The Rogue's Redemption

by Ruth Axtell Morren

  When she tired, she arose from the instrument. Seeing Mrs. Bellows still in lively conversation and her own seat taken, Hester found, after some searching of the crowded salon, another vacant chair quite removed from her chaperone.

  “Really, my dear, this is not a church,” a dark-haired woman wearing a very low-cut gown said to her. Before Hester had a chance to reply, she turned back to her companion.

  “As I was saying, un petit soupé is one thing, but her behavior was flagrant. One must be discreet in these affairs.”

  “Or at the least, carry things off with a certain éclat. Remember Millicent with that cicisbeo of hers, that consumptive-looking young man who seemed more her page boy than a paramour?”

  The women tittered behind their fans.

  “But when she began increasing a few months later,” the lady continued, “he proved to be more able than just someone to fetch and carry for her.”

  The other woman shook her head. “As I recall the gossip finally drove her to the country to rusticate until the birth.”

  “She was a fool. It’s a wonder her husband didn’t send her abroad.”

  Hester sighed and snapped her own fan open. As she waved it desultorily back and forth in the stuffy room, she asked herself how she was going to survive the next fortnight. She not only had nothing in common with these older women, their morals were completely contrary to hers! If her mother were here, she’d know how to behave, what to say….

  The euphoria of the hymns evaporated and Hester felt a wave of homesickness so powerful she had to bow her head against the assault.

  Gerrit felt relief once he knew Miss Leighton was safely away at his sister’s. His part was done. His sister would take on Miss Leighton’s social agenda. Temptation was beyond his reach.

  He ignored the little voice which kept whispering questions to his mind in the intervening days. How was the young Yankee getting on? Was she fitting in? With all her duties as hostess, was Delia able to take her under her wing? House parties could be a deathly bore at best…or a time of amorous assignations at worst.

  I’ve never had an amorous friendship. The naive admission circled round and round in his mind at the thought of the worthless coves his sister was likely to invite. Had he sent a lamb to the wolves?

  At that moment, Crocker came into the room, his brow furrowed, his head shaking from side to side as if his horse had lost the Derby.

  “What is it?”

  Crocker eyed him. “Your pockets are to let.”

  “Is that all?”

  “This time you’re done for. The duns are at the door, insisting on some blunt.”

  Gerrit felt his pockets. “All I have are a few coppers. What happened to my last winnings?”

  Crocker snorted. “You mean of a fortnight ago? What’d you think we’ve been living off in the meantime?”

  He looked down at the floor between his feet. It was true, he’d been having a streak of bad luck lately.

  “There’s only one thing to be done.” Crocker’s voice sounded like he was condemning Gerrit to the noose. “You’ll have to leave town. Lay low for a spell.”

  Gerrit lifted his head. Leave town? Suddenly his spirits lifted, feeling he’d been given a reprieve. “Pack our things.”

  “Right away.” Relief eased his batman’s leathery features. “Where’re we going?”

  Gerrit stood and headed for the door. “Didn’t I mention? My sister’s holding a house party at her place in Sunbury.”

  As soon as he arrived at Delia’s, Gerrit went in search of Miss Leighton. Being told by the butler that she was at the shooting range, Gerrit left the house before he’d even greeted his sister, and headed toward the stables. Why this pressing need to see a young lady he’d scarcely met a fortnight ago? Ignoring the question and heeding only the drive within himself, he reached the stables with a rapid pace.

  He heard Miss Leighton’s laughter before he saw her. He’d recognize that joyous tinkle even after a year, he realized. It filled him with a gladness completely out of proportion with the circumstances.

  She stood with her back toward him, a bow poised in her hands, her head tilted to one side as she took aim. Beside her stood a bevy of young men, all intent on the target ahead.

  The arrow flew straight and true and landed just at the edge of the bull’s-eye circle.

  “Bravo, Miss Leighton! Well done!” the gentlemen congratulated her. Gerrit recognized several of the young men. “Yours is the closest,” Lord Matthew Astley said. “We declare you the winner!”

  Gerrit approached Miss Leighton.

  “I see you’ve found amusement at my sister’s house party.”

  She spun around, her mouth spreading in a smile, which he couldn’t help returning. “Major Hawkes!” There was no subterfuge in her look, only gladness. In those seconds, he experienced a depth of pleasure he hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

  “Hawkes! What are you doing here?” Gerrit ignored Astley as his glance skimmed over Miss Leighton, reacquainting himself with her appearance. Her tall, slim build was elegant, even in the creased muslin frock. Her straight, light brown hair was pinned carelessly back in a knot, with several wisps swirling around her face. Her bonnet had fallen back and hung only by its ribbons around her neck. Everything was natural and unadorned, yet oddly charming to his jaded eye.

  “When did you arrive?”

  His gaze returned to her eyes, deep pools of that variegated combination, neither brown nor green. “Just now.”

  “You’ve missed a delightful house party.”

  “Have I?” His glance strayed to another gentleman approaching with a sheaf of arrows in his hand.

  “What say another round?” Lord Billingsley suggested.

  Delia had succeeded, after all, in rounding up eligible bachelors. The Marquess of Billingsley was considered the catch of the season. Gerrit eyed the tall man with the carefully arranged blond curls, who was worth at least five thousand a year.

  “If you wish,” Miss Leighton replied, her eyelids demurely lowered to the young lord.

  “So, you finally decided to grace your sister’s party.” Astley held out his hand.

  “Yes.” He’d known Astley since his school days. “I see you’ve had a chance to get acquainted with Miss Leighton.” He struggled to keep his voice neutral. Where were the other young ladies? What was Miss Leighton doing unaccompanied in this crowd of ravening wolves? Where was Delia? Or, for that matter, Mrs. Bellows? Feeling the blood rise to his face, he wanted to go and demand an explanation of Delia. If he weren’t so scared of leaving Miss Leighton alone.

  Astley chuckled. “We are pitting our skill against hers. Did you realize she was such a marksman?”

  “No, indeed.” Gerrit turned his attention to the target in an effort to calm himself.

  “Care to try your skill, Gerrit?” Billingsley asked, his regard insolent as always. “After all those Frenchmen you killed, doubtless our skill will prove no competition.” His tone suggested otherwise.

  Gerrit shrugged. “Why not?”

  “Major Hawkes is a crack shot,” Astley told Miss Leighton.

  Her smile widened. “All the better. We need someone to show us up.” Her words seemed genuine and Gerrit felt a slight easing of the tension between his shoulders.

  They lined up at the targets. By the time they’d each taken three turns, it was clear Miss Leighton’s skill hadn’t been exaggerated. Only she, Billingsley and Gerrit remained in the running.

  Gerrit wiped the perspiration from his forehead. It was dastardly hot in the full sun of the mid afternoon. The woolen collar of his uniform jacket chafed at his neck. He’d dearly love to jump into his sister’s lake and go for a swim.

  He took up his last arrow, fit it in his bow and took aim, thinking it would be an easy win. One of his arrows was already within the center circle, the other just on the edge. Miss Leighton’s were only slightly farther apart.

  As he got ready to let the arrow go, he had a sudden,
split-second image of the French cadet. It didn’t matter whether it was the shimmering heat against the painted target or the fact that Gerrit was stone-cold sober, that fleeting vision was enough to thwart his aim. His arrow landed in the circle outside the bull’s-eye.

  “Worse luck,” Billingsley said with a thin sneer.

  Billingsley took his aim next. Neither of his shots had been as good as Miss Leighton’s or Gerrit’s. Nor was his third.

  Miss Leighton took her position. She lifted the arrow and fit it against her bow. Not a sound disturbed the warm air around them.

  She looked as cool and statuesque as an Indian princess.

  The arrow flew through the air and landed smack in the middle of the target.

  The men burst into shouts.

  “Well done, Miss Leighton. Where did you learn to shoot like that?” Billingsley edged in front of Gerrit. Like a swarm of hungry beasts circling their prey, the other gentlemen ringed around her. The worst part was that the prey seemed wholly unaware of the danger she was in.

  “Well, we live surrounded by Indians, you know,” she joked. “Besides the fact we’ve been invaded by you British. We had to learn to defend ourselves.” They all laughed heartily.

  Astley looked over at Gerrit. “It must have been Major Hawkes’s off-day. He’s usually an excellent bowman. Maybe you’re up to swords today. What of it?” He turned to Miss Leighton. “Hawkes is famous for his swordsmanship. How about it, Gerrit, not too tired after your ride from London?”

  Gerrit shook his head. “I’ll pass on this occasion.” He didn’t need another humiliating defeat. He still wasn’t over the last sword fight he’d had in London with an irate husband. To top it off, this silly little loss of attention with the bow. Before he knew it, he’d doubt his own skill.

  Miss Leighton looked at him in concern. “I’m sorry, Major. We shouldn’t have forced you into this target practice. You don’t look quite yourself. Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “I’m fine. You’re just a better aim,” he said, forcing a careless smile.

  Her frown deepened. “Nonsense. I won’t believe that until we’ve had another go. I’ll warrant you are tired and just won’t own up to it.”

  Before he could answer her, she turned and went to put her bow away. Gerrit watched Billingsley accompany her. Well, his sister had done as he’d asked and it seemed to be proving a success. He slapped at a gnat hovering around his face, feeling more out of sorts than a short ride from London in the heat would normally warrant.

  Gerrit stuck around a while longer, unwilling to give evidence that he might be tired or that the miss had upset him in any way. The group decided to hold a shooting contest. Gerrit bowed out, ignoring the part of him that wanted to show Miss Leighton his prowess with the weapon. The other part, which feared an even greater defeat, declined the invitation.

  Once again, they were all astonished at Miss Leighton’s skill. This time it was she and Billingsley who were tied at the end. Billingsley beat her when they aimed for a card stuck to a fence post at fifty paces, but it was only by a couple of inches. She nicked the edge of the card, and he blasted it off the post.

  Well, he’d had enough. “I’m off,” he told the company with a wave, “It’s too hot to stand here sweltering.”

  “Back to the house?” one of the men asked. “You only just got here.”

  “I’m going to get cleaned up. It was a dusty ride from London.”

  “You rode Royal?” Miss Leighton asked at once, approaching him.

  “Yes.” Her velvety skin was more golden than the last time he’d seen her. Any other young lady would be mortified, but Miss Leighton didn’t seem aware of her looks. She pushed impatiently at a strand of hair that fell across her cheek. Gerrit stifled the urge to smooth it back for her.

  She walked with him to the end of the field.

  “You’re here all by yourself?” Gerrit asked.

  She gave him a puzzled look. “What do you mean?”

  He indicated with a motion of his head. “It hasn’t escaped your notice you’re the only female?”

  She laughed in disbelief. “They’re a bunch of overgrown schoolboys—just like the ones back home.”

  “They might behave like overgrown schoolboys at times, but they’re full-grown men. Have a care, Miss Leighton.”

  She gave him an indulgent smile. “You sound like my father.”

  That was a first for him. Did he sound that old? “Where’s Mrs. Bellows?”

  “Oh, it’s much too warm for her out here. She’s probably having a nap.”

  He nodded. “There are no other young ladies who’d care to accompany you?”

  Her lips pursed, but she only shook her head.

  “Come, Miss Leighton, surely there must be at least one young lady available.”

  She put on a bright smile that struck him as false. “Well, there isn’t. You shall see for yourself tonight. I won’t keep you from your rest. It was nice to see you again, Major Hawkes.”

  She turned away from him and returned to the group of men.

  He sensed the last question had upset her. He turned away from the laughing crowd, determined to get to the bottom of things.

  Chapter Eight

  By the time Gerrit descended the stairs in search of his sister, he felt more like a commander with a plan of action than a man running away from his creditors. A bath and change of uniform had done wonders. He wandered up and down the long terrace overlooking the lawns and gardens as he waited for the other guests to congregate, wondering all the while where Miss Leighton was.

  Spying his sister entering the drawing room, he opened one of its French doors and entered.

  “Gerrit! Why didn’t you tell me you were coming today?” She rushed over to him and he bent down for her kiss.

  “I wasn’t sure myself until this morning.”

  She glanced up at him with amusement. “Why the sudden change of heart?”

  “As my batman put it, ‘London’s getting a bit hot for you.’ He told me I’d better make myself scarce for a while.”

  “Low in the water, are you?” She patted his cheek. “Well, maybe you can recoup at whist while you are here.”

  He chuckled. “At a penny a trick? Is Lionel still as strict on placing betting limits as he was the last time I was here?”

  She nodded, walking toward the sideboard. “What can I offer you?”

  “Nothing for the moment. I shall wait for the others.”

  She arched a brow over her shoulder. “Abstaining?”

  “No, though I’m sure you’ll appreciate if I’m on my best behavior. You wouldn’t want me upsetting your guests.” He strolled over to a japanned cabinet and made a show of examining the books behind the brass-grillwork doors. “By the by, how are all the young men you’ve invited behaving?”

  “Very well, up to now, but I think they respect Lionel’s presence. Of course, we never know what they are going to be up to from one day to the next. Did you see your Miss Leighton?”

  “I saw Miss Leighton with a throng around her.”

  Delia smiled. “Yes, she’s become quite popular with the Corinthian set. They are dazzled by her athletic prowess. You told me she was an original, but you never said a thing about her being like honey to bees.

  “Every young man—and those not so young—is vying for her attention either on the shooting range, at the archery target or on horseback.”

  He remembered his own less than stellar performance at the archery range and shook his head, amused now at his clumsiness.

  “I even heard something about a footrace,” she added, then frowned into her drink. “I don’t believe they’ve attempted boxing.”

  “I should hope not.” He folded his arms and faced his sister. “I noticed Miss Leighton had no chaperone.”

  Delia considered him. “Since when are you interested in preserving a young lady’s reputation?”

  He pressed his lips together, irritated at her teasing. “Sinc
e I asked you to look after her. I do feel a certain responsibility to her father.”

  “My heavens, aren’t we a stickler for propriety all of a sudden?” She gave him a speculative look. “To what do we owe this sudden about-face?” Apparently expecting no reply, she went on. “I must say she’s behaved herself with all decorum. I invited every desirable young gentleman I could claim acquaintance with but…I hope I haven’t overplayed my hand.”

  He frowned. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means I hope her tomboyish ways don’t make them all forget she’s an eligible young lady and not one of the boys.”

  “She did seem unaware of their admiration.” As long as things remained merely friendly. Unfortunately, he didn’t trust the lot of them.

  At that moment, the topic of their conversation entered the room.

  Miss Leighton looked quite transformed. Her hair was neatly dressed in a coronet above her head and encircled with tiny flowers. Her pale blue muslin gown looked light and airy. A silk band of ribbon was tied around her neck as a choker. She wore no jewelry, which he found strange for a wealthy Cit. Indeed, she looked the perfect picture of a young English miss. Gerrit swallowed, regretting having declined that drink.

  Delia beckoned with her hand. “Come in, child.”

  “I didn’t want to interrupt anything.” When she remained standing, Delia went forward, cutting off Gerrit’s own impulse.

  “No worry. We’re just whiling away the time waiting for the others.” Delia smiled. “As a matter of fact, we were discussing you.”

  Led by his sister, Miss Leighton came to where he stood, asking with a shy smile, “Me? What could there be to discuss about me?”

  Gerrit couldn’t help smiling back, feeling the tension in him ease. She seemed to have no idea she might catch someone’s eye.