are waylaid until morning.’ He strove for a hopeful tone, though he burned with the urge to exact revenge.

  ‘I feared I would never see you again.’

&
nbsp; Her honest confession rallied his defiance and fought against the dark thoughts. ‘No, dearest. Nothing would keep me from you.’

  ‘But you will be married tomorrow.’

  He almost laughed at the absurdity. ‘Wrong again.’ He nestled her closer to his chest, securing her cheek against him. ‘I hold no ardent affection for Claire. I proposed out of a sense of duty to the line. I’m the last of a great number of Caulfield males with weak hearts.’ A solemn silence ensued and he wondered if by promising his life to Livie, he’d also commit her to early widowhood. He shook off the morose consideration. That path of thinking paralysed action, torn between his knowledge of the past and hope for the future. He lived here in the present and refused to remain conflicted any longer by duty and desire. ‘All that matters little now that I’ve fallen in love with you. From that first serendipitous letter and each one that followed, your words spilled across the page and filled my heart. Now you have grown to be my life’s blood, the very organ that keeps me alive, and hence I’ve become unbreakable. My heart will not fail.’ This was a vow.

  He made to kiss her, startled when she withdrew from his embrace.

  ‘But what of Claire? You are committed to another.’ She spoke, her voice small, the words halting as if she hated every syllable she uttered.

  ‘I told Claire I can’t marry her. I love you.’ This time he did laugh a little.

  ‘Not just my memory? Me? Really?’ She clenched her eyes and opened them again. ‘But this isn’t who you are. A man who breaks promises and sullies his word.’

  ‘You know me so well. Tell me who you believe me to be. I can’t hold a thought in my head for loving you. You are not my memory. You are my future. You are my everything. And…’ He captured her shoulders and pulled her closer. ‘You will marry me, no one else, because you know it is the truth.’ He swooped in to capture her mouth with urgency as if he needed to convince himself she was safe in his arms, out of harm’s way; perfectly soft, delicious and real. It didn’t matter that half his argument was composed of illusion, their tomorrow unknown.