The Prodigal Hero

by Nancy Butler

  He was her haven now. The man who had given her that drawing, and all the others that were locked away in her dower chest, had completely supplanted home and family in her heart. Her only allegiance was to him.

  Forsaking all others ... The words from the marriage service whispered inside her head. A solitary tear coursed down her cheek.

  Her maid roused her from her bittersweet reverie—she tugged her out of her coat and began to undo the buttons on the rose-colored gown, muttering all the while that she’d make sure these ragged garments were tossed into the rubbish heap.

  “No,” said Alexa in alarm, clutching her hands to her chest. “You must not. They are all I have.”

  The maid gave her a look of bewildered incomprehension, but said nothing more.

  The hot bath helped to restore some of Alexa’s energy and a great deal of her resolve. She wouldn’t be beaten down, she swore, not by her father, not by her cousin. She’d faced much bigger bullies in the past week and managed to keep a cool head. It was as MacHeath had told her ... you must never let them know you are afraid.

  But when she came downstairs again, now properly gowned and sleekily coiffed—and fully ready for battle—the carolers were just arriving. Alexa waited in the shadows of the great hall, well away from her cousin, and fretted at the delay. The program seemed endless, and for the first time, the bright songs did not cheer her.

  There was no wassail bowl this year—no one in the kitchen had even given it a thought, distracted as they were by their concern for Prescott’s missing daughter. But the carolers had known nothing of that, and had shown up at ten, as they always did, with smiling, ruddy faces, their young children, all gleaming eyes and mittened hands, held proudly before them. Her father made up for the lack of punch by handing out coins to each of them once they were finished singing.

  Alexa then had to wait while her father closeted himself with her cousin. Somehow Quincy had stolen a march on her. He’d convinced her father that his need to be heard was greater than hers, and so both men had wished her a good night, her father placing a gentle kiss on her brow. She had tugged away from him and declared she would wait up. He’d merely shaken his head sadly, looking at her as he had when she was a child and had done something wicked or headstrong.

  He was doubtless dreading his inevitable interview with her. She was sure her eyes promised nothing but trouble. She now paced up and down the hall, darting looks at the wall clock and, after a half hour had passed, she promised herself that if they did not emerge from the locked study in another five minutes, she was going to bash down the door with a fireplace poker.

  Two minutes later the door opened, and both of them came out into the hall. Quincy bowed to her, his mouth drawn up in a smug smile, and then excused himself.

  “I believe we’ve come up with a solution,” her father said as he ushered her into the room, one hand on her upper arm. “I don’t know why it never occurred to me before now. I suppose it was because I’d taken the lad in dislike early on. But your mother had a care for him ... I should have been guided by her opinion.”

  Alexa stopped walking. “What on earth are you talking about, Papa?”

  “Your cousin has offered to marry you,” he said. “We’ve just been going over the—”

  “Oh, no!” she cried, thrusting away from him. “I can’t believe you would even consider such a thing. Did you hear nothing of what I said about him in the church?”

  She bit back her anger instantly. It was imperative that she remain calm. But in spite of that resolve, this latest development had set her heart pounding; she felt as though she might swoon. She walked with shaking limbs to the sideboard and poured herself a glass of brandy, ignoring her father’s muttered protest as she carried it to her mouth.

  “I know you have an aversion to him,” he said evenly. “But according to your aunt’s letters, you have an aversion to most gentlemen. I’ve had a chance to reevaluate your cousin these past days, Alexa, and frankly he’s surprised me. He’s shown great concern over your disappearance, and concern for my distress, as well. He set several men to searching for you before he came here—”

  “Not men,” she interjected, “ruffians. From the worst part of London.”

  Her father waved away her protest. “Perhaps he felt it would take a ruffian to catch a ruffian. He also insisted we call in the Runners, but I feared there was little they could do so long after the fact. So he then suggested we advertise a substantial reward for information on your whereabouts, not mentioning your name, mind, only your description. My solicitor here in Cudbright was to field the replies.”

  “He was just lulling your suspicions with all these helpful suggestions,” she pointed out. “Can’t you see that?”

  It wouldn’t have surprised her if Darwin himself was angling for that reward. He’d get the brunt of it if his hirelings had been the ones who brought her home.

  “All I can see is that you are determined to slander him,” her father said with a scowl. “But he was here when I needed him. I’d never felt so thwarted in my life ... I didn’t know which way to turn. There was no sign of a ransom note, I had no way of knowing if you were even still alive. But Quincy stood beside me and tried to keep my hopes up.” He shot her a look of reproach. “Why the devil didn’t you write to me, Alexa, to let me know you were safe?”

  She chewed on her lower lip. “I thought it better if you didn’t know anything about it. I didn’t want to worry you, and anyway, I’d hoped to be here yesterday, exactly when you expected me.”

  “And didn’t you think that in the meantime someone else might have informed me that you’d been carried off? Mrs. Reginald or your cousin?”

  “I wrote to Reggie at the White Hart and told her that I was not in any danger. I ... I also asked her not to contact you—I didn’t want you fretting.”

  “Well, I haven’t heard a word from her. Though why you thought you needed to protect me—”

  “I was worried about your health. You were walking with a cane last year at Christmas, if you will recall. And had no appetite to speak of.”

  “Those were passing ailments—”

  “Well, since I never get to see you,” she retorted, “how in blazes was I to know they were passing? How am I to know anything of what goes on in this house?”

  “Don’t start on that again,” he said, holding out a warning hand. “God save me from single-minded women. You might let me enjoy the fact that you’ve come safely home, without instantly badgering me.”

  She paused a minute ... something he’d said earlier was now lashing around inside her head. The question formed itself slowly. “Then, tell me this ... how exactly did my cousin claim to know of my abduction?”

  “He met up with Mrs. Reginald in Reading right after it occurred. Said he was on his way here for the holidays.”

  Her eyes flew to his face. “He told me he was spending Christmas in Shropshire. Why would he change his mind? Unless he had business outside Reading, business with me. According to MacHeath, the men my cousin hired were to take me to a hedge tavern. Darwin was going to ... well, do whatever it is that men do to make sure women have to marry them. And now you’ve played right into his plans, handing me over to him without so much as a whimper of protest.”

  Her eyes narrowed as she added scornfully, “I hate to think you’re no better than those two hired bullies.”

  He was unperturbed by her harsh tone. “You start at phantoms, child. Young gentlemen change their minds on the merest caprice. I wager Quincy wanted to spend the holidays with his family, rather than among strangers.”

  Alexa was beginning to feel real sympathy for MacHeath—she’d been just as pigheaded about believing him when he’d spun the same tale for her.

  Her father came forward and took her hand. “I know the idea of marrying your cousin comes as something of a shock. But you brought this on yourself. It’s clear that you didn’t try very hard to get away from Hastings. I doubt there’s a man could hold you
, if you really wanted to get free. And no, I don’t believe he drugged you. He didn’t need to ... he’s had you in his thrall since you were a girl. The point is, regardless of why he took you, his actions guaranteed that your reputation was ruined. Quincy thinks Hastings might have expected to marry you himself, the blasted upstart.”

  If only that were true, she lamented silently.

  “But I think he merely wanted to ingratiate himself with me. Use you to win my favor, maybe get me to drop the charges against him.”

  “You’re not far off, Papa,” she said. “That is exactly why he kept me with him. But it’s not why he took me. He was trying to protect me from Darwin’s men. He’s never stopped protecting me.” She eyed him darkly. “By the way, those two ruffians are tied up in Kincaid’s barn ... if you require more proof.”

  He ran one hand over the side of his face and then looked at her with impatience. “Has it occurred to you that those men are Hasting’s own friends? Providing a bit of window dressing to convince you that you were truly in peril.”

  “Father!” she cried out, nearly overcome by frustration. “MacHeath shot one of them in the throat in Rumpley. Then tonight he slashed the same one with his knife.” She glared at him from under her brows. “Is any of this getting through to you?”

  He pondered her words a moment. “It’s possible those two rogues were after you on their own behalf. I can believe that more readily than I could believe your cousin was behind it. He is ... well, I hate to say the word indolent, but he’s rarely shown much initiative over anything.”

  “And yet this creature you would ask me to marry?”

  “He is a gentleman, the grandson of a baron. And face it, my dear, you are irretrievably ruined. By now, half of Cudbright has guessed that you were gallivanting across the countryside with Simeon Hastings. It won’t take long for word to filter back to London. Quincy is your only hope.”

  “I’m not going back to London. So that hardly matters. I doubt anyone here in Cudbright would snub me.” She met his eyes and said with a determined frown, “You forget that come the end of the week, I will be mistress of my own funds. You can’t force me to marry anyone then.”

  “I will disinherit you,” he growled. “You’ll be out on the street without even your good name.”

  She nearly chuckled. MacHeath would have a hard time rejecting her then.

  “You won’t do that,” she said. “Because in your own stubborn way you love me.” Her eyes misted up suddenly, and her voice lowered to a choked whisper. “I am so sorry I didn’t turn out the way you wanted, Papa. But you were the one who set me on this course; you encouraged me to be wild and headstrong. It amused you, having a daughter who spoke her mind and was full of sauce.”

  “You think I don’t blame myself for that? All I wanted for you, once you were grown, was for you to take your place in Society. That is why I sent you away, child. So you could have the same advantages your mother had.”

  “I fear I take after my father,” she said softly.

  “Obstinate to a fault,” he concurred, and she thought she saw a quick flash of admiration in his eyes.

  “And loyal,” she added. “To those who have earned my trust.” She hesitated, and then said quickly, “Talk to MacHeath, Father. I know he looks ragged and worn, but he is still a decent man. Let him tell you his version of what happened that night.”

  “And what is that version? I gather he has told you.”

  “No, I didn’t need to hear it. He risked his life for me, twice over ... that’s all the surety I need. But I’d say that puts you in his debt.”

  “Why, because he defended a woman? Even a thief might have that much honor.”

  She thought furiously for some way to make him understand, and then took a bold gamble. “He lost his right hand at sea, you know.”

  His eyes flashed up in surprise. “Poor blighter. No wonder he’s reduced to abducting women.”

  She forced herself to remain calm. “You mistake my point. I wanted you to see that in spite of his infirmity, he managed to save me from two professional thugs. He didn’t have to help me, he didn’t have to stir himself out of the East End, but he did. For whatever reason, for money or to gain a fair hearing from you, he brought me home safely, I promised that you would see him. Don’t make me into a liar.”

  “It doesn’t matter now. He’s probably long gone from the village.” He moved away from her to the sideboard and poured himself a glass of port. She heard him mutter under his breath, “Lost his right hand ... what a damned, wicked shame.”

  She came up behind him. “He can use his left hand, Papa. I saw a drawing of a dog he made for a little boy. It was wonderful ... so much life captured in just a few pencil lines. And he never left the sea, either ... he worked as a smuggling captain.”

  When he turned to her, his brow was furrowed.

  “Oh, I know you are going to object to that, say that it just proves he’s a thief. But the brethren follow their own code of honor.” She breathed a silent thank you to Mrs. Gable for those apt words.

  “I wasn’t going to object, I have no grievance against smugglers. There was my Uncle Patrick over in Cornwall, though perhaps the less said about him ….”

  “What then?”

  “I was surprised, is all. That Hastings would undertake something like that.”

  “And yet you thought him a sneaking thief.”

  “He wasn’t a blasted thief, Alexa!” he bit out. “Not more than that one time, I’d swear it. The boy was as open and honest as a babe.” His fingers gripped the side of his glass until they shone white at the knuckles. “Don’t you think it destroyed me a little to watch him being carted off in chains? He was the best I’ve ever seen when it came to designing ships—full of bold, radical ideas. And all that promise was wiped out in one night’s bad work.”

  “Then give him what you owe him, what he deserves.”

  “Will you marry Quincy if I speak with Hastings?”

  “Oh, please,” she cried in exasperation. “Don’t even mention those two in the same sentence. As for marrying my cousin—a wise man once told me you need to respect the person you wed. You’ve worked your whole life long so that my idle fop of a cousin can spend his days following his amusing pursuits. What is there for me to respect in such a man?” He opened his mouth, and she put her hand up. “No, don’t pretend you haven’t been supporting him all these years. I know he’s bled you—”

  “Borrowed from me.”

  “Has he ever paid a penny of it back?”

  “It will be payback enough if he is willing to marry you.”

  She gritted her teeth; this was beginning to feel like a bad dream. Every time she thought she’d made inroads at convincing her father to change his mind, he bolted back to the same old position.

  “Very well,” she said. “I won’t badger you any longer. But let me just say this—the whole time I was out there with MacHeath, all I could think of was coming home. To this village, to this house, to you, Father. To the place where I knew everything was fine and good, where I would be safe. But now ...” Her voice quavered, and she quickly controlled it. “Now I find lies and deception everywhere I turn.”

  Prescott’s mouth tightened. “I have not lied to you, Alexa.”

  “No, you are just another victim of them. Of Darwin’s twisting of the truth.”

  “Go to bed,” he said wearily. “This is not the homecoming either of us imagined.”

  “And what of Darwin?” Alexa asked. She couldn’t leave the field with her future still hanging in the balance. “He needs to understand that I am not his for the taking.”

  “I don’t want to shackle you to a man you claim to despise. If you can think of another way out of this coil, I wish you would tell me.”

  “I can’t think of anything at the moment.” She took a few steps toward the door, then stopped and turned to him. “He won’t have me, Father, if that’s what you are worried about. MacHeath, I mean. He wants nothing
more to do with me, and that’s the truth of it.”

  His gaze was probing as it roamed over her face. She tried to appear nonchalant as she added, “And I’m well over my infatuation with Simeon Hastings.” She reasoned it was not precisely a lie. “I only want justice done where he was concerned.”

  “I will think about it,” he said gruffly, and then added as an afterthought, “And I’ll send some men in the morning to fetch those two ruffians from Kincaid’s barn. We might get them to corroborate your story.”

  “We might,” she said darkly. “Especially if you let me question them.”

  “You are an unnatural female,” he responded with a sigh.

  * * *

  Once she was gone, Alexander Prescott refilled his glass, and then settled into the winged chair by the front window. He needed to give some serious thought to the accusations Alexa had leveled at Quincy. Was the man so reptilian, he wondered, that he could coolly plot her abduction—and subsequent deflowering—and then come forward, mouthing concern, to console her father?

  If any part of it was true, he’d have the fellow horsewhipped through the town.

  In all the years he’d known his nephew, he had never warmed to him. Well, not until these past few days. But he had trusted him. Darwin Quincy was a gentleman, after all. A man didn’t look for betrayal from a member of the upper classes.

  Not to mention, Quincy had no reason to cross him. He’d been supplying him with funds since his days at Eton, bailing him out of scrapes with shopkeepers, and making sure his gambling debts were paid. He accepted it as normal that some gentlemen in Society lived beyond their means—his own wife’s late father had himself been deep in debt, which was why he’d allowed a wealthy upstart like Prescott to court her.