by Donna Hatch
Alicia stared at him. How dare he think he understood her! A surge of anger loosened her tongue as she jerked her hand from his arm and whirled on him. “Understand! You understand nothing! It’s your fault. If you hadn’t shot my twin in that ridiculous duel in London, he would be alive and I would not be subjected to my uncle’s problems.”
A brief pause followed her outburst and his features settled into a puzzled frown. “I only shot him in the arm.”
“He developed an infection from the wound and the surgeon had to amputate his arm at the shoulder. They gave him opium for the pain. It became an addiction. He faded further and further away. One night…” Her voice caught and she tried to swallow. “One night he took too much. Whether he could no longer face life without an arm, or it was accidental, I will never know. I found him late that night...” A sob tore through the lump in her throat.
She pushed through her tears. “You killed him just as surely as if you had put a bullet through his heart!” Her whole body shook, and her fingernails dug into her palms.
Though she could not see him clearly through her tears, he remained motionless, without a word of defense.
“After my parents died, Armand would have inherited and I would be safe with him. But he died three months after they did and now I am at the mercy of my uncle, who has ruined us!”
His voice hushed. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
Alicia turned away. She walked faster and faster until she broke into a run. She raced back home. Drowning in grief, she stumbled to her room and collapsed upon her bed.
What was Lord Amesbury’s game? Why did he act with kindness toward her when he was so clearly a man of depravity?
It did not matter. His handsome face harbored her brother’s killer, and no amount of wishing would change that truth.
Chapter 10
As Alicia ran from him, Cole stumbled to a stone bench and sank his face into his hands. Emotion drained from his heart until only cold emptiness remained.
He had killed that boy.
He had killed him over a lightskirt in lady’s guise who demanded he defend her honor. After all the carnage of the war, the last thing Cole wanted was more blood on his hands. For that reason, he hadn’t lasted more than a year as a pirate. It was bad enough to kill in war; fighting over a bit of treasure seemed shallow, even for a hard-hearted cad like him. But he’d gone because his brother needed him. Now that Jared was in command and surrounded by a loyal crew, he didn’t need Cole to watch his back.
Instead of leaving violence behind when he returned to England, he’d foolishly issued the challenge to duel. He pointed a gun at a mere boy and had watched, recoiling, as Armand groaned in pain, clutching a bleeding arm.
When Cole had gone to the Palmers townhouse to inquire about his opponent, the servants had informed Cole that the bleeding had stopped and Armand would recover. Instead, he had lost his arm. And then died. Alicia had watched him suffer.
Now, one of the few truly genuine ladies he had ever met was alone, doomed to marry a man who would look upon her as an object and mistreat her.
It was his fault.
Rain pattered him, gently at first but gradually increasing in ferocity. Alone in the garden now, Cole stared into the gloom and blinked as water hit his eyes.
She hated him.
He didn’t blame her. He hated himself.
Cole stumbled toward André, mounted, and urged the horse to a reckless gallop along the dark highway.
Alicia would marry another. He should not care. She was nothing to him.
But his actions directly affected her fate. Because of him she was alone, and that made her his responsibility. He had to act. The shame in her eyes as Colonel Westin publicly humiliated her had angered him. The terror as she fled from Mr. Braxton at the ball enraged him. He had to do something to protect her. His honor, annoying thing that it was, demanded action. His heart had nothing to do with it.
He was also turning into a liar.
The only way he could save her would be to marry her himself. But she would never marry him, not even to escape a worse fate at another man’s hands. If only he could find another to marry her, someone who would treat her well and protect her from harm.
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 returned 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 grasp.
Cole downed it in one gulp and strode upstairs to endure Stephens’s 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.”
Stephens waited expectantly. He would no doubt suffer a breakdown owing to his curiosity.
Cole took pity on him. “Do you remember Armand Palmer from London?”
“The insolent boy who needed a lesson in manners toward ladies?”
“The same. He died.”
Stephens whistled. “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 girls shared her predicament and he had never been tempted to rescue them, thank heavens.
And yet, he had 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 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 so he could work off the frustrated energy burning his veins. Or maybe he did not need an excuse.
“Let’s go box,” Cole challenged
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, Stephens seldom lacked for feminine company when he desired it—not that Cole would admit that out loud. He 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.
Cole
swung hard. “Come on, don’t go soft. My sister fights better than you.”
Stephens humored him. The 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. He turned his head toward Stephens. His former shipmate lay with his eyes closed. He dabbed at his lip, not looking any better than Cole felt. Their breath hissed harshly 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.”
Chapter 11
Alicia took the familiar path through the grounds on her favorite circuit. Along the way, she stopped 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, that he 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 a cook would understand. Its smells of rosemary, sage, thyme, onions, and other herbs made her mouth water in anticipation of savory dinners. She passed the stables, which now only housed one horse but still carried the sweet, musty smell of full occupancy.
Maman had loved to ride, but Alicia never became an accomplished rider. Only weeks before her death in the carriage accident, Maman had taken a fall while riding, 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 milkmaid 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 might not have been 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.
As she walked, courage returned, and with it, a renewed determination to save her family, regardless of the cost to herself. If they were condemned to debtor’s prison, all the remaining servants would lose their homes and employment. Many people depended upon her. She refused to fail them. She would marry to save them all. Conviction brought peace.
She stumbled over a bit of soft, uneven ground and glanced down at the sunlight-dappled ground. There, in her path, lay a snake, hissing and poised to strike.
She let out a cry. She hadn’t stumbled on uneven soft earth; she’d stepped on the snake. Before she could react, the snake struck. Sharp pain flared in her leg just above her ankle. 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 fled back the way she had come. She glanced over her shoulder but the snake remained in the path. Nausea and dizziness closed in around her as she lurched toward the house.
“Miss Palmer?” someone asked.
The fog around her thickened leaving nothing but the growing pain in her leg. She found herself in the kitchen, surrounded by concerned faces.
“What happened?” one of the servants asked.
“My leg,” she gasped. “A snake.”
Her shoe and stocking were removed. A feminine voice uttered a cry of dismay.
The gamekeeper appeared in her line of sight. “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 nodded. “I think so.”
“An adder,” the gamekeeper pronounced. “They aren’t usually found so near people. Bring me 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.
“This’ll do.”
Alicia faded out and in as the gamekeeper applied a sticky paste to the snake bite on her sore, swollen 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 gamekeeper had nowhere else to go. Alicia liked to think that he remained out of loyalty.
Cook pressed a cup of tea into 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 open windows. 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? Vague images of pain and fever and Hannah leaning over her, pressing tea or water against her lips tickled her memory.
Hannah stirred and opened her eyes. 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 about you. The gamekeeper said adder bites could be either mild or,” she choked, “or fatal. You ran a fever for two days.”
“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 and rested her head on Alicia’s shoulder. “Oh, Lissie, what would I have done if I’d lost you?”
Alicia hugged her back. “I’m well now, Hannah.”
“I couldn’t have born it if you’d died, too.” Hannah sniffled. “Some days I feel God is taking every member of our family until we are all gone.”
“There, there. Don’t fret.”
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. Her sister wasn’t in possession of the strength to survive either. If Alicia 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.
Chapter 12
Cole took a bracing breath and knocked on the door of the Palmer family manor. 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 … deeply regret the incident 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 not only my cousin, but my closest friend.”
Palmer’s words hit him like a punch to 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 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 revealed 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 two already. No one will put a gun to her head and drag her to the altar.”
“She is concerned about a 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.”