A Brother's Honor

by Ferguson, Jo Ann

  When Abigail opened her eyes to see Dominic’s sad smile, she did not speak. Holding up her lips for his kiss, she swallowed her sobs. To ruin their time together with tears was something she had vowed not to do.

  He held her in silence. She knew he was no more willing than she to speak the truth about the fear within their hearts that they never would be able to share this ecstasy again. As his fingers traced an aimless path along her arm, she stared at the filthy ceiling.

  “Hush, chérie,” he whispered. Only then did she realize her sobs had escaped.

  “I love you so very much, Dominic,” she moaned through her grief.

  “And so very well.”

  At his light tone, her lips demanded the chance to smile. That he could joke in the face of death proved to her that Captain Dominic St. Clair was not ready to cede himself to English justice. What exactly he had written in the note she take to London she still did not know, but she suspected he planned on being rescued in a most spectacular way if the crew of La Chanson could reach him in time.

  Leaning on her elbow, she looked down into his smiling face. He tickled her side, and she laughed with a happiness she had not expected she ever could know again. Her amusement faded as she realized Dominic wanted his legacy to her to be a love laced with laughter.

  He reached past her, and she watched in confusion as he drew off his ring. “Take this, chérie.” He pressed it into her hand.

  “But why?”

  “In case all does not go as we hope when you are in London.” When she looked at him in wide-eyed horror, he smoothed the furrows from her brow. “Take it back to Château Tonnere du Grêlon. Sometime, when there is peace between our nations again, return it to where my father’s heart rests.”

  “Dominic, don’t talk like this.”

  “If you can find any of the St. Clairs, tell them I died bravely in the service of my country.” A tender smile lessened the harsh line of his mouth. “Tell them as well that you are the woman I have loved as I loved no other. Tell them you are the one who would have borne my name if I had not died too soon.”

  She dropped the ring on his broad chest. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she hid her face in her hands. A pang sliced through her as she heard him speak of marriage. That was what she faced in Sir Harlan’s house, but that marriage would be hellish.

  “Chérie?”

  “Don’t ask, Dominic,” she whispered. She could not tell him of the fate that Captain Fitzgerald had arranged for her.

  “Chérie?” He drew her hands from her face and clasped them between his. “Do not weep for me. Do not weep for yourself. So many wander through life without finding this love we have discovered. Would you rather that we had not had this joy which cannot be taken from us?”

  His easy acceptance of death should have strengthened her. If only she could share her pain with him … No! For the thousandth time, she reminded herself of how she wanted to let him go to the gallows thinking he had saved her.

  Rising, she said, “I must get dressed. Pritchard will be back soon. He never lets me have a second longer with you than I can pay for.”

  Dominic watched in silence as she hurriedly pulled on her clothes. As his gaze traced the slender lines of her body disappearing beneath her chemise and stockings, he wondered what else she was hiding from him. Something more than her fear for him. Something that held her in a captivity as horrifying as his. When she glanced at him and quickly away, he wanted to take her by the shoulders and shake her until she told him the truth.

  During her first visit, he had guessed that her deepening terror was all for him. He had become less certain of that on her later visits. Her eyes shied from his each time he spoke of the future. Something was frightening her beyond the walls that kept him from seeing the rest of the world. His one attempt to get information from Pritchard had sent the turnkey into paroxysms of laughter. That had made him more certain that Abigail’s fear went beyond seeing him hang. Something was sucking her down into horror.

  With a half-bitten-off oath, he stood. He pulled his shirt on and sighed. If only he could tell her about how often he savored his fantasy of escaping to the free life of La Chanson with her by his side. She never had been on his ship, but he thought frequently of her by his side at the helm as they faced the tempests the sea threw at them. He doubted if she would believe that he ever had thought of her being there, for he had told her too often that he could not have both her and his ship. Even though he had been honest with her in the past, he could not tell her now that, after having been without La Chanson and without her, he missed Abigail far more than his ship.

  He said nothing as he walked to her. Slowly he hooked her dress closed. After she twisted her hair up and settled her bonnet over it, he took her left hand. He placed his ring on her fourth finger and closed her fingers around it.

  “Remember,” he said. “If something happens to me, take this ring to my family in France. And make sure you tell them you are the woman I loved.”

  Gazing up at him, Abigail fought her sorrow as her tears blurred his strong face. “I shall try,” she whispered. She knew that if he did not live to escape and take her with him, she would fail to keep this vow. Sir Harlan would never allow her to leave until she gave birth to a healthy child. Then another and another until he was assured of an heir who would reach its majority.

  “I know you will.” He bent to kiss her cheek.

  The key rattling in the door kept her from replying. Picking up her bag, she went to the door. Pritchard snarled some insult at her, but she ignored him as she blindly went out into the hallway. She did not turn to look at Dominic. Neither of them had spoken of her errand in London, but he knew, as she did, that if she failed, the next time she saw him might be when he was led to the gallows.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Abigail eased the box from the safe, careful not to bang Dominic’s ring, which she wore on her finger with several layers of fabric wrapped around its back so it would not slide off. Glancing toward the door of the study, she saw Tessie watching her as she held one hand on the door. No one would enter without Tessie hearing them. They must not be discovered here. If Sir Harlan came in now, Abigail was not sure if his desire for a grandchild would outweigh his fury at her attempt to rob him.

  She had no choice, if she wanted to help Dominic. Her visit yesterday to the prison had taken the last of Tessie’s cache. Help in London would cost even more dearly, so Abigail had to have a way to buy it. The solution was so simple. Sir Harlan had this jewelry locked away here where it helped no one.

  Now the jewels would be the way to buy a messenger to take Dominic’s message to his ship. She hoped that if she gave one of the pieces to the man named Red at the Brass Fish, he would accept it in exchange for having the letter taken to La Chanson de la Mer.

  In spite of knowing she must remain silent, Abigail gasped as she lifted the top of the velvet-lined box. Her fingers trembled as she took out an emerald necklace. By the door, Tessie pressed her hand over her mouth to keep her amazement silent, too.

  Abigail started to put it back in the box. It was so lovely with its intricate pattern of stones blinking like feline eyes amid twistings of gold and pearls.

  “Miss Abigail,” hissed Tessie, “what are you doing?”

  “It is too beautiful to steal.”

  The maid stormed across the room, her eyes narrowed with fury. “Are you mad? He is planning to steal your life from you. Your life and the man you love. What could be more beautiful than the life you could share with Captain St. Clair?”

  Abigail’s fingers tightened on the necklace until the faceted gems cut into her palm. “You are right.”

  “Then do not feel guilty for taking this one thing from him before he takes everything from you.” Tessie’s eyes filled with tears. “I hope it is the finest piece in there, for he stole the finest part of my life when he did nothing when his son killed my sister.”

  Coming around the desk, Abigail gave the maid a quick hug
. “Thank you for all your help.”

  “Just foil his plans and you will have repaid me.”

  “Will you come to London with me?”

  Tessie’s eyes widened. “You want me to go with you?”

  “Yes.” She shoved the necklace into her reticule and grasped Tessie’s hand. “I will need all the allies I can get there. I do not know if Lady Sudley will still be willing to help when I tell her the truth.”

  “That Captain St. Clair’s ship was a part of the French blockade?”

  Abigail nodded as she closed the box and went to place it back in the safe. “I can only hope her gratitude that he saved her children will make her anxious to help us.”

  Although she wished she could put the box beneath the rest of the boxes and papers in the safe, she did not want anyone to suspect anything had been disturbed. She replaced the key in the drawer and checked to be sure that nothing appeared amiss.

  Tessie followed in silence as Abigail slipped past the door and into the hallway. Even though she had her back to the maid, she sensed Tessie’s tension. She wanted to tell Tessie to pretend to be calm, but how could Abigail ask that when she was struggling to appear unruffled herself? She fought her feet which wanted to send her scurrying up the stairs.

  In her rooms, Abigail sank into the closest chair and stared down at the reticule in her lap. Tessie rang for tea.

  “Two cups,” Abigail ordered.

  “Two?”

  “You look as peaked as I feel.” Abigail managed a smile. “Mayhap we should order some of Sir Harlan’s brandy, too.”

  “It will be better if I keep busy.” Tessie rubbed her hands together. “I will finish packing for you.”

  Abigail drew out the necklace. “Hide this in the toe of one of my shoes. I doubt that anyone will look for it there.” She hesitated, then asked, “Do you want to remain here instead of going to London? I cannot ask you to go if you do not want to. Sir Harlan would give you your leave and make sure you never worked anywhere else in England if he discovers you have been aiding me.”

  “Miss Abigail …”

  Abigail smiled as she put her hand on her friend’s arm. “Be honest, Tessie. I have asked so much of you already. Your loyalty, your savings, your help with a crime that could send both of us to the gallows along with Dominic.”

  “I will go with you.” Her smile was as forced as Abigail’s. “What does it matter if you and Captain St. Clair die alone or with me?”

  “It matters to you.”

  Tessie’s smile vanished. “What matters to me is seeing Sir Harlan denied his wishes for another heir so I have my vengeance on him.”

  Abigail was not sure how to answer that, or if there even was an answer.

  “This is most unexpected.” Lady Sudley set her teacup on the table and folded her hands in her lap. Her pose of serenity was ruined by dismay burning in her eyes.

  Abigail had not tried to pick up her own cup, because her fingers were trembling too hard. “I know we should have told you the truth from the beginning, my lady, but with Dominic injured and being here in England and—”

  “Say no more, Abigail.” She sighed. “You had no reason to trust me then, nor do you have any more reason to trust me now.”

  “That is not true.”

  “You believe that because Captain St. Clair rescued my children from a highwayman I will set aside my loyalty to England and assist him in escaping and preying on English ships again?”

  “No.”

  “No? Then what?”

  Abigail swallowed harshly. She had known how difficult this interview with Lady Sudley would be in the exquisite parlor overlooking the gardens of the house set next to a park. The net of lies had closed around them, capturing them as completely as the prison bars did Dominic.

  “Lady Sudley,” she said, her voice dropping to a near whisper, “I believed that you would help us because I know you are a woman of honor.”

  “A woman of honor would not consider betraying her country.”

  “But a woman of honor would not want to see a man slain simply because he stands in the way of Sir Harlan Morris obtaining a bride for his son and an heir.”

  Lady Sudley, for the first time since Abigail had met her, lost her cool tranquillity. Pressing her hand to her bodice, she stared at the closed door. “You are to marry his son? I had no idea. Why didn’t you put that in your note?”

  “I need to keep the situation quiet until I can be certain there is no way to free Dominic from his prison and from the gallows.”

  “So you would risk marrying that mindless beast in order to save Captain St. Clair?”

  Abigail nodded, not wanting to waste even a moment to explain that Clive was not truly a beast, just a poor soul who was his father’s way to obtain a victory over his wife. “I love Dominic.”

  “Ah, that always explains so much.” Lady Sudley’s stiff pose relaxed. “My dear child, you did not need to tell me that. I saw with my own two eyes how you and Captain St. Clair were so very deeply in love.” Coming to her feet, she went to the closed door and opened it. She smiled as she faced Abigail. “I believe Lord Sudley will be able to keep Sir Harlan Morris occupied for as long as necessary.”

  Abigail laughed. “Sir Harlan wishes your patronage so much that he would be willing to do almost anything.”

  “Almost anything, save letting you break the betrothal.”

  “Yes.” She dampened her lips. “Even if he were to agree, I fear it would mean Dominic’s death, for Sir Harlan would have no further reason to let him live. Captain Fitzgerald knows that if Dominic escapes, the French will have the proof they need to capture and hang any of the surviving crew of the Republic.”

  “So it seems that your plan to seek out allies remains the best one.” Lady Sudley suddenly gave a smile as mischievous as her children’s. “Then I suspect I have the very best way for you to achieve that.”

  Abigail locked her hands together. “So you will help us?”

  “Yes, gladly.” She crossed the room and put her hands on Abigail’s shoulders. “The debt we owe Captain St. Clair will not go away simply because he fights for our enemies. Nor can I forget one fact that you have so graciously not mentioned. My household failed to protect you, giving Captain Fitzgerald’s men a chance to kidnap you from beneath our very noses. That failure has led you and Captain St. Clair to this predicament, and it must be rectified.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Do not thank us yet.” Walking to the door, Lady Sudley stared at the closed one across the hall where her husband was in conference with Sir Harlan. “If what you are trying fails, I am not sure that we can do anything more to help you.”

  “I understand.”

  “I am sure you do, but I am equally sure that I hope you never have to face the high cost of failure.”

  That, too, Abigail could agree with, for then the nightmares that stalked her while she slept would become reality.

  Abigail stepped out of the hired carriage on the twisting street near the Thames. By this time, the Sudleys’ carriage with Tessie wearing Abigail’s favorite cloak must be most of the way back to Mayfair. Abigail had slipped out of the carriage near the old city gate. How she would return to it so Tessie could stop riding around and around the park she was not quite certain. She hoped that inspiration would come by the time she had completed her errand.

  The breeze from the river urged her to hurry. Her nose wrinkled as some disgusting odor surged around her, rising up from the waters. She wondered how Dominic survived in his stench-ridden prison cell.

  As she walked along the wooden pier, she glanced at the ships edging the wharves. She must not wander too close to the Torch, for if one of her father’s crew recognized her, everything would be for naught.

  She ignored the men she passed as she hurried toward the tavern she knew was the Brass Fish. Several of the men near the walkway called out, but she pretended not to hear their lecherous suggestions. If they thought she was just another whore
, they would soon forget her.

  Opening the tavern door, Abigail glanced overhead at the sign, which creaked threateningly. She scurried beneath the fish, whose gold paint was peeling. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness inside, she tried not to choke on the odor of cheap whiskey. Carefully she picked her way around the unwashed tables.

  On the far side of the room, the lone man in the tavern looked up, then leaned back on the keg beside him. With his knife, he continued to pare his nails. “Wrong door, darlin’. Get outta here.”

  “Are you Red?”

  “Aye, that I be.” He cocked an eyebrow and pushed aside the gray hair which once must have been the same color as hers. “And what be ye wanting, darlin’?”

  “A friend of mine asked me to contact you.”

  “A friend?” He stood with the help of a crutch. As he crossed the shadowed room, she saw that his right leg had been sheared off in the middle of his thigh. His empty breeches leg flapped in tempo with his odd gait.

  Swallowing her dismay at the sight, Abigail choked, “My friend needs a message delivered.”

  “Where and when?”

  “Immediately.” She hesitated as she added, “To Calais.”

  His eyes narrowed as he appraised her. “Expensive task your friend has given you.”

  Abigail was glad she was prepared. As if it were of the least importance, she said, “Money means little at this point. What we are discussing is if you can deliver this message for my friend.”

  “We can play these games all day,” he answered with a sudden grin. “I have my price which ye must pay if ye want the message delivered, Miss Fitzgerald.”

  “How do you know me?” she gasped.

  He lowered himself awkwardly to a stool and pushed one toward her with his dirty crutch. As she sat, he leaned his elbow on the table and withdrew his knife to continue cutting his nails. “’Tis all about Town that Sir Harlan Morris found himself a lass to marry his witless son.”

  “I did not guess you were current with the Polite World’s on dits.”

  “On dits?” He grinned. “Did St. Clair teach ye that Frenchie talk?”