Belle of the Ball

by Pam McCutcheon

  Last, hell. He didn’t even make the list.

  Still, Kit had to continue trying. He had made love to her, and though it didn’t seem to mean as much to her as it had to him, he knew many others would think he had taken her most precious asset. Kit had to make it up to her somehow, and marriage was the only way he knew to do so. “Belle, I—”

  Kit broke off when he heard the door open. Mr. Sullivan poked his head inside and said, “’Tis mighty quiet in here. What’s goin’ on?”

  Relieved to have someone to express his emotions to, Kit said, “Your daughter is being stubborn.” And suddenly, he was too impatient to try to convince her any longer. Shaking his head, he said, “I’ll come back later to get her answer.”

  “I already gave you my answer,” Belle said in stubborn tones.

  “Yes, but it was the wrong one. Think it over,” Kit said curtly. “I’m sure you’ll see I’m right.”

  Belle merely rolled her eyes, and Kit exited the parlor before he became even more frustrated. Mr. Sullivan held the door open and gave him a look Kit couldn’t quite interpret. It gave Kit pause. While he was sure Belle’s father would agree to their marriage, Kit wasn’t quite sure if Sullivan approved of him.

  As a result, Kit left the Sullivan house in a foul mood. It became even fouler when he spotted Daltrey lurking outside. “What the devil?” he exclaimed.

  Daltrey smiled at him with a feral look. “You know what they say—give the devil his due.” He took a menacing step toward Kit and said in a deceptively silky tone, “It’s been a week. You should have your draft by now. Time to pay up.”

  Fury filled Kit. He had had enough of John Daltrey. He was sick of his demands, sick of his blackmail, sick of Daltrey’s constant unspoken reminder of how little Kit’s family regarded him. Enough was enough. If he didn’t stop this soon, the man would hound him the rest of his life. “No,” Kit said and turned to leave.

  Daltrey caught his arm. “What do you mean, no? You promised me that money and I want it now.”

  “I’ve changed my mind,” Kit said. “I’m not giving it to you.” Besides, most of his cash was now safely invested in the railroad.

  “Have you forgotten the consequences of refusing to pay me?” Daltrey asked with narrowed eyes.

  “No, I haven’t forgotten.” But the thought of having the threat hanging over his head for the rest of his life filled him with dread. Even another week was beyond imagining.

  Besides, if Daltrey accused Kit to the entire city, Belle would have a good reason to turn him down that would place the censure on him instead of her. Kit crossed his arms and leaned against a post. “Do it and be damned to you.”

  Daltrey looked taken aback. “You don’t mean that.”

  “Yes, I do.” And the simple act of saying it out loud gave him a great deal of relief. Nothing else was going right lately, so why the devil should he care if one more part of his life went to hell?

  Daltrey scowled, then gazed at Kit measuringly. “How about if I start here, then? I hear rumors you’re going to marry the oldest Sullivan girl. Shall we see what her father says about this?”

  Kit shrugged, trying to act as though he didn’t care, but he didn’t think Daltrey was convinced. He couldn’t even convince himself that he didn’t care what Belle or her father thought of him. Apprehensively, Kit watched as Daltrey knocked on the door.

  Sullivan answered it himself and Daltrey sneered, obviously seeing Sullivan’s act of opening his own door as a sign of weakness.

  Sullivan glanced at them both with a questioning look.

  Giving him a supercilious smile, Daltrey said, “I have something to say to you that I think you’ll be very interested to hear.”

  Daltrey glanced at Kit, as if expecting Kit to do something to stop him. But Kit refused to give him the satisfaction. To hell with the consequences—he wasn’t putting up with any more of Daltrey’s blackmail.

  “Is that so?” Sullivan said with a raised eyebrow. “And what is it ye would like to talk to me about?”

  Daltrey jerked his head in Kit’s direction. “I have something you need to know about Stanhope, here.”

  Some passersby were looking at them oddly. Sullivan must have noticed it as well, for he glanced up and down the street and said, “Perhaps ’twould be best if ye came in, then.”

  Kit hesitated, not certain he wanted to deal with this right now, but Sullivan said, “Stanhope, you’d better come, too.”

  Kit sighed. Perhaps the man was right. And Kit didn’t want to insult the Sullivans by enacting a scene on their doorstep. Reluctantly, he followed the men into the house.

  Belle was there in the hallway and gave Kit a questioning look, no doubt wondering what Daltrey was doing there with him after Kit had so explicitly warned her away from him. Kit shrugged. She would learn soon enough, along with everyone else.

  Daltrey leered at her, then gave Kit a sly look. “You know, it might be a good idea if Miss Sullivan sat in on this conversation, so she can get a good idea of what kind of man her prospective fiancé is.”

  Belle looked surprised, but said, “All right.” Wanting, no doubt, to get ammunition for her refusal to marry him.

  Kit frowned. “I wouldn’t recommend it,” he said to her father. “This man isn’t—”

  “I know what sort of man he is,” Sullivan interrupted. “And I’ll be the judge of what is suitable for me daughter.” He thought for a moment, then said, “This is probably something ye should hear, lass.”

  Belle gave Kit a triumphant look and he scowled, wishing he had the right to tell Belle to leave, to run away as far as she could get from this man’s lies. But Belle hadn’t given him that authority, and Kit wouldn’t insult her father by pushing the point. She would learn what Daltrey had to say sooner or later anyway.

  They went into the library, and Daltrey took a seat before he was offered one—a move calculated to insult Sullivan, whom Daltrey obviously considered a social inferior. Lounging insolently in the chair, Daltrey turned to Kit with an expectant look, as if he expected Kit to change his mind and say something to stop him.

  Kit, however, had no such intention. For one thing, he wouldn’t be able to call himself any sort of man if he continued letting Daltrey put the screws to him. And for another, Sullivan was acting oddly and he wondered what the man was up to.

  Balked of his blackmail, Daltrey turned to Sullivan and said, “Before you allow your daughter to consider marrying this man, you should know he has been ejected from England for being a womanizer.”

  “Is that so?” Sullivan said in a dry tone.

  Kit wasn’t certain if he intended to show disbelief or ask for more information. And he didn’t seem surprised at all. Damn it, did the man have so little opinion of him?

  Apparently Daltrey wasn’t satisfied with his reaction, for he added, “He dishonored a young lady.”

  “Did he now?” Sullivan said, but it was more of a statement than a question, as if he were merely encouraging Daltrey to continue.

  Daltrey scowled. “Yes.” He glanced back and forth between Sullivan and Kit. “Let me be more specific. He fathered a bastard on a young girl, then abandoned her and the unborn babe with no acknowledgment.”

  Sullivan continued to look noncommittal, but a protest came from an unexpected quarter. “That’s not true,” Belle said hotly, and Kit felt a little warmth at her immediate championing of him.

  Daltrey’s frustration turned to smugness as he finally achieved a reaction. “Why? Because you think he’s too good to do such a thing?”

  Belle glared at him. “That’s right. I know a decent man when I meet one.” And her tone and gaze left no doubt that she didn’t consider Daltrey to be one of their number.

  Daltrey leaned forward to stare her in the eyes. “Oh, but he’s not decent,” he said in a malicious tone. “Even his father knows of his depravity. Why do you think his family kicked him out of the ancestral home?”

  Belle fired up. “I don’t know and I don
’t care. If you and his father don’t know that Kit would never abandon a woman or his child . . .” She floundered for a moment. “. . . well, you just don’t know him very well.”

  Kit was touched. No one else had stood up for him like this. Not his mother, not his sisters, and certainly not his brother or father. No one else had believed in him . . . trusted him. Especially on so little evidence of his innocence. A surge of feeling rose within him, an unidentifiable emotion that left him a little choked up.

  If Belle believed in him enough to fight for him, Kit had to fight back, too. “That’s right,” he confirmed. “I would never do such a thing.”

  “See?” Belle said in triumph.

  Daltrey sneered. “You think just because he says it, that makes it true?” He turned to Sullivan. “So, who are you going to believe? Me . . . or this bastard-siring cad?”

  Sullivan considered for a moment, then said, “I think I’ll be believin’ Mr. Stanhope.”

  “What?” Daltrey asked with a stunned expression that mirrored how Kit felt. “It’s all true, every word of it. If you don’t believe me, just ask his family.”

  Sullivan raised an eyebrow. “I don’t have to—I made some inquiries of me own.”

  Inquiries? Kit sat up straighter. What was going on here?

  Daltrey grinned. “So you know all about Stanhope’s little peccadilloes.”

  “Yer mistaken,” Sullivan said grimly. “’Twasn’t Stanhope I made inquiries about, but yerself.”

  Daltrey looked as surprised as Kit felt. “Me? Why?” Daltrey asked. “I’m not the one courting your daughter.”

  “No, but while Stanhope is an open book, no one in town was quite sure of yer intentions. So awhile back, I sent a man to make inquiries about yer background.”

  Kit cast a questioning glance at Belle, but she shrugged. Sullivan intercepted their look and gave Kit a reassuring nod. For the first time. Kit wondered if lie might actually get out of this situation with his reputation intact.

  In any case, Sullivan certainly didn’t seem to need any help from him, so Kit decided to stay mum and watch the show.

  Sullivan speared Daltrey with a condemnatory look. “What my man found was very interesting.”

  Daltrey scowled. “I don’t see how this pertains to the situation at hand,” he protested.

  “Ye will,” Sullivan said in a matter-of-fact tone. “I received a report last night.” He removed some papers from his desk and scanned them. “I take it yer familiar with a young lady by the name of Molly Connor?”

  Sly triumph filled Daltrey’s gaze. “Of course. Miss Connor is the young girl Stanhope sullied.”

  Belle opened her mouth to protest, but her father quelled her with a look. Glancing down at the paper again, he said, “That’s not what she says.”

  “What?” Daltrey said in surprise. “But she has named him as the father of her bastard to all and sundry.”

  Daltrey was right about that—Molly had named Kit as the father, though Kit had never touched the girl. He leaned forward, wondering what Sullivan had up his sleeve.

  Sullivan nodded. “Aye, she did name him as the father at first, saying ’twas because he was an honest and decent man.”

  Belle grinned and cast Daltrey a smug glance, saying, “See, I told you he was decent.”

  He ignored her and addressed her father. “And he’s still the father.”

  Sullivan shook his head. “Not according to Miss Connor. She only named him because she thought he would marry her if she did. She’s very sorry for that.”

  Kit shook his head. He wouldn’t be blackmailed into something as important as marriage in that way. She should have known that.

  “Ha,” Daltrey said dismissively. “A likely story.”

  “Not as likely as the true story,” Sullivan said. “She named another man as the real father.”

  “Who?” Kit asked eagerly. He had often wondered whose blame he was taking. He glanced at Daltrey with dawning comprehension. Could it be. . . ?

  But Sullivan didn’t even look at him. Instead, he continued to stare at Daltrey with a hard expression. “That man is you, Mr. Daltrey.”

  Kit’s jaw dropped open in astonishment and disbelief. It all fit. That was how Daltrey knew so much about the accusations and why he had been so thorough in condemning Kit—he was the guilty one all along and didn’t want anyone to suspect it.

  Daltrey shot to his feet. “Ridiculous. The silly imbecile just wants a peer of the realm as the father of her child. She’ll say anything to get one as a husband.”

  “Ye might think so,” Sullivan said. “But me man has proof.”

  “Proof?” Daltrey scoffed. “What proof? There’s no way to prove who fathered a child.”

  ‘There are ways,” Sullivan said mildly.

  “Such as?” Daltrey challenged.

  Sullivan shrugged. “The babe has been born and it seems he has brown eyes. Both the mother and yon Stanhope have blue eyes.”

  And Daltrey definitely had brown, just like the baby.

  He laughed. “That proves nothing.”

  Sullivan nodded as if he expected Daltrey to say that. “Then there is the distinctive Daltrey birthmark.”

  Daltrey’s laughter stilled, and he suddenly looked apprehensive. All of Kit’s senses came alert. What was this? Did Sullivan actually have some real proof that Daltrey was the father of Molly’s child?

  “What birthmark?” Kit asked eagerly.

  “Well, ’tisn’t a birthmark per se,” Sullivan said. “More of a hereditary trait. Ye see, it seems some of the Daltrey men have a sort of webbing between their toes. A defect, ye might call it.”

  Could it be true? Kit glanced at Daltrey and noticed that the man had turned pale. “So,” Kit said casually. “Would you mind taking off your shoes, old man?”

  Daltrey scowled and ignored him, but looked as if he were about to panic at any moment.

  Laying his papers down on his desk, Sullivan said, “Yer son has the same defect.”

  “No.” Daltrey shouted. “I have no son.”

  Sullivan shrugged. “Whether you admit to paternity or not, yer father has seen the truth. He has acknowledged your son as a true Daltrey.”

  “Stop saying that,” Daltrey said in a panic. “It was Stanhope, I tell you.”

  “No, it was not,” Sullivan said in implacable tones. “I have a signed affidavit from the girl and yer father telling the truth.” He glanced at Kit and held up two pieces of paper. “And they’ve both sent ye written apologies for any sufferin’ they and their families may have caused ye.”

  Relief flooded Kit. The truth was out at last.

  But Daltrey wasn’t done yet. “You’ll never prove it,” he said with a sneer. “I can still tell the whole town that Stanhope was kicked out of England for siring a bastard. They’ll just think you’re trying to cover up the truth to protect your daughter.”

  But the threat didn’t even faze Belle’s father. “No, you won’t,” he said calmly. “We know you’ve been blackmailing Stanhope here for something he never did, but we know even more about you.”

  Kit raised an eyebrow, wondering who Sullivan was in cahoots with on this. “We?” he asked.

  “A group o’ concerned citizens,” Sullivan said shortly, giving Kit an admonishing glance that warned him in no uncertain terms to keep out of the conversation.

  Since Sullivan seemed to be doing quite nicely on his own, Kit obliged.

  Turning back to Daltrey. Belle’s father said, “We know why ye left England—because of yer debts.”

  “So?” Daltrey said belligerently. “Who cares? Everyone assumes a remittance man is in debt anyway. You can’t blackmail me that way.”

  “Perhaps not,” Sullivan said. “But we aren’t quibbling about your debts.” His gaze turned hard. “We’re doin’ this because of yer crime against Molly Connor, for blackmailing an innocent man, and fer givin’ yer countrymen a bad name.”

  “Good for you, Papa,” Belle exclaimed.


  Kit concurred. Sullivan’s speech made him want to stand up and cheer.

  When Daltrey did nothing but scowl, Sullivan said, “But ’tis yer debts that’ll be yer downfall.”

  “Downfall?” Daltrey scoffed, though sweat had popped out on his forehead.

  “We know why yer so insistent on getting money from Stanhope. Though you have conned and swindled several people in town, we’re on to ye now. You’re not even very good at it. Ye owe a lot of people a lot of money.”

  “That’s none of your concern,” Daltrey blustered.

  “That’s where yer wrong,” Sullivan said. And for the first time, he smiled. “We’ve bought up all yer debts, y’see. We can send ye to jail . . . for a very long time.”

  Daltrey blanched at the thought of incarceration, and Kit was glad to see that some threat had moved the man.

  “You can’t do that,” Daltrey protested. “You won’t do that.”

  “On the contrary. We can and we will . . . unless ye leave town immediately and never come back.”

  Daltrey stood in indecision for a moment. Then fury crossed his face as he reached inside his coat and pulled out his slim dagger. Cursing, he lunged for Belle and grabbed her, holding the knife to her neck.

  Belle screeched and Kit surged to his feet, his blood boiling. If Daltrey so much as scratched her, he’d have the man’s hide tanned and stretched on a barn.

  “Stay back,” Daltrey warned Kit. “And you,” he said, brandishing the knife at Sullivan. “Give me those papers and I won’t hurt your daughter.”

  Sullivan stood for a moment in indecision, but Kit couldn’t stand the fact that Daltrey might go free, that he might perpetrate his crimes on someone else . . . that he might hurt Belle.

  With an icy rage fueling him. Kit waited until Daltrey gestured once more with the knife, then lunged for his wrist. Pulling the weapon away from Belle, he squeezed the man’s hand in a fierce grip until Daltrey cried out in pain and dropped the dagger.