The Rogue's Redemption

by Ruth Axtell Morren

  Delia’s pretty gray eyes widened. “Is that old hag still around?”

  “My thoughts exactly. She’s not only still around, but as pushy as ever.” He shrugged. “All you need do is send Miss Leighton an invitation to your next party. The girl is young and passably pretty. She’ll find herself a suitor in no time.” And be beyond his reach.

  “You really don’t care?”

  Gerrit passed a hand over his eyes. The coffee had done nothing for his throbbing temples. “Why should I? She’s a young chit, much too innocent for me.”

  “Very well.” She thought a moment. “I know. I’ll ask dear Alexandra to invite her to her rout on Friday. All the best people will be there. She’s holding it after the theater to coincide with Convent Garden’s opening for the season. Are you going?”

  “I wasn’t planning to. What are they playing?”

  “Oh, just A Beggar’s Opera. Would you like me to save you a place?”

  He considered, then shook his head, thinking of things he’d rather do than sit through a melodramatic presentation of song and dance. “No, thanks. I’ll meet up with you later at Alexi’s.”

  “Very well.” She thinned her lips, clearly disappointed with his refusal. “At any rate, make sure you are there around midnight so you can introduce me to your little American.”

  He nodded.

  “It will be perfect.” She sat up, pushing the breakfast tray away from her. “Everyone will stop by Alexi’s after the show. I can introduce her to some of the most eligible beaus. Too bad it’s not the season. Do you know how long she’s to be in London?”

  “Haven’t a clue.” He remembered how crowded one of those affairs could be. “A rout can be a bit intimidating to a newcomer.”

  “Is she so very green? Don’t tell me she’s just out of the nursery. What a bore.”

  “Not exactly. She’s two-and-twenty.”

  Delia pursed her lips. “That’s a bit old still to be unmarried. What do you think is wrong with her?”

  He thought back to the fresh-faced young lady with a directness of speech and manner and a competent way with the ribbons. “Nothing, apart from being American. I don’t know how much of society she’s seen over there. She talks of her home as the frontier.”

  “A barbarian, how delicious.” Delia’s eyes lit up. “Has she been living among the savages? It sounds so very exciting. Oh, wait ’til I tell Alexandra. I shall go around as soon as I’m dressed.” She reached behind her mound of pillows and tugged on the embroidered bellpull. “What fun. Introducing a young lady to society. I’ve never done that before. Does she have a decent wardrobe, d’you know? What about her hair? I could recommend a good lady’s maid to her…”

  He remembered the tawny brown of her hair beneath her bonnet. Unlike most ladies, no curls had framed her oval face, but her straight locks had been pulled back, showing to greater advantage her fine cheekbones. “Don’t tell me you’re planning to parade Miss Leighton around as a novelty? I think not…although she does strike me as an original.”

  “That’s even better. Does she say outrageous things?”

  He regarded the tip of his boots against his sister’s jade-green carpet. “Nothing scandalous, she just has a very honest and frank way of expressing herself.”

  Delia laughed. “That could have dire consequences. What if we all went about saying exactly what we thought? No, it wouldn’t do.”

  “She’s not mean-spirited. I would venture to say she’s a breath of fresh air in a very stale environment.”

  His sister raised a finely shaped eyebrow at him. “Are you sure you’re not interested?”

  He shook his head. “Even if I were, I wouldn’t do anything about it. I’ve sworn off innocents for good.”

  She gave a laugh of disbelief. “Since when?”

  “Since the last one.” Before she could ask for specifics, he added, “Too many complications. Irate brothers, fathers…uncles…husbands…”

  “Husbands?” Her cup paused halfway to her mouth. “Since when do wives number among the innocent?”

  “When they don’t play by the rules of the game, and they happen to have husbands who are in love with them.”

  She leaned forward, her eyes brimming with curiosity. “I must hear more of this.”

  “Never mind.” He drained his cup, the cold dregs tasting bitter on his tongue. “How is Reggie, by the by?”

  Her smile froze and she set down her own cup without taking a sip. He could tell she didn’t like the question by the deliberate way she set down the cup and saucer on the tray. “He’s fine as far as I know. Why?”

  “No reason. Just thought I’d ask. Haven’t seen the old chap in a few weeks.”

  “He’s not old and if you haven’t seen him, it’s because you are frequenting those low-life taverns, by all accounts.”

  “Well, give him my regards, when you do see him. Now, back to Miss Leighton. You’ll look after her at the rout?”

  “Of course. It will give me something to do. London is so dismal this time of summer with almost everyone out of town. Where is your young lady staying?”

  He thought of this new knot. “You know, I never did find out. No matter, I shall be sure to see her at the Treadwells’ tomorrow night and can find out for you then.”

  “The Treadwells?” She wrinkled her nose. “Since when are you so hard-up for society?”

  “I’m not. I told you, Miss Leighton has been at Mrs. Bellows’s mercy.”

  She dropped a finger against her chin. “Oh, dear, as bad as that. Well, help is on the way.”

  Gerrit rose and came toward her. “I knew you’d understand.” He bent down and kissed her brow. “Well, I must be off.”

  “Good luck in not getting snared by the young American yourself, although, who knows, she might just be the answer to all your problems.”

  His hand paused on the door handle. “The least I can do is save her from myself.”

  With Delia’s laughter floating after him, he opened the door just as the maid arrived.

  “Where are you off to now?” his sister called out.

  He turned and winked. “To wangle myself an invitation to the Treadwells’.”

  Chapter Three

  Hester gave the young gentleman a wan smile as they came together in the dance, then stepped back from him as the music continued its lively pace.

  She was hot and bored. The young Mr. Sedgwick with his prominent teeth and eyes had latched onto her as soon as Mrs. Bellows had introduced him, making sure she knew he had “five hundred a year.”

  She had come to know what that meant. It seemed ever since she’d arrived in London, eligible gentlemen were not described by what they did—he’s a farmer, he’s a lumberer, he’s a first mate aboard the Alice Mae—but by how many pounds sterling he would receive yearly as soon as his sire passed away.

  What a strange land where men were not measured by what they did for themselves, but by whose name they carried and whose unearned wealth they would one day spend.

  As soon as the dance ended, Mr. Sedgwick escorted her back to Mrs. Bellows, but instead of leaving them, he graciously offered to bring them refreshment.

  “How thoughtful.” Mrs. Bellows beamed at him. “A little lemonade would be delightful.”

  Hester stood fanning herself as she looked around the spacious and well-lit room. The furnishings around her outdid anything she’d ever seen. She’d always thought her parents’ home comfortable and tastefully furnished, but it looked rustic and old-fashioned compared to the elaborate decor here.

  Pale-pink walls were topped by creamy white stucco carvings of urns, palm fronds and fruit. Greek statuary was placed at intervals along the walls and crystal chandeliers hung low from the ceiling.

  Mrs. Bellows’ glance followed the young man’s back as he left to fetch their refreshments. “Mr. Sedgwick is a most distinguished gentleman. He has five hundred a year, you know,” she whispered loudly behind her fan.

  “Yes, you tol
d me.” Hester continued scanning the room. Groups of foursomes had arranged themselves for the next set, a quadrille, and when the music started up, Hester amused herself watching them, tapping her fan against her palm in time to the music. She was thankful she knew most of the country dances, although she was glad she was standing this one out. The quadrille had just been imported from France. It hadn’t yet come to Bangor, so she was unfamiliar with its intricate steps. At least it wasn’t the scandalous German waltz, another new import.

  She smiled to herself, imagining her acquaintances, Ned, Tim, Nicholas, or much less, her younger brother, Jamie, behaving as gracefully as the elegant men she now watched.

  But she did enjoy listening to the measured strains coming from the full accompaniment of instruments at one end of the room, rather than a simple fiddler playing his heart and soul out.

  “Here you are, Mrs. Bellows, Miss Leighton.” Mr. Sedgwick handed her a cup, his gloved hands brushing hers in the exchange.

  “Thank you, Mr. Sedgwick,” she murmured, looking down to escape his obsequious smile and wondering if he would trail her all evening like a slimy snail. She swallowed a giggle, thinking how she would describe him to her sisters in her next letter.

  “I vow, there’s Mrs. Talmadge.” Mr. Sedgwick bent lower, forcing Hester to take a step back. “She shows a good deal of countenance after making a cake of herself over Lord Wilbur at Somerset House the other night.”

  “What did she do?” Mrs. Bellows edged closer to him, her nose quivering like a hound on the hunt.

  Hester turned away from her companions, her mother’s Scriptural teachings against gossip too ingrained. Her attention wandered back to the quadrille, but before it reached the end of the room, it was arrested by a bright scarlet uniform.

  Major Hawkes leaned against a satin wall, his arms folded across his chest, his gaze directly on her. Her heart flip-flopped. When had he arrived? The next instant he straightened and began heading toward her.

  Ignoring the erratic rhythm of her heart, she took the time to observe him. He was certainly an imposing figure. Were all the redcoats as splendid as Major Hawkes? His scarlet waist-length jacket was trimmed in lots of gold braid and buttons. A gold sash that crossed the front displayed a shiny gold badge with a silver star in its midst. A gilt gorget framed his high black neck cloth. Long legs encased in snug white trousers and tall black boots completed the uniform.

  Was it that, which made him seem larger than life? Hester had never seen such a splendid uniform. When the redcoats had invaded Bangor, her father had sent Hester and her younger siblings, along with their mother, out to a cabin they had in the woods, so she had never caught a glimpse of them, only heard the awful tales once she’d returned.

  Her mother would say the man was too handsome for his own good.

  She raised her eyes to find his deep blue eyes looking straight into hers. She drew in her breath at the sense of connection she felt with this foreign soldier who, as late as last winter, had been considered an enemy.

  “Good evening, Miss Leighton.” He bowed his head over her hand. How had it come to be so completely enveloped in his white-gloved one? Her throat felt dry, her breath short.

  “Mrs. Bellows.” He had already turned to her companions and Hester was free to study his profile. Everything about his features was perfect, from the high forehead to straight nose and strong jawline. His black hair was neatly trimmed and brushed away from his face.

  “Gerrit Hawkes!” Mrs. Bellows brought her hands up together in delight. “Is it captain?”

  “Major,” he corrected quietly.

  Her eyes widened. “Major! Indeed, I’ve heard of your heroism at Waterloo.”

  His blue eyes met Hester’s once again, a brief shadow flickering over them. Undoubtedly mention of the battle was painful to him. She glanced down at his arm, remembering his wound.

  “Have you met my young charge, Hester Leighton, from America?”

  “Indeed I have,” he replied. “At the Featherstone’s masquerade the other night.”

  “You were the mysterious officer!” Mrs. Bellows’ gloved hands came up to her rouged cheeks. “I was up all night going over all my acquaintances with sons in colors. I never guessed it was you. I didn’t realize you were back in London. I imagined you in Paris or Vienna since the Peace.”

  “Our company was sent home for rest and recuperation.”

  “Oh, dear, you weren’t wounded, I hope?”

  “Nothing serious. Nothing to preclude me from enjoying the delights of London.” The light returned to his eyes, again meeting Hester’s and she felt the bond between them deepen.

  Mrs. Bellows fairly twittered. “Oh, I’m glad of that! I hope we may see you at many of the coming events. Miss Leighton is eager to see the sights of our fair city…”

  Hester continued studying the major, or more accurately, her reaction to him. She couldn’t fathom it. When he turned to her and asked her for the dance, she acquiesced, deciding she must get to the bottom of this odd sense of communion with a gentleman she scarcely knew.

  He offered her his arm, a dimple deepened by his smile. “We meet again, Miss Leighton.”

  Was he teasing her, or did he feel it, too?

  She strove for lightness. “I’m surprised to see you tonight. I had the impression the other evening the Treadwells weren’t quite the thing.”

  “Did I give you that impression? If so, I beg your pardon,” he said, leading her toward a set that was forming.

  Now she knew he was laughing at her—or at himself, but she didn’t mind. As long as the haunted look was erased from his eyes.

  “If you saw some of the places I frequent, you’d realize what an improvement this gathering is.” His low voice rumbled in her ear as he leaned close to her.

  She felt her cheeks grow red at his sudden proximity. What would he consider worse than the Treadwells? She tried to picture what his life was like but could not imagine anything beyond the moment. Even Mrs. Bellows and Mr. Sedgwick had ceased to exist.

  Thankfully, the quadrille had ended and a simple country dance was forming.

  “Do you know this one?” Major Hawkes asked as they found their places in the two rows. “It’s called ‘Dainty Davy.’ Is it danced in America?”

  “Yes, I’ve danced it.” She felt reasonably confident of her ability to perform the figure. The caller would help with any variations in the way the dance might differ from the one across the Atlantic.

  The first bars of music began, giving her no time to say anything more. She curtsied lightly as he bowed to her.

  He was a superb dancer, and she wondered what he would say of some of the vigorous movements that passed for dance steps by the young men of Bangor. She hoped she was graceful enough to do justice to his partnering.

  Under his smooth leadership, she began to fully enjoy herself. She’d always liked to dance, but had scarcely had an opportunity since arriving in London.

  During one of the figures, where he took her hand and accompanied her up the row of dancers, he smiled at her. “Actually, I came this evening expressly looking for you.”

  She stumbled. “You did?”

  He led her back to the formation with expert precision before replying. “I did.” Again that smile that made her wonder what he found so amusing.

  She had to wait for an explanation until the dance steps brought them close enough again. This time they had a few more seconds to talk as they waited for the lead couple to perform the figure. “I wanted to advise you that you will be receiving an invitation for a rout given by the Duchess of Wakefield.”

  “That sounds quite grand.” Would he be there?

  “It can actually be quite dull, but it will give you an opportunity to meet my sister, Delia. The Duchess is a bosom friend of hers. My sister would love nothing better than to take you under her wing and introduce you ’round.” They parted again at the allemande.

  Hester had to wait for a few more dance figures before she could
talk to him again. “What about Mrs. Bellows?”

  “What about her?”

  “Doesn’t she have the job of introducing me?”

  “Does she?” He looked across her shoulder in the direction of Mrs. Bellows. “Is that young gentleman you were standing with an example of a possible suitor? Let me guess…he’s a solicitor with two-hundred pounds a year.” The major quirked an eyebrow at her.

  “Five hundred.” Laughter bubbled out of her, and she put a gloved hand to her mouth. “I suppose that’s not done,” she said.

  “Laughing during the lead outsides? No, it’s not the norm. I told my sister you were an original.”

  “A what?” It made her sound like a circus animal.

  “It means immediate notice in our jaded society. People will leap on you in their search for some novelty to distract them.”

  “They will be sorely disappointed when they find I’m nothing but an ordinary person.” Once again they stood facing each other.

  “Maybe what’s ordinary in your realm is extraordinary in theirs.”

  As they repeated the figures, Hester found herself more at ease. During the promenade down the middle and back, she said, “You speak as if you didn’t belong in this society.”

  “Perhaps not anymore.” He turned away from her to make his way back to his starting position.

  She pondered his reply. What had changed him? She glanced at his broad chest, noting again the star-shaped medal. The war, of course.

  He stepped up to her in the next figure. “Where are you and your father staying? I need to let her grace know so she can send you an invitation.”

  “Number fifteen, Curzon Street.” She laughed. “Is that an unfashionable address?”

  “Quite respectable.” A gleam of approval shone in his eyes. “Near Chesterfield House.”

  “Yes. It’s around the corner. It quite dwarfs every other house on the street.”

  “Have you let a house?”

  “Yes. Papa found it through his agent in London.”