Dare it all for Love (Daring Daughters Book 5)

by Emma V. Leech

  “Yes. Round the back, I think,” Mama said to her unspoken question before turning to John Coachman and the footmen who’d ridden with the carriage. “John, are you armed?”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “Good man. You watch the front, please, and make sure no one leaves. You two had best come with us and guard the back once we’ve entered. Well, come along, no dilly dallying.”

  The men leapt to do Lady Helena’s bidding, as most men did when she issued a command, and they hurried around to the back of the house. They entered unhindered and made their way to the kitchen, where they found one of the footmen and the cook having a comfortable coze over a pot of tea.

  “Are we interrupting something?” Mama asked politely, as the footman and cook sprang to their feet.

  “My lady,” the footman exclaimed, mortified. “Forgive us, we were just a little at a loss for what to do. The master left early this morning and we’re all that’s left of the staff. The ghost that attacked Mr Stanhope frightened everyone to death.”

  “Silly fools, ain’t no such things as ghosts,” said the cook calmly as she poured out another cup of tea.

  The footman frowned, looking less convinced. “No, Mrs Taylor, right enough. I’d agree with you, only where did the devil go if he weren’t no ghost? That’s what I’d like to know.”

  “That is what we should all like to know, so why do we not go and find out?” Florence said in frustration. “Mr Stanhope has disappeared, and we fear he is in danger. I strongly suspect there is a secret passage into this house and—”

  The sound of something heavy hitting the floor with a crash somewhere in the house interrupted her words.

  “Oh, my stars,” exclaimed the cook, clutching at her chest and looking a deal less sanguine than she had a moment earlier. “What was that?”

  “It came from above us,” the footman said.

  “Well, come along then!” Florence exclaimed, pushing past them and hurrying up the stairs to the ground floor.

  They all burst out into a back corridor and ran towards the entrance hall, where they almost collided with Mr Oak and Louis César.

  “I told you to stay in the carriage!” Mr Oak said furiously.

  “Oh, stow it,” Florence yelled at him, having had quite enough of being told what to do for one day. She hiked up her skirts, taking the stairs two at a time, careful to keep the pistol pointing down.

  “Florence, darling, do be careful,” Mama called out from behind her, but another crash and a masculine grunt of pain echoed through the house and Florence ran, heedless of anything but the need to get to Henry.

  “Henry!” she called and then screamed as Henry staggered out of an open doorway and hit the floor, cursing.

  Another man fell upon him, fists flying like a madman as Henry defended himself. Florence cried out. Foster was in a frenzy of violence. She had never seen such hatred as she saw in the man’s eyes, such… madness. Henry got in a blow that drove Foster’s head back and used the moment to force the man onto his back. He tried to get to his feet, but Foster grabbed his ankle and pulled hard, tugging Henry back down. Henry’s head smacked the hardwood panelling as he fell. He lay, unmoving.

  Then things happened very fast, and yet so slowly that Florence was aware of every beat of her heart.

  She screamed and raised the pistol as Foster pulled something from his pocket. There was a click, and a blade sprang free from the handle he held. He gave a laugh which made Florence’s heart stutter; he sounded utterly unhinged. Mr Oak and Louis César surged past Florence, shouting, though she could not make out the words, too focused on Henry. Foster lunged towards Henry and Florence’s finger tightened on the trigger as a shot ran out, a shot that wasn’t hers.

  Foster staggered and fell back against the wall, sliding to the floor and clutching at his right shoulder as blood welled between his fingers.

  “Mama!” Florence gasped, as she saw her mother beside her.

  A strong smell of gunpowder permeated the air. Her mother’s face had blanched white, but her hands were steady, the pistol still raised.

  “Give me the pistol, love, and go to Henry,” she said calmly, not taking her eyes off Foster as she set the spent pistol on the floor and took the one from Florence’s grasp. She levelled the loaded gun at the wounded man, who was shrieking loud enough to wake the dead.

  Florence was only vaguely aware of the sounds around her, or of Mr Oak suggesting they lock Foster in the pantry for the time being. She ran to Henry’s too still form.

  “Henry, Henry,” she sobbed, sinking to her knees beside him. “Oh, please wake up.”

  There was a pained moan and his eyelids fluttered open.

  “Florence!” he exclaimed in alarm.

  “It’s all right. Mama shot him. It’s all right, we’re safe.”

  Henry subsided with relief. “Christ, my head,” he muttered. “It’s a wonder I’ve any brains left, they’ve taken such a battering of late.”

  “Oh!” Florence said, the terror of the past moments catching up with her. She drew in a breath of relief before she collapsed on his chest. “Oh, Henry, I was so frightened.”

  “Sorry, love,” he murmured, a hand stroking her hair gently. “Come now, none of that. Wait, where is Foster now?”

  “It’s all right, Mr Oak is going to….” she began, and then her breath caught as she saw Susan Cooper standing in the doorway, holding a pistol. It was aimed at Joe Foster who was holding a wadded towel to his shoulder and staring at her, wide-eyed.

  “You ought to have killed him, my lady,” Susan said to Florence’s mother, tears tracking down her cheeks. One eye was swelling, already almost swollen shut. Foster had beaten her, the vile brute.

  “Perhaps,” Mama said. She was still training a pistol on the man too. “But he will be punished for his crimes. I do not wish for a man’s death on my conscience, and the burden of his death ought not rest with you.”

  “He tricked me, miss,” the girl said, staring at Florence. She did not appear to have heard anything Florence’s mother had said to her. “I only wanted Mr Stanhope to understand how his family had treated us, how much damage they’d caused, but I never meant to hurt him, nor no one else. Especially not you, miss. Truly. I only tied you up to keep you safe. I was afraid you’d interfere.”

  “And so I have,” Florence said, trying to find a smile for the girl. “But it’s all right, Susan. Put the gun down and—”

  Foster lunged, grabbing Susan’s ankle and pulling. She fell with a scream but still pointed the gun at Foster, who lurched sideways, out of the way. He must have seen her determination to finish him, seen the fear and anger in her eyes as she pulled the trigger.

  Suddenly everyone was screaming, screaming Florence’s name as Henry slammed her to the floor, covering her body with his own.

  Florence stared up, into Henry’s warm brown eyes. Her ears were ringing, and she couldn’t breathe, though she wasn’t yet sure if that was terror or the fact Henry was squashing the life out of her, his considerable weight pressing down on her. She was dimly conscious of commotion behind them, of someone hitting Foster and the man dropping like a stone, but all she could see was Henry.

  “Florence, Florence, are you hurt?” he demanded, his hands moving over her in a way that made her blush, considering her mother was present, not to mention half a dozen other people, and was that her father’s voice?

  She shook her head, blinking at Henry, still a little dazed, until she saw the blood.

  “Henry!” she whispered. “Henry! Henry, you’re bleeding! Oh, help!”

  Henry groaned and rolled off her to lay flat on his back. “Damnation, I need a rest.”

  “Florence!” Suddenly her father was kneeling beside her, his large hands cupping her face before he pulled her to him for a hug, holding her tightly. “Oh, my darling girl. I thought… I thought I’d lost you for a moment there.”

  “I’m fine, Papa, I’m fine, b-but Henry, he’s hurt…” Florence sobbed, pu
shing her father’s hands away and struggling to get to Henry.

  Her father held her back whilst he inspected Henry himself, he turned to smile at her. “Just a flesh wound, love. He’ll be fine.”

  Florence gave a strangled sob and Henry held out a hand to her. “Your father is right, Florence. I’m fine, love. Though I’d appreciate a few hours without someone trying to murder me. Ah, don’t take on so. You’re safe now.”

  “You c-could have been k-killed,” she stammered through a storm of tears she did not seem able to check.

  “She’s right,” her father said, staring at Henry intently. “You saved her life, you know. If you hadn’t pushed her down....”

  Florence stared at her father, hearing his voice quaver. He was white with shock. He rubbed his face with his hand and let out an uneven breath.

  “Henry loves me, Papa,” Florence said, meeting his eyes.

  Her father stared at her and gave a soft huff of laughter. “Well, I suppose I can’t ask much more proof of devotion from a husband than that he lay down his life for you, can I, love?”

  “God Almighty, I hope not,” Henry muttered. “Someone get me a drink.”

  Chapter 17

  Bainbridge,

  I need your help. I’m worried about Raphe. If he keeps up as he is, he’ll be dead before the year is out. I want to get him to here at Rowsley, where I can keep an eye on him. Give me a hand, old man. I’ll never get the devil on the train without someone to help me strongarm him.

  I’m leaving for London Friday morning. I’ll hope to see you at the station.

  ―Excerpt of a letter from Daire ‘Dare’ Kelburn, Viscount Roxborough to the Most Hon’ble, The Marquess of Bainbridge.

  18th August 1839, Saxenhurst Hall, Sussex.

  By the time the Foster had been given medical attention and been hauled off to the local magistrate, and the doctor had seen to everyone else, it was late in the afternoon. Mr Oak had made it his business to round up all of Henry’s errant staff and send them back to work, each with a flea in their ear, so the house was being brought swiftly back to rights. By the time Henry made it down the stairs to his parlour, there seemed to be an informal tea party underway. Lady Helena, Gabriel Knight, and their daughter Miss Evie, the Comte de Villen, the Earl and Countess St Clair, Montagu and Matilda, and even Pippin and Mrs Dharani were all squeezed into the front parlour. Tea, sandwiches, and a variety of cakes had been provided and everyone seemed to be speaking at once.

  Florence leapt to her feet and ran to him.

  “Henry, darling, should you be up and about? The doctor said you needed to rest.”

  “What I needed was to see you, love,” Henry murmured, taking her hand, squeezing it, and wishing everyone else to the devil. He wanted to hold her close and never let her go but, as her parents were in the room, he supposed he’d best behave himself.

  “Come and sit down before you fall down,” Gabriel said gruffly, vacating a chair and steering Henry into it.

  “Thank you,” Henry said, sitting down with a sigh of relief.

  “How’s the shoulder?” Gabriel asked.

  “Nothing compared to my head,” Henry said with a short laugh. “Feel like I’ve been run down by the mail coach.”

  He looked up in surprise as Helena came over, leaned down, and kissed his cheek.

  “I shall never, never forget what you did, Henry,” she said, her green eyes shining with tears.

  A blush stole up the back of his neck and he cleared his throat, feeling a little uncomfortable. “Oh, er… think nothing of it.”

  “Think nothing of it!” Evie exclaimed. “You saved my sister’s life. I’ve never seen anything so heroic. Frankly, I hope I never do again, but it was dreadfully brave, Mr Stanhope, and we shall never be able to repay you.”

  Henry stared about him to discover everyone looking at him with admiration and warmth. He turned to Florence, who was smiling at him with such adoration his heart skipped about like a spring lamb. He was utterly sunk, and he didn’t give a damn.

  “Anything for you, love. You made me remember what it was to be alive. I couldn’t lose you, Florence. I’d rather die.”

  There was a collective sigh from all the women present, though Henry barely noticed, too lost in Florence’s green eyes. God, but he was in way over his head, and he’d never been so glad of anything in his life.

  “Oh, Gabe. We must get them married. Just look, it would be cruel to keep them apart,” Helena said, sniffling and dabbing at her cheeks with a lace handkerchief.

  Florence turned to her mother with a little cry of delight and ran to her, hugging her tightly.

  Helena laughed and hugged her back, and then they both stared at Gabriel, who scowled, folding his arms.

  “Ugh. Oh, very well, but it’s to be a proper ceremony, all the trimmings. No daughter of mine is to get married in some hole in the wall fashion.”

  “Well, if we work very hard, I think ten days should do it. Don’t you, darling?” Helena asked Florence.

  “Yes, please, Mama. Henry, what do you think?”

  He laughed and held out his hand to her. “Whatever you want, darling. Absolutely anything you want.”

  Florence gave a delighted smile and then her expression faltered as Sterling Oak appeared in the doorway.

  “Glad to see you well, Henry,” he said, gruff as ever. “Susan wants to speak to you.”

  Henry looked up at Florence, who squeezed his hand and nodded. “Yes, of course. If you are up to it, Henry?”

  “She almost killed Florence,” Gabriel growled, not looking at all pleased by this turn of events.

  “Oh, Papa,” Florence said, her voice soft and so full of understanding for the young woman Henry felt a swell of pride for her. “She didn’t mean to. She was aiming for Mr Foster, and I think we need to hear her out.”

  Henry nodded. “It sounds as if Pippin and Mrs Dharani were right, and my family has something to answer for. I’d rather know what it was and make amends if I can.”

  “It would be best, Mr Stanhope,” Pippin said. “Time to lay old ghosts to rest.”

  “Karma,” Mrs Dharani said, nodding.

  “Right, I’ll fetch her,” Mr Oak said, turning away.

  “Wait… Mr Oak,” Florence said, hurrying after him. “I believe I owe you an apology. I am very sorry I accused you of hurting Henry and… and I’m sorry for being so rude. I know I was wrong, and I hope you can forgive me.”

  Mr Oak’s expression did not change, but he gave the barest shrug of his shoulders.

  “Least said, soonest mended,” he said, and turned and walked off.

  Florence sighed and turned back to Henry. “Honestly, I know he’s your friend and I know I behaved badly, but really he’s dreadfully hard work.”

  Henry grinned at her. “You’ll get used to him, love. He’s a good fellow beneath the surly exterior.”

  “A long way beneath,” she grumbled.

  A moment later Mr Oak escorted Susan into the parlour and they made room for her. She looked pale and wan, her bruises standing out in livid patches.

  “I’m sorry, Mr Stanhope, Miss Knight, for all the trouble that’s been caused,” she said, looking utterly miserable. “It wasn’t supposed to go like this, I swear. I had no intention of anyone getting hurt.”

  Florence nodded. “We believe you, Susan. Just tell us what happened.”

  Susan hesitated, looking around at all the grand people surrounding her. She seemed to shrink in on herself.

  “Your grandmother was a wise woman, was she?” Pippin asked, her expression warm and full of compassion.

  “Y-Yes, missus,” Susan said, looking grateful there was someone less daunting to speak to. “Though she didn’t like to practise no more. Didn’t like teaching me neither, though I nagged her something fierce. Said it had brought us nowt but trouble. Which is certainly true.”

  “She told you a secret,” Dharani said, her sloe dark eyes sharp as a blackthorn bush.

  Susan s
wallowed and looked from her to Pippin. “Oh,” she said. “You’re—”

  Dharani waved an impatient hand at her.

  Susan took a deep breath. “Yes, she told me a secret when she was dying. She told me that my great-great-grandfather was the same as Mr Stanhope’s. His blood.”

  Henry closed his eyes and damned his long dead ancestor, who seemed to still be causing trouble from the grave.

  “He was a wicked man,” Susan went on, giving Henry an anxious glance though her chin was up. “A smuggler, and he seduced my great-great-grandmother, even though he was a married man, and she was only seventeen. She worked here, in this house, and she even helped him on the runs sometimes, looking out for the Revenue. When she got with child he abandoned her, told her to get out of the house. So, she cursed him for his cruelty and said he’d suffer the consequences. She was angry, see, and afraid, but nothing went right for him after that, so he accused her of witchcraft. Everyone knew she was a healer like her ma before her. People always went to her for help, but they turned on her quick enough, accusing her of terrible things, of consorting with the devil.”

  Pippin nodded sadly. “I’m so sorry, Susan.”

  “Oh, God. She was Mary Thompsett,” Henry said, putting his head in his hands, realising the story Mrs Simmons had told Grace and Florence was all too true.

  “Who is Mary Thompsett, Henry?” his sister asked, her expression full of misgiving.

  “You’d best listen, Harry,” he said grimly. “I don’t think our family is going to come out of this covered in glory, though.”

  Harriet swallowed but listened attentively as Susan carried on.

  “They let Mary have her babe, then they hanged her. Her sister took the child, and eventually she married and had a daughter of her own—my grandma, that was—but the shame of it lingered. People can be nasty, saying things, you know. My ma hated it. It made her angry and Gran said she was a bit of a wild one. Anyways, she got herself in the family way, with me, and….”

  The girl swallowed, her eyes filling with tears. Silently, Henry reached for his handkerchief and passed it to her.