Folly's Reward

by Jean R. Ewing

  Harry leaned back and kicked his feet up on the opposite seat. Apart from a screaming headache and the remaining unpleasant curl of nausea, he seemed to be uninjured. Beneath the pounding hammers in his skull, his thoughts and memories rang clear as a bell.

  He tried his best to make sense of them.

  “Tell me, sir,” he said idly after a moment. “Why did you seize the child in Oxford?”

  “Little Lord Dunraven? Why, the lad ran straight into me, Mr. Acton. I meant him no harm, I assure you. No, you’re the one as I’ve been paid and contracted to trace and bring back. And a merry dance you’ve led me!”

  Harry glanced from the window at the passing fields and trees. It was raining again. He laughed.

  “I seem to have led everyone a merry dance, including myself. But if we can’t dance and be merry, then life is a short, sorry mess, isn’t it?”

  Sergeant Keen looked at his prisoner with undisguised curiosity.

  “Now why the devil should a young cove like you be so bitter about life, sir?”

  * * *

  In the small study at Acton Mead, the fire was dying down. Every possible explanation and idea had been exchanged.

  “Then I think,” Lord Belham said at last, “that we must go to Scotland at the earliest opportunity.”

  Lady Acton laughed at him over her fan, but a brittle edge marked her voice.

  “You are prepared to leave the delights of town to rescue my son, Marquess? I’m so grateful that I believe I shall also journey to Scotland. Someone must act chaperone to Miss Drake, after all.” She turned to Prudence. “You shall come, too, Miss Drake.”

  “Why me?” Prudence said. Her heart was beating too hard again.

  “You’re the only one here who can recognize Harry’s attacker, my dear. You will escort us, also, Richard?”

  “Of course,” Richard replied. “Harry saved my life last winter. I owe him that much, at least.”

  His eyes met Helena’s. She smiled at him.

  “I cannot leave Bobby,” Prudence said. “And he cannot travel so far again.”

  “Bobby can stay with me.” Helena took Prudence’s hand and squeezed it gently. “No harm will come to him here, Miss Drake. I promise you.”

  Lord Belham studied her gravely. His expression held something that Prudence couldn’t understand, something which still caused a small curl of uneasiness.

  “If you will grace us with your company, Miss Drake, I shall endeavor to convince you while we travel that I am not responsible for Mr. Acton’s abduction, although I would like to talk to him. Neither do I intend harm to the small Lord Dunraven, in spite of anything the dowager countess may have told you.” The marquess held up his signet ring. He smiled, but it held a grim enough edge. “These baleful eagles have haunted me all of my life. It’s the very devil to have such a splendid reputation for wickedness, so in this instance I can only ask you to trust me.”

  Prudence hesitated. How could she know whom to trust?

  Lady Acton stood up, and her black gaze met Lord Belham’s. Every line of the countess’s elegant figure was rigid, like that of a horse scenting danger and throwing up its head. She did not turn away from the marquess, although her words were directed at Prudence.

  “I can guarantee that the child will be safe at Acton Mead, Miss Drake. After all, his wicked guardian will be on the road to Scotland with us, and getting farther from the boy every day. But I cannot be certain of the safety of my son. Surely you would not refuse us your assistance?”

  Prudence looked away from her and caught Helena’s reassuring smile again. She closed her eyes for a moment. There were undercurrents in this room she couldn’t possibly understand. Which of them were dangers to Harry?

  Bobby had certainly earned a respite from travel and change. Helena would give him all the warmth and love that anyone could wish. And this time, she must put Harry before the child. Whatever the mystery about him, plain Miss Prudence Drake had become part of the puzzle. If Fate would somehow grant her that chance, she would sacrifice anything to be part of the solution.

  “If I can be of help, I will gladly come with you, Lady Acton,” Prudence said. “But only because I trust Lady Lenwood with Bobby more than it seems I can trust myself. With me he has only been in discomfort and danger for weeks.”

  “Then, for heaven’s sake, let’s call for the carriages! We shall put ourselves in Lord Belham’s hands—since he seems to know more about Harry’s purposes than his own family—and see how far we can trust him.”

  Lady Acton gave the marquess a dazzling smile. He did not smile back. Instead he fixed her lovely face with his dark gaze until she turned away. A small flush colored her perfect complexion and she closed her fan with a snap.

  * * *

  It was a very different journey from the wild flight Prudence had made south with Hal. Two expensive carriages, each emblazoned with a coat of arms; a bevy of outriders arranging their team changes and accommodation as they traveled; the most direct route on the main turnpike north.

  Richard rode with the marquess in his great coach with the glaring eagles on the door. Prudence traveled with Lady Acton and tried to avoid Lord Belham.

  How could she trust him? He had admitted that Admiral Rafter had sent him Harry’s coded note, and that he knew what it meant. Yet he had refused to share that information with anyone, even Richard, insisting that the contents of the message were Harry’s business alone. Nor did he say where they were going. But he seemed to think it urgent that they travel as fast as possible.

  Meanwhile, whenever they were forced to stop for a meal or a change of horses, Richard was kind and solicitous, but he seemed deeply preoccupied. Prudence knew that he was fiercely missing Helena and deeply worried about his brother.

  Was he also regretting taking Lord Belham into their confidence?

  Lady Acton remained cool and unruffled, always perfectly groomed and collected. In contrast, Prudence was painfully aware of the shabby state of her clothes and the vast social gulf that lay between a governess and a countess.

  Yet Harry’s mother did not dwell on their difference in either status or appearance. Instead she made amusing, intelligent, and deceptively random conversation.

  On the afternoon of the second day that changed.

  “You must have come to know my son quite well, Miss Drake,” Lady Acton said casually as they climbed back into the carriage after lunch at an inn. She settled her skirts on the seat and smiled at Prudence. “No doubt you found him capricious at times.”

  “Yes,” Prudence said. “Sometimes.”

  “As the second son, Harry has had a great deal to contend with. He has no title, while Richard will become an earl. Harry inherits nothing, except for what I can leave him of my own money, or what his father might choose to give him from the secondary properties. King’s Acton is entailed with the earldom, and Lord Acton’s mother left Acton Mead to Richard, as well. Harry was Richard’s heir until he married, of course, but when Helena has a son, Harry’s future narrows with absolute certainty.”

  Prudence swallowed her consternation. Did Lady Acton have a deeper purpose in telling her that Harry was dependent on his father’s good will? This could hardly be idle conversation. In fact, none of Lady Acton’s conversation had seemed idle to Prudence. Since they had left Acton Mead, she had felt that she was being very carefully, though very gently, examined.

  “Is Harry envious of Richard, then?”

  The black eyes met hers. “Not in the least. Richard always loved him too well. There is a deeper bond between my sons than there is between either of them and their father. But Lord Acton has wished that Harry was the heir since the day he arrived. The earl never troubled to hide his partiality. It wasn’t easy for the boys.”

  Prudence thought briefly of her own brothers and sisters. They had never for one moment thought that their parents had a favorite, but of course there hadn’t been any earldom to inherit.

  “Lord Acton preferred Harry to Richar
d? Why?”

  Lady Acton adjusted her gloves. “Because Acton feared that Richard was not actually his son.”

  Prudence was shocked into silence. She studied the elegant line of the countess’s traveling dress and the enchanting curve of her neck and jaw. She was so beautiful. Twenty-five years ago she must have been stunning.

  Lady Felicity Roseleigh before her marriage—one of the famous Roseleigh roses immortalized by Gainsborough, the beautiful daughters of the late Duke of Bydover.

  “Lord Acton is very English—fair hair, blue eyes. He thought that his first child should look exactly like him. Instead, Richard’s eyes were jet black, even as a baby. In the earl’s mind it raised questions. And, of course, he already knew that I loved someone else.”

  Was Lady Acton admitting to infidelity to her husband?

  The countess laughed at Prudence’s dismay.

  “You come from a staid Scottish home, don’t you? Don’t let me shock you. Such things are common enough among us, I’m afraid. One of my own sisters has given each of her offspring a different father. Acton was insecure and jealous because he was ten years my senior and ours was an arranged marriage, but I am not a fool. My children are all my husband’s. That became obvious enough as Richard grew older, but Harry remained the favorite. It has been a dreadful burden to him.”

  “That the earl favored him?”

  “Of course. To a child of Harry’s temperament it was hateful to see his father unfairly punish the brother he loved, or blame only Richard when they both ran into mischief. Lord Acton demanded a level of perfection in Harry that would have broken a less gifted child. It’s an agony to him if he thinks he has let those standards down. Have you ever seen him shoot?”

  “Yes, he was testing new pistol designs for Mr. MacEwen at the Manse.”

  The countess glanced from the coach window. “It’s almost frightening, isn’t it? Such a passion for accuracy and faultlessness! Harry needs to learn that he can fail, that he’s only human. I’m very glad that he never went to war. The Peninsular Campaign almost destroyed Richard. Helena saved him.”

  “Lady Acton, why are you telling me all this?”

  “Because I have seen enough of the world and far too much of love, my dear. Harry is more precious to me than I can tell you. I would sacrifice anyone or anything for him. But my sons are hard on women.”

  Prudence felt the blush start somewhere at the base of her neck and burn slowly up her cheeks.

  The countess gazed steadily at the passing countryside. “When Richard married Helena, I thought he would break her heart, and he very nearly did. I tried to warn her. But, because she loved him, Helena did not give up. I know you love Harry. I am asking you not to fail him—not to give up, whatever he might do.”

  “How can you know what I feel?”

  Lady Acton’s tones were very soft, but quite serious. “I knew it the minute mentioned his name, when I found you there in Richard’s curricle. You spent how many weeks alone with him? Harry is far too attractive to women. I’ve seen females with far more sophistication than you lose their hearts to him, my dear.”

  “But you cannot possibly approve?”

  “Marriage with you would be impossible, certainly. The earl would never allow it. Apart from anything else, he controls Harry’s allowance and his future security. But my son’s happiness is paramount with me, Miss Drake. If Harry wants you and you love him, for heaven’s sake, at least become his mistress.”

  Prudence felt as if she were being attacked by a battery of guns. Yet Lady Acton meant no cruelty, she was only speaking the truth. Nevertheless, Prudence burned with a hot rush of rage.

  “How do you know that I have not already done so?”

  Lady Acton raised a delicate brow. “Do you really believe that I cannot recognize a virgin?”

  “Then you think I should sacrifice my honor in a vain attempt to offer love to your son?”

  The countess turned to her with something very close to ferocity.

  “Is bedding a man such a huge thing? It’s been done since the dawn of time, and by better women than you. You love him, and Harry has too much honor to leave you in want. Why not? He would provide for you even after he married.”

  “He would despise me, and more importantly, he would despise himself.”

  “Dear God! I have talked with Richard. Something has happened that is eating Harry alive. I don’t know what it is, but I’m afraid of what he might do. Lord Acton wants him to marry one of the Salisbury girls, and in some wild gesture of conciliation to his father, he might do it. They are grasping, cold-hearted creatures. Either of them could damage him beyond repair, especially if he had nowhere else to go to for warmth.”

  “You think I could give him that warmth?” Prudence was almost choking. “That taking someone like me for a mistress would prevent that?”

  “It might. Yet I will not see my children forced into loveless marriages as I was, just because they have the misfortune to be earl’s sons.”

  But he wanted to marry me! Prudence thought. Should I have accepted? Was it some kind of selfish, foolish pride that I did not? He cannot help it that he loves Helena. What man would not? But even without that, Harry’s father would destroy him if he married without his consent.

  Lady Acton wrung a hand across her eyes. Prudence realized with sudden insight quite how much this conversation must be costing Harry’s mother.

  “You did not love Lord Acton at all?”

  The countess glanced up. She arched a graceful brow and smiled with something close to derision. It made her look very like her son.

  “No, of course not. I was in love with someone else, but my father wouldn’t hear of a match between us. Unfortunately, Acton knew how I felt, which is why he was jealous. But Richard is the earl’s child.”

  So this elegant, cool countess had known some deep suffering of her own. What sympathy could Prudence possibly offer that wouldn’t sound clumsy?

  “Harry told me your father was the Duke of Bydover. That’s a very powerful place in the peerage, isn’t it? Wasn’t it natural that he would want the most consequence for you?”

  “The most consequence? No, he wanted the most respectability. The man I loved had too wild a reputation for my father’s taste. In spite of his splendid prospects, he was known as a rake and a gambler—and he was very nearly involved in a huge public scandal.” Her lip curled. “But he was destined to be a higher lord than the Earl of Acton. He was the eldest son of a marquess.”

  Prudence knew that she was scarlet. “A marquess?”

  “Indeed, my dear. I was sixteen and he was only twenty, with all the brittle pride of youth. Yet he begged my father for my hand, swore to reform, to submit to any condition—however humiliating—if we could marry. He even offered to wait until I was older, so that he could prove himself. My father forbade him the house, and I was married to Acton within the month. Yet when Richard arrived, the earl thought that he might be a lover’s child. The man’s eyes were as black as mine, you see. As black as Richard’s. Haven’t you guessed?”

  The carriage ran on through the English countryside for a few moments in silence, except for the creaking of leather and wood, and the rhythmic beat of the horses’ hooves.

  Prudence took a deep breath, for her emotions threatened to suffocate her.

  “It was Lord Belham? Lady Acton, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say.”

  Harry’s mother gazed calmly from the window, but her voice burned with passion.

  “Yet you are still worried that Lord Belham means harm to my son? Now you see that such a thing is preposterous, because the marquess is still in love with me. It’s also impossible that he intends harm to the child, for I know what Belham is and what’s in his soul. Put your mind at rest, Miss Drake. Lord Belham is not your villain.”

  “Then who is?” Prudence asked.

  “I cannot tell you, but I want you to know that Lord Belham, too, married someone else. She died in childbirth, heartb
roken, a year later. My father’s demands ruined all of our lives. I shall not let my husband’s expectations ruin my children’s. I would have Harry marry for love. Yet he cannot marry you.”

  “I would never accept him,” Prudence said. “I would not beggar him, or cause him harm.”

  The countess turned to Prudence. Tears blurred her black eyes.

  “Nevertheless, if you love Harry, Miss Drake, I expect you to help me.”

  * * *

  They reached Glasgow late in the evening. For the first time, Lord Belham announced that they would stop for the night. Prudence was shown into her own spacious chamber where, from sheer exhaustion, she fell asleep instantly in the huge feather bed.

  In the morning the English coaches were left at the inn. The ladies were to travel on into the Highlands in a narrow carriage, which Lord Belham hired for the purpose, while the gentlemen rode alongside.

  “I learned the last time,” the marquess said dryly, “that I’d have been better to have left my own rig behind. The roads out of Glasgow were built to accommodate soldiers marching on foot. They’re the very devil on a decent coach.”

  “The last time?” Prudence asked.

  He looked at her and laughed.

  “Indeed, Miss Drake. Where did you think we were going? I already discovered just how bad is the road to Dunraven. I’m damned if I want to walk there again.”

  * * *

  A gilt-green tinge delicately decorated the landscape. Most of the snow had melted, except in pockets on the high peaks.

  The stone walls of Dunraven Castle smiled in the spring sunshine like an old gray cat. As the little cavalcade drew up before the massive oak doors, Prudence stared up at the battlements.

  Why did she want Bobby to come into this inheritance? She had lived here for only two months, and never left these hulking walls and barren courtyards. It was a grim enough place for a small child.

  Geordie leaned from the top of the wall and glared down at them, his white hair shining like snow.