The Rogue's Redemption

by Ruth Axtell Morren

  Leighton echoed his thoughts. “We saw a troop land on our shores. But we soon routed them.”

  Gerrit inclined his head. “Well done, sir.” He glanced toward Hester. Was he being weighed in the balances by her sire?

  Hester gave him a small smile. At least she didn’t appear angry.

  “You are British, sir?” Gerrit asked, deciding to go on the offensive himself.

  “Not anymore,” he growled out. “American and proud of it.”

  “Very good, sir.” He had to refrain from smiling at the man’s belligerent tone.

  “I travel for business,” he said. “I don’t mind making money off you Brits.”

  “I’m sure the feeling is mutual. Thankfully, the blockades are over.”

  “Your ships sunk more than one good merchant vessel of mine until we sent our privateers after yours.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard about your privateers.”

  “You seem to have led us on a wild-goose chase last night.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Miss Leighton’s voice intruded. “The rout. Did you attend?”

  Here it came. He turned his attention to her. “I must apologize for not attending. I—something detained me at the last moment.” How many times had he used that vague excuse with women he was trying to put off? “I hope you found my sister.”

  “I don’t think she was in attendance. I don’t think anyone was.”

  He frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “We were there at nine o’clock sharp as it stated on the invitation,” her father answered for her. “Not a soul in that empty palace. Waited around for more’n an hour and nothing. What kind of joke was it supposed to be?”

  Gerrit looked down. It was worse than he’d imagined. “I’m sorry. I should have explained. No one shows until eleven or so. After the theaters let out.” He added, “or the opera. My sister mentioned she would be there at midnight.” He wondered what Delia had thought when he hadn’t been there. He’d have to make his apologies to her now as well.

  “I’m sorry she wasted her time then. We were long gone,” Miss Leighton said.

  He gazed at her, wondering what she thought of him now and realizing he cared about her opinion. “I’ll talk to her. I know she will be heartbroken not having met you. She’ll invite you to something else.”

  “You needn’t bother,” her father spoke up before Miss Leighton could say anything. “We’re busy enough as it is. Good day, Major—” he paused only long enough to let Gerrit know he had to search around for his name “—Hawkes.”

  The man’s tone was final. Gerrit touched his fingers to his brim. “Good day, Miss Leighton, Mr. Leighton.” He stayed unmoving as they drove away. He would have to find some other means of making amends.

  It would undoubtedly entail lots of flattery along with a gift to Delia in order to persuade her to send the Leightons another invitation. Well, if there was one thing he knew how to do, it was coax a woman.

  Chapter Five

  Hester sat beside Major Hawkes at his sister’s dinner table. She glanced further down the long table to her father, sandwiched between two brilliantly dressed women. One had him in what appeared vivacious conversation, her ostrich plumes waving up and down when she nodded to make a point.

  Hester smiled to herself and turned back to take a spoonful of the blancmange placed in front of her. She had lost count of how many courses she’d partaken of.

  “What do you think of a London dinner party?” Major Hawkes’s soft voice came to her.

  She turned her head toward him and found his amused gaze fixed on her. The vivid blue of those eyes against the almost blue-black of his hair never failed to startle her.

  She managed a shy smile. “Overwhelming.”

  “This is a small gathering, you know.”

  “Is it?” There must have been at least two dozen people ranged down the length of the table. “I can scarcely imagine a large dinner party.”

  “However did you get your father to accept my sister’s invitation?”

  Her smile deepened. “That was not so difficult.”

  “No? I thought he seemed a bit put out about the rout.”

  “He was, but he never stays angry long. Besides, I don’t think he had the heart to turn down your sister’s kind invitation. She wrote us a very nice note.”

  He glanced down the table at his sister. “Delia can be very charming.”

  “It was thoughtful of her to include us in tonight’s party.”

  “Oh, she loves to entertain. The more the merrier.” The major lounged back in his chair and eyed Hester. “I’m relieved to hear your acceptance was never in doubt.”

  She gave him a sidelong glance. “I didn’t say that exactly.”

  He quirked an eyebrow. “What was the impediment to your accepting this invitation?”

  She remembered the careless way he’d told them he hadn’t even been at the rout. “I wasn’t certain if we should accept.”

  “Why wouldn’t you want to accept?” His rich blue eyes were focused on her mouth.

  She brought her napkin up to it, wondering if there was a drop of pudding on her lips. “I wasn’t sure if it was worth our while to meet more of your distinguished class. What I had seen at the rout hadn’t unduly impressed me.”

  He chuckled. “You didn’t miss anything, by the way, by not staying. Routs are vile things, crowds of people just standing around to be seen. They greet each other then proceed to the next group.”

  “You should have told me that before we went.”

  His lips curved upwards, dimpling his cheek. “Told you? Why, then you’d never have gone.”

  She shook her head at him, but couldn’t help smiling. “Don’t you ever take anything seriously?”

  “Never in peacetime,” he answered. “I find life a cruel joke.” He waved a hand around them. “How about you? Don’t you find the antics here amusing?”

  She considered, her gaze roaming over the gathered assembly. They did look a bit pompous, their dress and their behavior extreme by her standards. She turned back to the major. “Life is much too serious for me to laugh at the behavior of others.”

  “What is so serious about it?”

  “The salvation of souls. That’s a very serious affair. Nothing to joke about.”

  “You’re one of those Evangelicals.” His voice held amused disbelief.

  She said nothing, disliking the mockery of his tone.

  His glance strayed over the table again. “I pity you here. You will feel like a fish out of water.”

  “Perhaps.” She’d felt like a fish out of water since arriving in England. “They are souls, like any others.” At least she’d been trying to tell herself that.

  His gaze returned to her, his blue eyes searching hers, all amusement gone. “Do you want to know why I didn’t come to the rout?”

  “If you care to tell me.”

  “I clean forgot it.” There was neither teasing nor mockery in his tone.

  “Why are you telling me this?” Was she so easily forgotten and he not a man of his word?

  “You have a funny way of making a man want to come clean and confess all his sins.” He paused, his look remaining intent. “That could be a dangerous thing.”

  She felt on the edge of a precipice, unsure what he meant, and prayed for the right words. “Not if it means the beginning of true friendship.”

  He gave a soft laugh. “Can there be such a thing between a man and a woman?”

  “Of course there can, when there is the love of God between them.”

  His eyes flickered away from her, and she wondered if her answer had disappointed him. Just then a footman came between them to clear away their used dishes. When a clean cover had been laid before them, the major turned to her once again. “Tell me, have you ever been up St. Paul’s dome?”

  “No, where is that?” she asked, relieved to hear his friendly tone.

  “In the City. On a clear day, you can get a b
ird’s-eye view of all London and the country around it.”

  Hester was intrigued. “I should like to see that.”

  “Good. Maybe I can persuade your father to accept my escort.”

  Her heart plummeted. “I don’t know if he’ll agree to another wild-goose chase.”

  He grinned. “Have no fear. My memory is much better in the daylight hours.”

  Later that night, when Hester and her father had returned to their town house, Hester stood outside her bedroom door and broached the subject of St. Paul’s on the morrow. The major had formally asked her father’s permission, but the older man had been evasive with him.

  Her father frowned. “I don’t know if I like the idea of your spending time in the company of these fashionable people. I know they can be quite immoral.”

  “The viscountess seems very respectable to me. Besides, if Mrs. Bellows is with me, what harm can there be?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know…I can’t accompany you tomorrow. I can’t say I like your Major Hawkes any better upon second meeting, either.”

  “But, Papa, you’ve hardly spoken with him on either occasion. You’ve always taught me not to judge a person too quickly.”

  He sighed. “That’s true. But I’ve also lived a few years longer than you and am used to dealing with many men. One becomes adept at summing up a man’s character in a short time.”

  “He’s been nothing but kind and gentlemanly. It was through his intervention with his sister that we received her invitation. Mrs. Bellows has explained to me that it takes only one such invitation from a member of society to open the doors to others.”

  “I know your mother and I decided it was time you saw a little bit of the world, but now I wonder if this is the right type of world.” Her father fixed his brown eyes on her. “Tell me, what is your opinion of the major?”

  “He’s a fine person.” She smiled. “He makes me laugh.” She remembered how lonely that first week in London had been. “He’s been a godsend.”

  “As long as you don’t have your heart broken by his type.”

  “What do you mean by ‘his type?’”

  “Spoiled, careless of young women’s feelings, and used to getting his way with the ladies through his charm and good looks. I’ll bet he uses that uniform to advantage in this pursuit.”

  “Oh, no, he’s nothing like that! He’s warm and caring.” She refrained from telling him about Major Hawkes’s admission that he’d forgotten the rout. No need to add fuel to her father’s fire. When he made up his mind about someone, he could be obstinate. Unfortunately, he was rarely wrong.

  “Humph,” was her father’s only reply. “Have a care.”

  “There’s hardly any danger of my heart’s being broken. I don’t think—” she looked down, hesitant all of a sudden to voice what was most on her mind “—I don’t think he’s saved.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me…What does surprise me is that you should give someone like that the time of day.”

  “But, Papa, isn’t that precisely what we should be doing?”

  Her father made no reply to that. With a final sigh, he turned toward his own bedroom door. “Have a care, dear Hester, is all I can advise you. Have a care.”

  After the last dinner guest had departed, Gerrit sat on a settee in his sister’s boudoir, watching her remove the jeweled pendants from her ears.

  “So, where did Lionel go off to?” he asked through a yawn.

  “Brooks’s or White’s. Or maybe that new one, Watier’s,” Delia replied to his reflection in the mirror.

  “Well, he proved amiable tonight at least.”

  “Yes,” she said, easing the kinks from her neck as her maid undid the clasp of her necklace. “He was in good form. He even remembered your protégée’s name and actually said a few nice things to her father.” She turned to say something to her maid, who then departed. “I’ve asked her to bring us both a glass of punch. How does that sound?”

  “Like the perfect end to a successful dinner party.” He stretched his legs out on a low black-lacquered Chinese table before him and crossed them at the ankles. “I thought she was to become your protégée.”

  Delia cocked an eyebrow at him in the glass. “Is it all settled then?”

  “You tell me. What did you think of Miss Hester Leighton?”

  “Charming, I’m sure.” She looked down at her hands as if she wanted to say more.

  “Go ahead.”

  Her eyes met his. “Nothing. I just wonder what you saw in her. Miss Leighton is nice enough, I grant you, but nothing extraordinary. Just another young deb. I’d have thought she’d have more spice, more flair to catch your eye.”

  Gerrit smiled but said nothing. Miss Leighton’s “flair,” was evidently too subtle for his sister to perceive. His sister was flamboyant and attracted the same types around her.

  “Well, her understated personality notwithstanding, will you take her on?”

  “And what about you? Are you sure you’re not interested? You know Father wouldn’t be happier than if you’d announce your engagement to an heiress, no matter where her money came from. They worry about you, you know, with the war over. Officers are being decommissioned all over the place. What will you do now?”

  He shrugged, continuing to smile. “I’ll make out.”

  “But doing what? Do you think you’ll be sent abroad?”

  “There’s always India.”

  She shuddered. “I do hope not. I’d like to see my baby brother now and again. You survived those years on the Peninsula. I’d rather you didn’t gamble on your life anymore, at least for the time being.”

  He made no comment.

  “Miss Leighton’s dowry doesn’t tempt you in the least bit?” she persisted.

  “Miss Leighton hails from solid Puritan stock. What would she ever see in a dissolute rake up to his ears in debt?”

  She tilted her head at him. “Oh, I don’t know about that. You’ve got your looks. And your Waterloo medal.”

  “Looks don’t last.” He glanced down at his chest. “And a medal? Yes, that’s a real asset. D’you know, for an American, that’s actually a strike against me?”

  “Never!” She looked outraged. “Well, I suppose so…But we’re at peace now. Don’t tell me Miss Leighton is one of those rabid patriots that will never forget we were once at war?”

  He chuckled. “No, I don’t think so. Her own father is British.”

  “Well, he at least was presentable. Quite a distinguished looking man, actually. I hardly had a chance to talk to him but he seemed to know how to hold a knife and fork at any rate. Anyway,” she continued more briskly, “I wouldn’t discount your medal. It’s an entrée. You who fought at Waterloo are the toast of London right now. You’ve got to use that asset while it lasts. Look at me, I didn’t land a wealthy viscount just on my looks and dowry alone. I had to use every ounce of wiles I possessed.”

  “Yes, and look what it got you…”

  “It got me wealth and privilege. Any door is opened to me. I don’t have to hear Father or Mother with their endless talk of limited funds and retrenchment and letting servants go. Lionel lets me lead my own life. What more can a woman want?”

  When he said nothing, she asked softly, “How are you for funds?”

  “Oh, treading water, as always, but what’s that to the point?”

  “I’d give you something if I could, but things are a bit tense with Lionel on that score lately. He got my last dressmaker’s bills, and there’s a little matter with a small gambling debt.”

  He shook his head. “You needn’t tell me.” He shifted on the settee. “Truly, I don’t need any assistance in that quarter at the moment. If I get desperate enough, I shall rethink the heiress option. But for the moment, I shall remain a free man.”

  Delia laughed, as he knew she would, glad to have distracted her. “I’m planning a house party,” she said, changing the subject, though continuing to observe him.

  “A
house party? How delightful.”

  “I invited Miss Leighton. Do you think she’ll enjoy it?”

  He looked up at the ceiling as if considering. “I imagine she’ll add a whole new element.”

  “I shall compose a list with at least a half-dozen eligible bachelors to invite. Would you like to approve it?”

  His glance met his sister’s as he kept his smile in place, knowing how discerning his sister could be. “As long as you keep away that stodgy old company that’s usually there to entertain Lionel.”

  “Well, I have to have a few of his cronies if I’m to keep him happy.” She looked down at her fingernails. “So, shall I bother inviting you?”

  His fingers tightened on the satiny ebony of the sofa arm. Better to decline. “Whatever would I want to do there? I can only remember being bored to distraction at Thistleworth. Lionel with his sole interest in hunting.”

  “That’s precisely why you should come,” she insisted. “To ensure Miss Leighton is suitably entertained.”

  He knew how easy that task would be for him. All too easy. “What about those bachelors?”

  “Well, I haven’t secured their attendance yet. Besides, you know how eligible bachelors can be—either too supercilious to look at any available female, or too silly for words. You could help keep them in order.”

  He snorted.

  “Please, Gerrit, for me.” She gave him the look he knew she’d used to entangle Lionel.

  It was better to stay away from the refreshingly honest Miss Leighton no matter how appealing a short flirtation appeared to him. He feigned a groan. “For you, dear sister, I would sacrifice anything, but there are limits to what one can decently demand of one’s own flesh and blood.”

  She pouted and turned away from him. “Very well, be as self-centered as always. I hope you end up falling hopelessly in love with Miss Leighton and she turns you down flat.”

  He chuckled, though he didn’t bother to contradict Delia. There was little danger of losing his heart to Miss Leighton—or anyone. Whatever heart he had, he’d lost long ago. Somewhere between Ciudad Rodrigo and Waterloo.