The Stranger She Married

by Donna Hatch

  He ground his teeth. The thought of another man touching her made him ill.

  The rain had progressed to a howling storm by the time he got back to Uncle Andrew's house.

  "Cole! Good heavens, what has happened to you?” Uncle Andrew said as Cole burst through the doors. “Go and change at once. Here, you need this.” He thrust a brandy into Cole's hand.

  Cole downed it in one gulp and handed the empty glass back. He strode up stairs to endure Stephens’ ministrations.

  Stephens held his tongue longer than usual as he peeled off the wet clothing and helped him dry. “Met with the devil today?"

  "Yes. His name is Cole Amesbury."

  "Ah. Skeletons out of the closet?"

  "One I didn't know I had.” Fearing Stephens would suffer a breakdown owing to his curiosity, Cole sighed. “Remember Armand Palmer from London?"

  "The insolent boy who needed a lesson in manners?"

  "The same. He died."

  Stephens whistled slowly. “And you just found out?"

  Cole nodded glumly.

  "Why wasn't there an inquiry?"

  "He died from an opium addiction. After they amputated his arm. The arm I shot."

  Stephens shook his head and swore like a sailor. “Incompetent English doctors. They probably just bled him and then puzzled over why his wound sickened.” He helped him into dry clothing. “Any relation to the Palmers here?"

  "Alicia Palmer's twin brother."

  Stephens paused. “Ooooh. The scuttlebutt among the servants’ circle is that she needs a rich husband."

  "Don't they all!” Her fate wasn't his problem. Dozens of young ladies shared her predicament and he had never been tempted to rescue any of them. Thank heavens.

  And yet, he killed her brother, however unwittingly, which made him responsible for her.

  Cole clenched his jaw. He thought he had silenced his conscience years ago. If the war hadn't done it, his year as a pirate with his brother Jared should have. A conscience had proved a bothersome thing, and honor, even worse.

  "She's an orphan, isn't she?” Stephens asked.

  "Yes. So what? Another sad tale. Women love them."

  Stephens remained silent, but on days like today, Cole wished his valet would give him an excuse to thrash him. Or maybe he did not need one. “Let's go box."

  Stephens looked appropriately horrified. “In the mood you are in? Do you think I've suddenly gone barking mad?"

  "Drop the valet guise for a few hours and fight with me like the prize pugilist you were meant to be."

  Stephens considered. “Does your uncle have any gear?"

  "Do we need any?"

  Stephens grinned. “Don't hit me in the face. One of the cook's assistants is pretty, and she thinks I'm a handsome fellow.” With his striking Romany looks, Cole knew Stephens seldom lacked for feminine company when he desired it.

  Cole snorted. “She must be near-sighted. And if I hit your face, it will be because you were too slow to block me."

  They found an empty room and cleared away the furniture. After stripping down to their breeches, they began. If they were in a civilized club in London, they would have sparred in their shirt sleeves, but today they fought pirate-style in a way that tapped into the beast inside.

  It soon became obvious that his former comrade-at-arms did not have his heart in it; he did not exploit obvious openings and remained mostly defensive to let Cole work through his self-recrimination. The pity tactic only fueled Cole's anger.

  "Come on, don't go soft. My sister fights better than you."

  Stephens humored him. His valet excelled in fisticuffs, but tonight Cole's frustration made him reckless, which made them evenly matched. By the time they were both too tired to stand, Cole felt like he'd been beaten with a tree trunk. Hurting in places he forgot he owned, he lay gasping on the floor and turned his head toward Stephens. The other man lay with his eyes closed and dabbed at his lip, not looking any better than Cole felt. Their breath sounded harsh in the quiet room.

  A servant cautiously opened the door. “My Lord?"

  Cole raised his head.

  The footman moistened his lips nervously as he eyed them. “If you're finished, the missus would have a word with you."

  Perfect. Aunt Livy's tongue lashing would hurt as bad as Stephens's fists. He should hand her a horsewhip and let her do her worst. He deserved it. He rolled over on the floor.

  Stephens opened his eyes and grinned at him. “I haven't had that much fun since we left your brother's ship. It isn't everyday a valet gets to hit his master."

  "Don't become too comfortable doing it."

  "Shall I draw you a bath, sir?” Stephens asked in his formal, valet voice.

  "Indeed."

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  CHAPTER 11

  Alicia took the familiar path through the gardens on her favorite circuit. She stopped in the formal garden to chat with the head gardener, who likely couldn't remember whether or not he'd been paid, as he talked to and nurtured his ‘lovelies.'

  Alicia wondered how peaceful the wizened man's simple life must be who gave no thought for anything other than caring for things that grew. Did he have hopes, fears, regrets? Did anyone alive not have those?

  He turned back to his ‘lovelies’ and promptly forgot her. She moved on to the herb garden laid out in an order only cook would understand. Its smells of rosemary, sage, thyme, onions and other herbs made her think of savory dinners. She passed the stables which now only housed one horse, but still carried the sweet, musty smell of a full stable of horses.

  Maman had loved to ride, but Alicia never became an accomplished rider. Only weeks before her death in the carriage accident, Maman had been in a riding accident, but, undaunted, she'd gotten right back on the horse without fear. She'd always been a woman to be admired.

  Alicia tightened her shawl against a chill breeze that still accompanied the early morning hours. The goose girl called to her gaggle of geese as she herded them along a path, and the milk maid sang as she carried her pails to the kitchen. There was an order to her life in these moments as everyone carried out their routine duties. Taking her customary walk after dawn may not be fashionable, but it restored her sense of balance.

  The gravel walkway gave way to smooth, spongy earth, still damp from yesterday's rain. The shaded grove was cooler, chilly. Bracken grew thick along the path. Birds sang in a cacophony of sound. Courage returned, and with it, a renewed determination to save her family, regardless of the cost to herself. She realized then if they were condemned to debtor's prison, all the remaining servants would lose their homes and employment. So many people depended upon her. She refused to fail them. Conviction brought peace.

  She stumbled over a bit of soft, uneven ground and glanced down at the sunlight dappled path. She let out a cry. There, in her path, lay a snake, hissing and poised to strike. She realized that she'd stepped on the snake when she'd stumbled on what she thought was a raised bit of earth. Before she could react, the snake struck and bit her. She cried out again and staggered backward. The snake moved its sinuous body in an S-shaped form as it recoiled, poised to strike again. Pain worked its way up her leg.

  She turned and ran back the way she had come. The snake remained in the path. Nausea and dizziness closed in around her as she lurched toward the house.

  "Miss Palmer?"

  Someone, she was never sure who, came to help her. The pain in her leg grew outward. She found herself in the kitchen, surrounded by concerned voices.

  "My leg,” she gasped, when someone posed the question. “A snake."

  Her shoe and stocking were removed. A feminine voice uttered a cry of dismay.

  The gamekeeper appeared. “What did the snake look like?"

  Alicia fought waves of nausea. “Dark, with a zigzag pattern down its body."

  He exchanged a concerned look with someone outside her line of vision. “Did it have a distinctive dark V or X on its back?"

  She nod
ded. “I think so."

  "An adder,” the gamekeeper pronounced. “They aren't usually found so near people. Bring cleavers and mistletoe."

  Moments later, a slender plant with tiny white flowers appeared in someone's hand.

  "Here's some cleavers. I can't find mistletoe.” Alicia recognized Cook's voice.

  "That will do."

  The gamekeeper applied a sticky paste to the snake bite on her rapidly swelling leg. Alicia mentally blessed the elderly gamekeeper for not abandoning them when so many other servants had. The man had been with the Palmer family since before Father was born. Perhaps the venerable man had nowhere else to go. Alicia liked to think that he remained out of loyalty.

  Cook pressed a cup of tea in her hand. Alicia breathed in the scent of chamomile and honey, and sipped the warm tea. Her stomach settled.

  Robert leaned over her face. She wondered when he'd arrived. “I've got you, Lissie.” Surprisingly sober, he picked her up. He carried her as carefully as a bowl of milk up the stairs to her room.

  Hannah fluttered in ahead of them, pulling back the sheets, fluffing pillows. Robert laid Alicia on the bed. Someone helped her out of her dress and stays. Wearing only her shift, Alicia curled up. Her leg throbbed. She pushed at the blankets, numbly wondering how she could be both hot and cold. Sweet oblivion enveloped her.

  * * * *

  Alicia blinked at the late afternoon sun streaming in through the windows. A window stood open and a cool breeze stirred the curtains. Hannah lay fully dressed next to her on the bed. Alicia shifted, and the pain her leg reminded her about the events of ... was it earlier today? Yesterday? She remembered vague images of pain and fever and Hannah leaning over her, pressing tea or water against her lips.

  Hannah stirred and opened her eyes. When she saw Alicia awake, she smiled in tentative relief. “How do you feel?"

  "Better, I think. My leg hardly hurts at all."

  Hannah released her breath. “I was so worried. The gamekeeper said adder bites could be either mild or,” she choked, “or fatal. You ran a fever for two days."

  Alicia took her hand. “Thank you for taking care of me."

  Hannah smiled, relaxing a little more. “Cook helped. Robbie came in often to inquire about you. Uncle seemed anxious."

  "It's nice to be loved."

  Hannah wrapped her arms around her. “Oh, Lissie, what would I have done if I'd lost you, too?"

  Alicia hugged her back. “I'm all right, Hannah."

  "I couldn't bear it if you'd died,” sniffled Hannah. “Some days I feel God is taking every single member of our family until we are all gone."

  "There, there. All is well."

  But Alicia knew that if she had died, Hannah would be left to either marry quickly, or go with Willard and Robert to debtor's prison. She doubted her sister possessed the stamina to survive either. If she did nothing else in her life, she'd make sure Hannah remained safe. Marriage to the colonel seemed a small price to pay to ensure Hannah's well-being.

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  CHAPTER 12

  Cole took a bracing breath and knocked on the door of the Palmer residence. The footman solemnly took his card and bid him wait in the front parlor. Once inside, Cole understood how desperate Willard Palmer had made his family. Large, bright rectangular shapes on the wallpaper revealed missing paintings. Furniture in the parlor had become scarce, as if missing several key pieces. Footsteps drew him from his observations and he turned to face Robert Palmer.

  "You!"

  Cole removed his hat. “Mr. Palmer."

  Young Palmer continued to stare at him. “You,” he repeated, his voice hushing.

  "Mr. Palmer. I ... regret the matter that transpired in London, and the subsequent events.” Cole swallowed. “I never meant to cause serious harm to Armand."

  The young man stared at him as if he were the very devil. “He was my closest friend."

  Cole felt as if the other man had punched him in the stomach. “I'm sorry. I truly am. I did not know until recently that he developed an infection and lost his arm. That the opium...” He looked down at his hat becoming crushed in suddenly nervous hands. With effort, he loosened his grip. “I didn't know he had died."

  Robert sagged against the door frame. “I was his second. I should have talked him out of it. But I wanted to see him humiliate you. You were always so confident. Arrogant. All the ladies wanted you, you could have had any of them. Instead, you wanted the one who showed interest in Armand."

  "She used us both."

  Young Palmer nodded numbly and let his breath out slowly. “She was poison. I told him so.” He looked up. “He didn't ravish her. She seduced him."

  "I know. That became painfully obvious later.” The raw pain in Robert Palmer's face made Cole want to beat a retreat, but he still had a task to complete. Even knowing he would certainly fail, he had to at least try. “Mr. Palmer, I need to speak to your father."

  He became wary. “What about?"

  "I am trying to save your cousin from a forced marriage."

  Mr. Palmer looked affronted. “My father is not forcing her. She's refused several already. No one will put a gun to her head and drag her to the altar."

  "She seems concerned about the looming deadline of marrying anyone who will have her by the end of the month. To save all of you."

  Robert's ire melted. “We've tried everything. Father's never had such a rash of wretched luck. Every investment—even the most conservative one—has soured. He used to be famous at cards, but lately every game he played has cost him."

  "I have a solution that can benefit you all."

  Robert studied him coldly. “Force her to marry you?"

  Cole stiffened at the use of the word ‘force.’ “No. By asking her to marry me. I have doubts that she will accept the man who killed her brother, but I must try. I owe her that. I owe Armand that."

  "I should kill you myself."

  "Would that help your family out of their current straits?"

  The younger Palmer considered. “Very well. Come with me."

  Cole followed him into a dark, dust-covered study where he found Willard Palmer standing by a fireplace with a glass of port in his hand.

  "Father. Lord Amesbury would like a moment."

  The look of pure hatred on the elder Palmer's face as he recognized the name nearly unnerved Cole. He steadied himself. “I have come with a business proposal for you."

  Beside Cole, young Palmer shifted.

  Willard Palmer's eyes narrowed. “I should throw you out."

  "It would be to your benefit to listen, sir."

  The elder Palmer shifted his gaze to his son. “I can't believe you let that blackguard into our home. Have you no backbone?"

  "My proposal is this, Mr. Palmer,” Cole cut in, “I will settle every debt you owe, finance Hannah's debut in London next Season, and pay you an additional sum to help you form a new start, if Alicia agrees—willingly—to marry me."

  Willard considered, and the hope in his eyes nearly softened Cole's distaste for the way he insisted on using his niece. Then the hope faded and his face hardened.

  "You shot my nephew in a duel, inflicting wounds which ultimately killed him. The feelings my niece undoubtedly harbors for you will preclude a marriage to you. She may feel as if she must accept you for our sake, but I am not a heartless monster. I will not ask her to marry a man such as you."

  Cutting as Palmer's words were, they actually earned Cole's admiration for Palmer for protecting his niece from a perceived villain. Cole had been so ready to believe him to be callous and grasping enough to use her for his own agenda. It was possible the man simply had no judgment of character, based on the men he asked Alicia to consider as suitors.

  "Then you believe Colonel Westin to be a better choice."

  Mr. Palmer pinned him with an accusing stare. “To my knowledge, he does not engage in dueling."

  Inwardly wincing, Cole raised his head. “Then allow me to ask her feeling
s on the matter. Let her decide if she'd rather have me or Colonel Westin."

  "No. I saw how upset she was after your last meeting. I will not subject her to another. Good day."

  Not an unexpected response, but a foolish, senseless one, nonetheless. Cole ground his teeth and forced his voice to remain steady. “Sir, I urge you to reconsider."

  "She will marry the Colonel. We have only to formalize the agreement. Remove yourself from my house."

  Conceding the battle, but not the war, Cole bowed to the father and turned to the son. “Will you see me out, Mr. Palmer?” he asked the younger Palmer quietly. He was almost surprised when the young man complied. In the foyer, he turned. “Can you arrange a meeting with her?"

  "She's not receiving callers. She's recovering from a snake bite."

  Alarm jolted Cole. “A snake bite?"

  Palmer looked very grave. “An adder, apparently."

  "Is she seriously ill?"

  "She gave us a good scare, but she's much improved now."

  Cole rubbed his hand over his face, dismayed at how the news frightened him. He'd heard of people dying from adder bites. He held out a note to Palmer.

  "Give this to her. Please."

  Palmer stared at him for a long moment. Slowly, he reached out and took the note, staring at it as if it were a poisonous serpent. Or an adder.

  Keeping his voice barely above a whisper, Cole urged, “At least give her the choice."

  Palmer nodded slowly. The note was only folded, not sealed, and Cole had no doubt Palmer would read it before deciding whether or not to give it to his cousin.

  A light rain began as Cole rode, but he passed through it with little notice. He would have to resort to more desperate means. Cole had the plan formulated by the time he reached his uncle's house.

  When he explained it to Aunt Livy, she pierced him with her gaze. “Cole, I fear no good will come of this."

  "I admit it's not a perfect plan. I could simply abduct her. That would save her from anyone who might harm her."

  "And bring that kind of scandal upon her? You can't be serious."

  It would also fuel her already strong hatred toward him. Cole fixed a baleful stare upon her. “Do you have a better suggestion?"