Heartbreak and Honor

by Collette Cameron

  Would Angus have killed her if he’d known her identity earlier?

  A sinister grin skewed her father’s mouth. “Me and the other travellers ensured he didn’t make it to ye, lass.”

  Alexa calmly took a drink of her coffee. Not the reaction a peeress should have if she’d heard her father confess to killing a man, but she wouldn’t feign faintness or upset she didn’t feel.

  More of a wild beast than civilized human, Angus Blackhall’s violent ending didn’t produce an ounce of remorse in her. Taking another sip of the dark brew, she hid a grimace. A mite too strong for Alexa’s taste, she added a dab more milk to her coffee. “Why didn’t he search for me?”

  Father shrugged. “I canna say for sure. There be dozens of black tinker tribes, and we always be movin’. Besides, I be guessin’ he didn’t want whoever hired him to kill ye to know he’d failed all those years ago.”

  That sent a frisson of dread sluicing through her. Now chilled, despite the cheery fire cavorting in the hearth and the hot coffee warming her, Alexa relaxed into Lucan’s heat, grateful she’d chosen to wear a long-sleeved wool spencer over her gown.

  “Blackhall didn’t tell you who hired him? Not a hint?” Lucan withdrew his arm and bent forward, anticipation radiating from his taut form.

  Alexa felt strangely bereft without his arm’s comforting weight.

  “There nae be time for an interrogation, Yer Grace. Ye be there and ken it be chaos in the beginnin’. But I would bet he told someone else. His kind be braggarts.”

  “That might explain Harrison’s knowledge of my captivity.” Premonition scratched her sharp talons down Alexa’s spine.

  Lucan nodded and rubbed his nape, his face settling into harsh lines. “Yes, it’s quite feasible he knew someone there. His stepsister is Scots after all.”

  “But . . . wouldn’t that mean he also be aware she’d been abducted?” A puzzled frown wrinkled Edeena’s plump face as she looked from person to person.

  “Aye, it—”

  A brisk rap interrupted Balcomb and preceded Houston’s entrance, bearing the requested spirits in one hand, and guiding Lady Middleton with the other. “Sir, Lady Middleton has arrived.”

  “Forgive me for calling unannounced, Nephew, but I have urgent news.” She faltered upon spying Father and Edeena.

  Cautious around gentry and noblemen, and hesitant of her reception, they eyed her uncertainly.

  “Houston, please leave the Scotch beside the tea.” Lucan indicated an empty spot atop the tea table.

  “Shall I pour you each a finger’s worth, Your Grace?”

  “No, that’s not necessary, but please fetch my grandaunt a teacup and tumbler too.”

  That did earn a subtle eyebrow and lip twitch from the butler. “Indeed.”

  He faced Alexa’s father. “Mr. Faas, your children would like permission to visit the coach house next door. They’ve been extended an invitation to play with a litter of six-week-old beagle pups. Naturally, Jules will accompany them and keep them from harm and mischief.”

  Poor Jules, playing nursemaid. Not what he’d expected today when he’d agreed to act as chaperone.

  Father smiled. “Aye, they would enjoy that. Thank ye.”

  With a regal nod of his head, the butler slipped from the room.

  Lucan strode to his aunt. “Grandaunt Kathryn, this is a surprise.”

  She pointed her cane at Alexa’s parents and squinted. “Are you the couple who raised Miss Atterberry?”

  “Aye, m’lady,” Father murmured, bending into a stiff bow as Edeena attempted a clumsy curtsy.

  “Lud, none of that m’lady falderal. We’re practically family. Come. Let me have a look at you.”

  The dowager marchioness drummed her cane upon the floor, and Alexa’s parents swapped disconcerted looks.

  Quite obvious where Lucan had acquired his tenacity. If his mother possessed her aunt’s resolve, the poor man hadn’t stood a chance when she demanded he find a wife.

  Lucan released a tolerant chuckle. “Why don’t you have a seat on the divan, and Mr. and Mrs. Faas can sit on either side of you? Then you can tell us why we have the pleasure of your company before the stroke of noon.”

  “Hush, boy.” The dowager silenced him with a flip of her bony hand and limped toward Alexa. “Alexandra, dear. Looking as lovely as always.”

  Only Lucan’s Grandaunt Kathryn would dare to shush a duke.

  Alexa scooted over and patted the seat beside her. “Please, have a seat, and permit me to introduce you to my parents.”

  The elderly woman paused, seemingly disoriented and dazed for a moment. “Parents. Yes, yes. That’s why I’m here.”

  “To meet my parents?” Alexa slid Lucan a questioning look.

  With an imperceptible shake, he canted his head, apparently sharing her puzzlement.

  Father and Edeena sat tensely on the edge of the facing divan, their expressions carefully impassive.

  “No. That can wait. This cannot.” Dowager Lady Middleton seized Lucan’s arm, her face alarmingly pale.

  Concern creased the corners of his eyes and between his brows. “Is something amiss? Are you unwell? Should I call for a physician?”

  “Pooh, I’m not about to cock up my toes.” With her saucy retort, a bit of color returned to her papery cheeks. “I told you I’d heard the name before. It took me weeks of pondering. But when I awoke this morning, I suddenly remembered, clear as a bell, as if it happened yesterday.”

  Name?

  “Here, take a seat.” Lucan eased her onto the divan as Alexa tipped a few drops of amber spirit into a glass then handed it to the shaken woman.

  He squatted next to his grandaunt and tenderly took her delicate hand in his. Darkish hair covered his knuckles.

  Alexa never noticed the smattering before.

  However, the consideration he showed his grandaunt caused her heart to swell. A decent man—strong, yet, gentle and considerate.

  “What has you flustered, Grandaunt Kathryn?” He winked at Alexa, his dimple mocking her. “She’s usually the stoic one. When everyone else is running about in a scatter-brained dither, Grandaunt Kathryn remains calm as a lily floating atop a pond on a windless day.”

  The dowager quaffed the Scotch in one gulp, earning her goggle-eyed looks from everyone. She bent frontward and banged the glass on the table before removing her gloves. “Don’t look at me like that. When I’m done telling you what I remembered, you’ll be reaching for a bottle. Trust me.”

  “You’ve remembered something which has upset you? Can we help?” Alexa took the dame’s gloves and after straightening the fingers, laid them on the divan’s arm.

  “Minerva Atterberry.” The dowager pointed a finger and waved it beside her temple. “I knew I’d heard her name before, but I couldn’t put my finger on where. Niggled at me and kept me awake at night for weeks.” Her voice wobbled, and she trembled noticeably. Her keen gaze flew to Father and Edeena, then darted to Alexa. “Harcourt and I—that side of our family—are part Scots too.”

  Alexa sent him a loving glance. “That was one of the first things I learned about him.”

  No need to share precisely how she came by the knowledge. Fingering the somewhat loose ring she’d forgotten in the tumult since arriving, she offered him a promise-filled smile. She hadn’t responded to his umpteenth proposal either.

  His answering provocative tilt of lips propelled a jolt to her center. Even in the midst of a crisis, he sent her pulse cavorting. Lucan eased onto the divan, holding his elderly aunt’s hand.

  “Years ago, the same Season my Elizabeth came out—God rest her sweet soul—Minerva, a backward Scots lass, came to London. Elizabeth befriended the poor, awkward girl, and we grew to know her rather well, or at least better than most. Others coul
dn’t move beyond her oddness.” The dowager grew silent for a long moment, renewed sorrow shadowing her lined face. “I still miss my Elizabeth. Quite dreadfully at times.”

  “She died after birthing a stillborn son.” Lucan explained, for the others’ benefit.

  Alexa gave the woman a hug. “How tragic. I’m truly sorry.”

  Drawing a trembling breath, Lucan’s aunt blinked and gave a little shake of her silvery head. “If I recall correctly, Minerva is related to the Hintons, and they sponsored her come out.”

  That explained Minerva’s comment about visiting Dorthea Hinton the day Mr. Ponsby descended upon them.

  “In any event, she caused quite a bumblebroth when she eloped to Gretna Green with Byron Severson, and they remained in Scotland afterward.” The dowager shook her head again. “The boy couldn’t have been more than eighteen.”

  “Didn’t his parents object?” Lucan recalled his own headstrong behavior at eighteen, but he’d heeded his mother’s wisdom.

  The Dowager Lady Middleton nodded, her gray eyebrows twitching. “Naturally. They were furious and threatened to cut him off, but it was said he didn’t care. He’d inherited a tidy purse from his maternal grandmother and threw funds about with a youth’s abandon, promising to pay his debts when he turned one and twenty and the trust was his.”

  “Likely that’s what drew Minerva’s interest. If I’ve learned one thing about my stepmother, it’s that she watches out for herself. How long were they married?” Alexa folded her hands in her lap.

  “So they lived on credit?” Lucan scratched his temple. “Seems unlikely they didn’t have some help.”

  Eyeing the Scotch longingly, Lady Middleton pulled a face. “Rumor has it, mere weeks after their joining, Severson petitioned for divorce. Cannot do that in England—a woman has to be an adulteress—but Scottish laws are different.”

  “So the Dowager Lady Atterberry’s first husband divorced her? Do you know why?” Light streaming through a window cast a vague aura about Lucan’s tilted head.

  “No, no.” His aunt pressed a quivering hand to her throat. “He died before the divorce was granted. Runaway carriage. Plummeted off a cliff, killing the driver and team too.”

  Alexa’s breath hitched, suspended painfully between inhaling and exhaling as her gaze hurled to Lucan’s.

  Too eerily coincidental.

  “But what I wanted to tell you, what gave me the shivers and curdled my blood like tainted milk in coffee, is that,” the dowager marchioness drew in a shuddery breath and, voice raspy, blurted, “Minerva’s maiden name was Blackhall.”

  Chapter 27

  If Lucan hadn’t been sitting, Grandaunt Kathryn’s revelation would have knocked him on his arse. He almost shook his head and stuck fingers in his ears to unclog them.

  Other than compressing her lips and stuffing her hands beneath her legs, as she did when anxious, Alexa appeared composed. Nonetheless, the tempest raging in her pansy gaze, belied her outward mien.

  Flawless duchess.

  “God Almighty.” Fat droplets spilled down Mrs. Faas’s cheeks as she fumbled for her husband’s hand.

  Face crestfallen and his shoulders slumping, Balcomb wilted, horror clouding his eyes. “Right into the vipers nest, we sent ye. Forgive us, lass.”

  His wife rummaged in her ample bodice, eventually withdrawing a vivid scrap of cloth to blot at her streaming eyes.

  Blackhall.

  The reviled name epitomized deceit, ruthlessness, and greed, and to not assume Minerva guilty of every suspicion directed her way thus far, took a stalwart act of Lucan’s will.

  Houston returned with the extra glass and teacup, and after considering everyone’s countenances, took it upon himself to unstop the crystal decanter and pour generous splashes into the tumblers.

  The miniscule portion would do nothing to dispel the shock Lucan and the others had received.

  Returning the Scotch to the table, Houston gave a sage nod. “My hallowed mother always said, ‘Nothing like a hearty swig to chase a fiery path to your gut and eliminate your cares.’”

  Hadn’t his mother died from liver failure?

  After indulging in a stinging swallow, Lucan touched Grandaunt Kathryn’s elbow. “May I have a few minutes alone with Miss Atterberry?”

  His instincts told him—no, shouted—Alexa remained unsafe. Thank God he had her followed whenever she left her aunt and uncle’s house.

  “Indeed. I need to be on my way at once. I have an appointment at the milliners, but I did want to impart what I’d remembered. By the by, heard Renishaw’s breathed his last.” Grandaunt Kathryn rendered him a grave look. “Cannot say I’m sorry to see such rabble snoring soil.”

  With Lucan’s assistance, she struggled to stand. Near the entrance, she adjusted her bonnet then retied the ribbons as Alexa collected his aunt’s gloves.

  She and her parents stood as well.

  “Trust an old woman’s intuition, Nephew. Mine’s finely honed and has served me well for nigh on six and seventy years.” She tapped his arm. “Something’s off with Minerva Atterberry.”

  As off as a purple-butted duck.

  “We be checkin’ on our wee ones. Excuse us, please.” Balcomb angled toward the door, but he swung around and pointed to a bundle lying on the polished walnut window seat. “Yer violin be there, Tasara. I ken how ye enjoyed it.”

  Delight lit Alexa’s face, and she rushed to embrace him in the doorway. “Thank you. I’ve missed playing these past weeks.”

  Lucan’s soon-to-be-wife was full of surprises. A thought slid, serpent-like, into his mind and curled around his confidence, mercilessly squeezing the frail glint of hope.

  She hasn’t agreed to marry me.

  He vehemently booted the unwelcome notion aside.

  True, but she hasn’t said no this time, either.

  Smiling serenely, Alexa bussed his grandaunt’s cheek. “Thank you. I cannot tell you how helpful you’ve been. Knowing Minerva’s history sheds light on my situation. I wish I knew how her stepbrother fits into all of this.”

  Attempting to tug on her glove, Grandaunt Kathryn’s face folded into a frown.

  “Here, let me.” Alexa took it from her.

  “Thank you, dearest.” His aunt lifted her chin and gave Lucan such a penetrating stare, he felt she’d opened his skull and peered inside. Marry her, she mouthed above the top of Alexa’s bowed head.

  “That’s another irregular thing.” Giving Alexa a grateful smile, she extended her other gnarled hand.

  “What is?” Alexa slipped the second kid glove onto his grandaunt’s stiff fingers.

  “The stepbrother.” Bundled warmly against the unwelcoming outdoors, Grandaunt Kathryn pursed her lips. “Minerva’s an only child. Her parents died, and her barbarian uncle raised her. Harrison Peterson is no more her stepbrother than the prince regent is.”

  Alexa jerked as if struck. Her confounded gaze sought Lucan. “Another lie?”

  “So it would appear.” Not the last deception either, Lucan would bet.

  Skimming a hand across her forehead, a brittle laugh escaped Alexa. “What else have they fabricated? I cannot begin to sift fact from fallacy where they are concerned.”

  His aunt patted Alexa’s cheek. “You trust my nephew to see this conundrum sorted, and stay far away from those hobgoblins in the meanwhile.”

  Lucan encircled his grandaunt’s elbow in a supportive grasp. Wanness etched her features. Done in, poor dear. “I’ll be but a moment, Alexa. I have some thoughts I’d like to discuss with you regarding what we’ve learned today.”

  “Certainly. I’ll wait here. I’m eager to examine my violin and adjust the pegs.” Alexa glided to the window seat where she lovingly lifted the instrument from its humble nest.

  He saw
his grandaunt on her way, and upon returning to the salon, found Alexa sitting at the window, playing a haunting melody. Eyes closed, she whisked the bow across the strings with the familiarity of a lover’s touch.

  Loath to interrupt her and the soothing music flowing from the strings, he inched farther into the room. He must have made a sound, or else her intuition told her someone intruded.

  Her thick lashes eased open, and she self-consciously lowered the bow. Holding the violin by the neck, she raised it a fraction. “It belonged to my first gypsy mother. The one who found me in the woods.”

  Laying the instrument beside her, she directed her attention outside once more and gazed at the passersby, daring the bleak weather.

  The heavens had darkened to a pinkish-slate, and from the coolness dogging the salon, the temperature had plummeted as well. Snow by nightfall?

  Adding another hefty log to the fire, he gauged her.

  Shoulders lightly slumped, sadness, or perhaps resignation, sharpened her pert profile.

  What he wouldn’t give to relieve her of the yoke she’d been burdened with.

  “Do you think Minerva and Harrison are behind my abduction as a child?” She rested her forehead against the glass.

  Brushing specks of dirt and bark from his hands, Lucan strode to her, the Aubusson carpet buffering his steps. He laid the violin on a nearby chair before pushing Alexa’s skirts aside and taking the instrument’s place. “It seems highly probable.”

  Her lips parted on a wispy sigh.

  He took her delicate hand and, turning it over, ran his forefinger along each digit. “Kitten, with your permission, I’d like to send a message to a friend of mine—a Bow Street Runner—and have him and a couple of other runners meet us at your stepmother’s. I don’t want her to know we’re coming, however.”