by Joan Vincent
Quentin laid a hand over hers. “Whatever you wish.”
“Send Malcolm and Jessamine somewhere safe,” she pleaded. “Have your father take them—”
Ermintrude tsked from the doorway, a handkerchief over her mouth and nose. “Come, Madeline. You may be lost to all sense of propriety, but I am not. I will not have it said I failed in my duty. No matter that you are a thankless gel.” She motioned for her to come.
“I will not let the shock of your father’s death overcome your sensibilities. You shall not be alone with this—” she paused, ran an eye over Quentin, “this person until you are wed.” She shuddered. “It remains my hope that you will come to your senses and not insist upon such a disaster.”
“But I wish for a moment with my father,” Maddie protested.
“You have had more than a moment already,” Ermintrude stated with a reproving sniff.
“Where is Aunt Prissy? She—”
“She continues to make a fool of herself over his parent,” Ermintrude answered with rancour. “You wish to create a scene? Are you so lost to the proprieties of this situation? Your poor father,” she sniffed again behind her handkerchief.
Quentin pressed Maddie forward. Later he remembered that he had put down the desperate look she tossed him to her fear of Sanford and his mother.
* * *
Prescott House Late Monday Morning
Seeing anger contort Donatien’s face, Petit drew a deep shuddering breath. He stepped back when his master snapped his fingers. “Letu said nothing more, monseigneur. He said he would return when he had more information.”
“Repeat what he said again,” Donatien commanded.
“He visited with the two workmen outside the open doors of the mausoleum. They told him M. Vincouer had died the previous night. Since he had a contagious disease the burial was hurried forward. His body was to be placed in the mausoleum some time around ten o’clock,” Petit continued. He nervously shifted from one foot to the other.
“When Letu glanced into the tomb, he saw the empty dais strewn with flowers. He was certain the gold had not been discovered when he saw the edge of a bar beneath them.
“He said the fact that the men made no mention of it made him certain of that. The tale of such a find could not be contained.”
“Where was my sentry when the coffin was removed?”
Petit admitted ignorance. He prayed his perfidy in not mentioning the marriage planned for later in the day would not be discovered any time soon. At the snap of the long nailed fingers, he jerked up his head.
“Is there to be a service?”
For a second Petit froze and then he realized Donatien spoke of the burial. “The vicar is to bless the coffin and say a prayer at the mausoleum,” Petit said, relieved.
“Miss Vincouer understood my warning?”
“Oui, monseigneur.”
“Bring the men who landed from France last week to me,” Donatien commanded with a dismissive wave.
I am so close to success, the Frenchman thought. I will have their throats cut in their beds if need be. He steepled his long fingers. If I have the children. Yes, this burial will be of little consequence. Quentin Broyal will die and Miss Vincouer? Donatien’s eyes glittered. Her resistance will sweeten my bed.
* * *
The afternoon that followed the brief ceremony at the mausoleum proved a rare example of English perfection. Bright sunshine warmed air filled with the fragrance of lush grass while a delicate breeze prevented the hint of too much warmth. The flowers of late May bowed and swayed as two coaches and two riders made their way into the village of Hayward.
The procession drew curious stares as it drew to a halt before the low, Saxon church of St. Edwins. Gossips peeked from behind lace curtains when the unknown officer and young Malcolm Vincouer dismounted and tethered their horses. Word of Matthew’s death had preceded their arrival along with the tantalizing rumour of a hasty marriage for Miss Vincouer.
Those acquainted with Sanford Vincouer were dismayed when he stepped down from one of the coaches. Their consternation rose when he handed down the ladies and delayed releasing Miss Vincouer’s hand. Many heaved a sigh of relief when the handsome officer offered her his arm and she accepted it. They sniffed with disappointment as the party disappeared behind St. Edwin’s doors.
In the vestibule, Pricilla pressed a small nosegay of white roses into Maddie’s hands and then fussily retied the ribbons on the young woman’s bonnet. Both were relieved when Ermintrude gave a final “hrump” of disapproval and stalked down the aisle to join her daughter and the children in the family pew.
Miss Benton clasped her niece’s hands. “Your father would have been pleased if he had met Major Broyal. The major’s, as well as his father’s, behaviour has been all that is pleasing. And you know—” Her eyes slid to Sanford then back to Maddie. Tears welled. “Oh, my dear, I do wish—”
“Do not fret, Aunt.” Maddie fought the quiver in her voice. “I am not—unhappy with this marriage. But one thing—”
“Yes?”
“Keep Jessie at your side until I speak with Mr. Broyal.”
“Whatever for?” Pricilla asked. Seeing her niece’s dismay, she said, “Of course I shall do so.”
“Please keep an eye on Malcolm. I cannot explain now,” Maddie rushed. A glance to the front of the church told her they were awaited. “It is important you do so.”
Miss Benton patted her hand, nodded, and then began to walk away.
“No,” Maddie took her arm. “Walk with me.”
Pricilla smiled; blinked back sudden tears. Together they walked slowly down the aisle and joined the men before the altar.
Later Maddie recalled that the vicar was very nervous. That Sanford coughed when he asked if anyone knew of any “reason why these two should not be joined.” That her sisters giggled when Quentin kissed her cheek at the end of the ceremony.
At the time Maddie was aware of little but the man who gripped her hand and said his vows in a strong, clear voice. For the brief minutes of the ceremony she drew upon her belief that together they could protect her family; that she was keeping her promise to her father.
Then she signed the register and Quentin’s father led her away as his son took up the pen. Maddie wondered at that but then Aunt Prissy and the rest of the family embraced her with well wishes and Quentin was again at her side. The only jarring note was Sanford’s and his mother’s disapproving glares.
Upon exiting the church, Maddie glimpsed a pair of oddly dressed strangers. She watched them fade from sight when they noticed her gaze upon them. Prevented from speaking to Quentin because of Sanford’s insistence that he and his mother ride with the newly married pair, her nervousness increased. She glanced out of the coach window often for reassuring glimpses of her brother and to see if they were being followed.
At Hart Cottage a small gathering of tenants and neighbours greeted the bridal party. The sad pall that had hung over everyone since the procession to the mausoleum fell away.
Lundin hung at the edge of this group, his unhappy gaze at odds with the smiling faces.
Excusing himself, Quentin went to the steward. He followed Lundin away from the babble. “What is it?”
“When I went to free Jenks I was knocked unconscious just after I entered the mausoleum. After I came to my senses, I found Jenks was gone and the gold too,” Lundin apologized.
“Were there any signs of where they went? Wagon tracks to follow? The gold is too heavy to simply disappear.”
“There were signs of many mules.” Lundin crushed the brim of his hat in his hands. “I followed their tracks but they led to a path used by everyone in the area.”
“Ho, cousin,” Sanford sneered at Maddie’s side.
Quentin heard and scowled at the man, then forced a smile to ease the concern on his wife’s features. My wife, he thought stunned at the reality. Lundin shifted in front of him. The movement reminded Quentin that Jenks had been taken.
; “Get your brother. Follow that path in opposite directions. See if you can find where they left it.” When Lundin looked about to object, Quentin added, “I don’t give a damme about the gold, but we have to find Jenks.
“You know I cannot get away,” Quentin told him. “At least not for another thirty minutes without causing Maddie dismay and alarm. Damme, there has been too much time lost already.”
The steward nodded. He joined his brother and they hurriedly strode away.
Quentin stalked back to Maddie. Without looking at Sanford, he took her hand. Raising it aloft, he bowed to those assembled. Looking at Maddie for a second and then to those around them he said, “My wife and I thank you for your good wishes. We regret there can be no celebration at this time but later there shall be.” When they responded with a rousing huzzah, he grinned and raised Maddie’s hand in the air. As the crowd cheered he lowered it and drew her toward the house.
The cook met them as soon as they stepped inside. With the audacity of one who had changed the miss’s clouts, Corrie smacked a kiss on Maddie’s cheek. When the major bent to permit the same, another cheer went up from those watching beyond the open door.
“I’ve a cake in the garden and lemonade for the young ones.” She beamed proudly. “Maves has something a wee bit stronger for the rest.” Latching onto Maddie’s hand, Corrie pulled her along.
Under the shade of the old oak in the park behind the house stood chairs, and tables covered with sparkling white cloths. On the centre one sat a large cream cake covered with custard icing, a single fresh white rose atop it. A large pitcher of lemonade and glasses stood on one side.
“His lordship be responsible for that,” Corrie said with a tip of her head toward a bucket with a magnum of champagne awash in what had been ice chips. Stemmed glasses surrounded it.
Maddie hugged Corrie. Then she took hold of the hand Quentin offered her.
“I shall do the honours,” the earl said. He twisted the wax seal from the top of the champagne bottle. A few moments later, to the children’s giggling delight, the cork shot free with a resounding pop.
Glasses filled with contents appropriate to age, Margonaut raised his to the bridal couple. “To my son and his beautiful wife. May they share their joys and comfort each other in their sorrows. May their children be many and their lives long.”
When Maddie blushed, Quentin gave her hand a comforting squeeze. He gave a slight bow of thanks to his father and smiled at his bride before they drank.
Jessamine bounced up to Maddie, clapping her hands excitedly. “Cake. Let us have cake. Oh, please let me cut the cake,” she begged.
Laughing, Maddie gave permission. She and Quentin accepted the first slices from Aunt Prissy. They took a seat on the bench around the old oak.
Quentin gazed at the family. Now his family, he realized. He watched Ermintrude gorging on cake and saw Agatha sit listless beside her. Sanford stood at some distance and stared at him with something akin to hatred.
Shifting his gaze to his father, Quentin saw that the earl was paying close heed to something Miss Benton was saying. Then, sensing eyes upon him, Quentin looked about. Ruth unhappily stared at him, her plate of cake untouched.
Maddie followed his gaze. She laid a hand on Quentin’s arm. “Ruth misses our father,” she said. “His death was as sudden as our marriage. Give her time.”
His heart skipped a beat at the uneasiness in Maddie’s eyes. “I intend to give us all the time we need to become comfortable with each other.”
Maddie lowered her eyes, colour flamed to her cheeks.
A cry of outrage drew everyone’s attention. Malcolm, who had squatted in front of his unsmiling sister in an attempt to cheer her up, clutched at the telltale signs of frosting on the nap of his jacket collar. Jessie stood behind him, gleefully clapping her hands. With a laughing roar, Malcolm rose and gave chase.
Helene, who had prompted the deed, grabbed her youngest sister’s hand. She pulled her toward the hedge separating the park from a stand of trees.
Swooping down on them, Malcolm grabbed Jessamine and swung her up into his arms. He made for the hedge.
His sisters gave chase.
With a squeak of alarm, Maddie jumped to her feet.
“What is it?” Quentin asked, also rising. He followed her gaze to the hedge and heard the children’s laughter drifting through it. “Let them romp. I will not let Mrs. Vincouer chastise them.”
“It is not that,” Maddie said. Her hand went to her breast as the children’s laughter faded. She turned to him. “I tried to tell you this morning. I was warned—”
A child’s sharp piercing scream cut her off. “Dear God, no!” Maddie picked up her skirts and ran toward the hedge.
Miss Benton, Ermintrude, and Agatha also hurried forward, but obeyed Margonaut’s command to await everyone’s return.
“If they had behaved with proper decorum nothing would have happened,” Ermintrude sniped at Pricilla. “I have always said they needed a stronger hand.”
Behind them a light masculine voice interposed. “Excusez-moi?”
Turning, Miss Benton momentarily forgot both her fear and the scold. Before her stood one of the most elegant young men she had ever seen. His clothing moulded his slim frame. There was something romantical and old-fashioned in the way his longish dark blond hair was tied back. He peered at her through a quizzing glass from which dangled red ribbons.
“Pardon. I understand Viscount Broyal visits here. Might I speak with him?”
“Why, yes, he is here,” Agatha stammered when Miss Benton remained silent. “But—” The stranger’s gaze over her shoulder turned hers back to the hedge.
André’s eyes had widened at the sight of a broad-shouldered stern-visaged man in regimentals pushing his way through the hedge ushering a distraught woman before him. An older man followed with a young girl in hand. A third young lady, very pale, came next. Another man scowled behind her.
“Have I come at an unfortunate moment?” Baron de la Croix asked lowering his quizzing glass.
Chapter Nineteen
Hart Cottage Late Monday Afternoon
Quentin halted before Miss Benton and pressed Maddie into her arms. “Malcolm and Jessamine have been abducted,” he told her. “Take care of Maddie and the girls.” He ran an assessing eye over the stranger.
“Baron de la Croix, at your service, monsieur,” André said, with a graceful bow.
“Broyal here,” Quentin returned curtly. “Coach or horse?”
“Mounted,” André answered, his demeanour now serious.
“Come with us.” Quentin strode away.
Margonaut looked at Sanford who had halted beside his mother.
Sanford shrugged his excuse. “I shall sacrifice since someone must remain with the ladies.”
With no acknowledgement of the man’s words, Margonaut took his new daughter-in-law’s hand. He gave it a gentle squeeze. “Courage,” he urged. “We shall get them back.”
“Let us go inside,” Pricilla said. She shooed her chicks before her. “He’ll find them, Maddie. You’ll see.”
* * *
Prescott House Late Monday Afternoon
A faint blush streaked the pillar of clouds in front of the sun at dusk’s approach. Darkening clouds billowed above the horizon while the wind blustered.
Gazing out of the library window towards the sea, Donatien stood dressed as the elderly émigré Jacques Porteur. He ran a sharpened fingernail across his thumb. The promised storm eased what remained of his concern. With the Vincouer children under his control, success was guaranteed to be at hand.
Donatien waited until the footsteps had halted for several moments before he turned. He smiled at the annoyance Letu strove to hide. “Have you learned anything?”
“The old jobber claims he played the part of old Vincouer on his master’s orders. Says Broyal acted to spike Mademoiselle Vincouer’s cousin’s guns without her knowledge,” Letu answered. He allowed a glimmer of satisfaction. �
��The man swears Broyal is scorched—eager for the gold. But not that in the mausoleum. Don’t know a fadge about it. Of that I am certain.”
“Does the old man have any idea where he is held?”
“Can’t have any,” Letu swore. “We knocked him out and put a sack over his head before we brought him here.”
“Can he walk?”
Letu grinned like a wolf. He flexed his fingers. “I carved off two fingers before his tongue loosened. Didn’t touch his feet.”
“Render him senseless and drop him an easy distance from Hart Cottage,” Donatien instructed. “But before that, give him these directions.” Turning back to the window, he eyed the approaching storm with something akin to contentment. He enumerated what he wished to have the batman tell Broyal.
Letu impatiently waited for dismissal. When Donation finally set his piercing eyes on him, concern stirred. He almost reached for the gold necklace around his neck beneath his blouse. He jumped at the man’s unexpected bark of laughter.
“So you do understand what happens either at once or eventually to those who do not serve me true,” Donatien commented. “Carry out my orders after darkness falls, but before the storm breaks.”
* * *
Hart Cottage Early Monday Evening
Night had almost fallen when Quentin led his small band back into the stable yard at Hart Cottage. Lundin’s group had returned moments earlier. The steward’s dour expression told Quentin that he too had failed to find the children.
Lundin approached him with three young lads whom he directed to take the gentlemen’s horses.
“The captain declined an invitation to sup,” Quentin told the steward. “He will come back in the morning and bring part of the troop stationed in Ashford to help with the search.”
Lundin raised his eyes to the dark, mushrooming clouds and shook his head again. “Any and all tracks will be gone by then.”