A Brother's Honor

by Ferguson, Jo Ann

  The obese man looked at Fitzgerald, but the captain just shrugged. While pouring, Sir Harlan chattered on and on about events and people Abigail had never heard of. She watched Captain Fitzgerald nod and knew this was not his first trip to England. Nor was it his first meeting with Sir Harlan, so what had the baronet meant?

  Staring into her cup, she wished she had had a chance to apologize to Dominic. He had been correct to warn her about Captain Fitzgerald, but she had not listened. She wanted to apologize for her foolish naïveté.

  “How long are you staying?” asked Sir Harlan as he reached for a thickly iced cake.

  “The rest of my cargo—”

  Abigail’s head snapped up. “Cargo? You brought more cargo to England?”

  Captain Fitzgerald laughed. “Do you think that I have been doing nothing since the Republic was stolen? The French could not hold me when they had no proof of anything, so I came to England and arranged to purchase another ship. I have the Torch being unloaded in the Pool. It should be unloaded by the week’s end. As soon as it is reloaded, I will be sailing for America. McCormick urged me to hurry. I need to have his cargo back to him before the end of October.”

  Leaving for America? Such a short time ago, that had been her most precious wish, but she could not go when Dominic was imprisoned and faced death. She must persuade Captain Fitzgerald to change his mind. With a smile, she said, “You will if you can elude the French blockade better than you did last time.”

  Captain Fitzgerald bristled and snarled a curse.

  Sir Harlan stirred brandy into his tea. “Of course, your daughter will stay here, Arthur, while you tend to your business in London.”

  Abigail sat straighter. If she remained here, she might be able to find help to free Dominic.

  Captain Fitzgerald replied, with a sly glance at her, “You are too kind. I had not envisioned that you would open your house to her now. I had anticipated I would have to take my daughter with me and bring her back on my next voyage.”

  “Nonsense. Why endanger her?” He laughed, his belly rocking. “And how else will she be available for fittings? I shall arrange for a modiste to come here. The sooner the preparations are made, the sooner the wedding can be held.”

  “Wedding?” gasped Abigail. Clarissa’s comment about Sir Harlan came back to her. “He comes to London seeking a possible wife for his horrid son.”

  Sir Harlan’s cold blue eyes settled on her, but he spoke to Captain Fitzgerald. “I assume by her question that you have not mentioned any of the details to her.”

  Her fingers tightened on her cup as Fitzgerald said, “She would have had difficulty keeping such news a secret, so I thought I would wait until we reached Morris Park.”

  “So she knows nothing?”

  “Nothing!”

  Abigail refused to be left out any longer. “What are you talking about? Whose wedding?”

  “Why, yours, my darling daughter.”

  She leaped to her feet. When she started to storm past him, Captain Fitzgerald caught her wrist so tightly she winced.

  Standing, he ordered, “Calm yourself, Abigail. After all, you do not want to look like a hoyden when you meet your future husband.”

  “You are insane!” she cried. “If you think I would marry anyone you selected, especially his horrid son—”

  “Horrid?” Sir Harlan pulled his bulk to his feet.

  “That is what I heard in London. I shall not marry him.”

  “Silence!” Captain Fitzgerald pushed her back into her chair. Glaring at her, he added, “You will find, Sir Harlan, that she needs to be handled firmly. But you must be accustomed to that.”

  A strange sadness crossed the round man’s face, but it hardened. “Yes, I am accustomed to that. Mayhap her strong will shall prove more effective with Clive than the last chit who … Never mind.”

  “Clive?” she whispered, afraid to hear the answer to her question. “Is Clive your son?”

  “Yes.” Sir Harlan had resumed drinking his tea as if nothing were amiss.

  “If you think I am going to marry an Englishman—”

  Captain Fitzgerald snapped, “You know nothing, girl. Be silent. We have no interest in hearing from you.”

  She rose, her chin jutting with defiance. “You shall hear from me. Even if you were my father, Captain Fitzgerald, I would not marry whomever you have chosen.”

  Sir Harlan pushed himself to his feet. His round face rutted with bafflement. “She is not your daughter? Then who is she?” He scowled. “Are you trying to foist a diseased doxy on me to cheat me?”

  “She is my daughter.” Captain Fitzgerald gripped her arm and shook her as a smile strained his tight lips. “The child of my adulterous wife, but legally mine. She has been raised by my brother and his puritanical wife, so she has not shared the carnal ways of her mother.”

  “And her mother?”

  “Dead.”

  Sir Harlan smiled. “Very good.”

  Furiously, Abigail snarled the French curse that Dominic had used so often. She was not sure what it meant, but she suspected Sir Harlan did when his face reddened. How dare he be pleased that her mother had died because she could not love the man who coveted her! She fought to escape Fitzgerald’s hold.

  He laughed at her fury. She was shoved into the chair again. Rubbing her aching arm, she started to stand. When Fitzgerald’s hand rose, Sir Harlan grasped it.

  “Do not strike her, Arthur,” he ordered.

  “What will a few bruises matter if they teach her to obey?” asked Captain Fitzgerald.

  “I do not want to give him any ideas.”

  “Him?” she whispered.

  Neither man answered her as they continued to argue.

  “Sir Harlan,” she asked when she could not tolerate their bickering any longer, “what is wrong with your son that he cannot find his own bride?”

  Rage turned the baronet’s face nearly purple. When he turned toward her, she pressed back against the chair. His hand rose and became a fist. She cringed, knowing that no one would halt him.

  At a knock, Sir Harlan froze. He grabbed the bottle of brandy and filled an empty cup. He downed it quickly. His smile returned to his lips as, waving his hand, he said, “Open the door, Abigail.”

  Wanting to tell him she did not run errands for British baronets, she stood. To balk now would mean being beaten. She could see that in his eyes. She had to cooperate until she could find a way out of this house. Then she would seek out allies for Dominic. Had he had a chance to alert them before he was called back by the missive from Captain Fitzgerald?

  As she went to the door, the heavy knocking became more insistent. She opened the door and stepped back with a frightened cry. Her eyes widened as she stared at a creature out of her worst nightmares.

  The man lurking in the hallway was as tall as Dominic, but was twice his breadth. Blond hair, unwashed and greasy, hung along his face, which was obscured by several days’ growth of beard. He hunched as he lurched toward her with a shuffling walk, as if his feet were too heavy to lift. His hands drooped at his side. From him came a shrill sound which hurt her ears. As her horror grew, she realized he was humming.

  “Sir Harlan?” she called without turning. She did not dare to, because she was not sure what this hideous creature would do. Noticing two bulky men behind him, she wondered why they were there.

  “Pretty.” The blond man stopped humming as he reached out to touch her hair. “Pretty.”

  “Go away,” she whispered. She tried to flee, but a chair blocked her escape. Was this how Captain Fitzgerald intended to break her to his will? She would lower herself to beg to escape this beast “Help me. Don’t let him near me! Please.”

  Captain Fitzgerald put his hand on her shoulder, but kept her between him and the huge man. “Watch your tongue, daughter. You are insulting Clive Morris, your betrothed.”

  “Betrothed? You want me to marry him?” With revulsion, she stared at the man’s slack jaw and his vacuous eyes
.

  When she took a step sideways, his huge paws caught her. His heavy hand patted her hair as if she were a favorite pet kitten. Over and over he repeated the same word. “Pretty. Pretty.”

  Appalled, she looked to one of the other men for help. None of them moved as they watched with what she did not want to believe was pleasure. She would have to escape alone. When she tried to pull away, Clive’s arms tightened around her. His fingers moved from her hair to touch the ribbons on her bodice. She cried out in disgust.

  His face altered with a fury that was stronger than any she had ever seen. She heard shouts of warning, but Clive’s fist caught her on the cheek. She fell to the floor.

  Sobbing, she paid no attention to the scuffle behind her. She hid her face against her arms and wept out all her pain. She cried for herself and for Dominic and for the love denied them by these men who had no idea of what love was.

  The door closed. A sharp order from Sir Harlan made her look up at his rock-hard scowl. He held out his hand. “Get up, Abigail,” he repeated.

  Knowing she had no other choice, she put her fingers on his hand and let him assist her to her feet. Fearfully she looked about, but the monster was gone.

  When Sir Harlan gripped her face, she groaned. His lips tightened with anger, but she could not be sure if he was furious at his son or at her. Glancing past her, he asked Captain Fitzgerald, “Does she always bruise this easily?”

  “I don’t know.” He poured himself some brandy, but offered none to Abigail, who could have used its golden warmth to soothe her. “I have not been around her enough to know.”

  “Do you, Abigail?”

  She drew herself out of Sir Harlan’s pudgy arms. Going to the tea tray, she dipped a napkin into the hot water. She pressed it to the tender spot on her left cheekbone. “I am afraid I bruise very, very easily, Sir Harlan. The legacy of being a redhead.”

  He cursed vividly. “How can I have my son marry a woman who has a blackened eye? What would the ton say?”

  “A bit of rice powder will cover it, and she will be wearing a veil,” Captain Fitzgerald said, refilling his cup. “Do not worry about it, Harlan.”

  “I shall not marry that—that thing!” Abigail cried.

  “Yes, you will.” Sir Harlan regained his composure and smiled. “You must never show anything but obedience to Clive. He needs to be treated with respect. Don’t be like the other one.”

  “What other one?”

  “Clive’s last betrothed. She unfortunately met with an accident before the wedding.”

  “Accident? What kind of accident?”

  “Her neck was broken. Most unfortunate, don’t you think?”

  “He did that to her?” She looked at Captain Fitzgerald and noted that his expression was studiously benign. He would not admit he had rid himself of his wife the same way. “If she was murdered, you—”

  Sir Harlan put his finger directly in front of her face. “It was an accident, Abigail. To suggest otherwise might cause needless trouble. Cooperate, or you might find it as uncomfortable for you here. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, you do.”

  He turned and yanked a bell pull. “I think it would be best if you retired now, Abigail. You will join us for dinner.”

  “I would rather not.” She touched her cheek.

  “My son does not dine with us. He eats in his private rooms. I suggest you join us, my dear, rather than dine with him. Since Clive has seen your loveliness, I think it would be wise to limit your meetings.” He cleared his throat. “Young men sometimes can be overcome with the longing for their bride before the wedding.”

  “You need not be delicate with me, Sir Harlan.” Abigail smiled. This was exactly the opening she had been waiting for. “Mayhap Captain Fitzgerald failed to mention that I am no longer a maiden. I know about a man’s desires.”

  As she had hoped, Sir Harlan flushed and rounded on Captain Fitzgerald. “Arthur, you said nothing of this!” Her dream of escape was dashed as he continued, “When? Is there any chance she could be pregnant?”

  Captain Fitzgerald nervously pulled at his collar. “’Tis possible. She and the Frenchman who is in your jail traveled across England from where the Republic went down.”

  “And you were this Frenchman’s lover?” the baronet demanded, scowling at her.

  She folded her arms in front of her and gave him her coolest smile. “Captain Dominic St. Clair is a very charming Frenchman, Sir Harlan.”

  He sniffed. “This causes a bit of a problem. The child must be Clive’s. There must be no question of that. It would be a shame not to wed him to your daughter. Not only does he find her appealing, but she has attributes I would like to see in my grandchildren.” He shrugged. “We will know within a few weeks. The wedding can be delayed until then.”

  Abigail hid her smile. A lot could happen in a few weeks. Only a few weeks ago, she had been sailing on the Republic, believing it was bound for the Caribbean. Since then, she had lived through disaster and found ecstasy. Surely in the same amount of time, she could devise a way to save both her and Dominic from their fates.

  Chapter Seventeen

  A silent servant led Abigail up the stairs to the room which would be hers while she waited for Sir Harlan to be satisfied that she was not pregnant. The woman had glanced at the mark on Abigail’s cheek in shock, but said nothing.

  Abigail kept her gaze on the floor tiles which peeked from beneath a carpet runner that covered the middle of the corridor. She wondered if it would be possible to pretend she was pregnant. No, that would be useless, because Sir Harlan would be determined that any child that was not his son’s would not survive to be born. Even deep in her thoughts, she noticed more than one door opening furtively so an inquisitive servant could peer out at the woman chosen to marry Clive Morris.

  The thought sent a shiver of disgust along her. No wonder Clarissa had been so appalled at the idea that her parents had invited Sir Harlan to their gathering. Although Abigail was curious why Sir Harlan was so desperate for a bride for this son and why Captain Fitzgerald had agreed for her to be that bride, she tried not to think of the horror of the creature’s touch. Only Dominic had caressed her like that. She did not want that monster to.

  “Miss Fitzgerald, these will be your rooms,” the maid said.

  “Thank you,” she said in a toneless voice. To release any emotion would free all her agony.

  She fought the temptation to surrender to her grief again. Not in the hall, the warning rang through her mind. If someone saw her collapse in tears, Sir Harlan would be informed posthaste. She did not want to give him any more satisfaction at her pain.

  The door closed behind her. Stiffly she crossed the antechamber to find another room beyond. Standing in the doorway, she leaned back against the door frame and closed her eyes. Mayhap if she opened them slowly, she would find this was just a nightmare. Then she could awake in Dominic’s arms in the grand bed at Sudley Hall as his kisses swept away these horrible memories.

  When her eyes opened, Abigail sighed. She had not escaped. The bedchamber before her was decorated in soft shades of rose and green. The high bed was topped with an enticing pile of lacy pillows that matched the thin curtains pulled back from French doors that led to a balcony. Chairs were arranged comfortably, and another door must open to a dressing room. It was lovely, perfect for Sir Harlan’s future daughter-in-law, but it was a prison.

  Stumbling forward, Abigail dropped onto the bed. She hid her face in the satin covers, wanting to call out to Dominic to rescue her, but he was suffering his own hell in that odious jail. Their adventure, which neither of them had guessed awaited them when they set sail, had come to an ignoble end. While he died at the end of a rope, she would be ravaged by that half-witted beast.

  Hands stroked her shoulders. She bit back a scream and looked up. A sigh of relief escaped her lips as she saw a black-haired woman standing behind her. The tall woman’s simple gown and tightly drawn back hair labeled her a servant
. She had many more freckles than Abigail.

  “Who are you?” Abigail asked.

  “My name is Tessie. I am here to help you.”

  A pulse of hope exploded through her, but she dampened it. Tessie was here to serve as her maid, not assist her in escaping.

  “Miss Abigail, calm yourself.” Tessie’s voice was sedate, although her wide eyes belied that serenity.

  “How can I be calm?” Abigail crossed to the double doors opening onto a small balcony overlooking the valley. “How can I be calm when I know Dominic is in prison and I am being condemned to torment here?”

  “Dominic?” The maid’s eyes grew even wider. “So it is true what is being whispered. You were with a French spy.”

  Abigail was no longer amazed how quickly gossip spread. “He is not a spy. He was just trying to get both of us out of England.” She sighed, not wanting to tell the whole story again. “Why are they doing this to us?”

  “Surely you heard about Sir Harlan seeking a bride for his want-witted son.”

  “Yes.”

  “Yours is not the first father to offer his daughter in exchange for the amount of money Sir Harlan has promised any father who gives his daughter as a bride for Clive.”

  She choked, “Money?”

  “Five thousand pounds at the wedding and five thousand more when the bride gives birth to a son.”

  Abigail dropped onto a chair and stared at her clasped hands. Too late, she understood why Captain Fitzgerald had brought her on this voyage. Value … she had some value for him. How many times had he said that during the trip down from London? For the first time in her life, he had said. He could make money from her while he sold her to a madman and his idiot son. It was all the sweeter for him because now he had a final revenge against her mother, for he was destroying her daughter’s life as well.