Bound by Decency

by Claire Ashgrove

  “Since Prescott is no longer my name, we’ll limit formalities to public use.” She looked beyond him, at an estate perched on the hill. “There’s my home.” She pointed to the lighted windows. “It appears Father is still awake.”

  They hit another hole, and India gasped with the shock of pain. Cringing, she folded her arms over her chest more tightly. “I’ll introduce you when we arrive and insist on your staying in the guest room. Tomorrow, if Richard has returned—and he swore he would by the first of August—I will make the necessary introductions.”

  Tom’s voice softened with concern. In the pointed manner so typical of pirates, he nodded at her folded arms and lowered his voice. “When will the babe come?”

  “God’s teeth, does everyone know?” she asked in a fierce whisper.

  He flashed her a boyish grin. “I only just made the association.”

  A warm flush infused her blood. “Make no mention of this to anyone.”

  Frowning, he scolded, “I am not so tactless. I haven’t been so long at sea that I’ve become forgetful of propriety.”

  “Yes, yes, I’m sorry.” She reclined against the wooden sidewall, hoping for a better position. “Nerves have possessed me.”

  With the affection a brother would offer a sister, he patted her trouser-clad knee. “I won’t disappoint you.”

  “It’s not you I’m worried about. What if I can’t find the ledger?”

  Tom nudged her canvas with his bare toe. “You still have the flags Drake secured.”

  Yes, she did, but they wouldn’t do her any good without the ledger. She nodded anyway.

  The wagon slowed as it rounded the last bend to her father’s estate. Outside the window, sweeping gardens emerged. Blood red dahlias bloomed amidst thick greens that were manicured into an array of shapes and figures. Her favorite, a massive horse head, stood sentry near the pebbled walk that led to the front porch. As a child, she’d made the beast her friend. Prancer.

  She couldn’t deny a bit of sentimental warmth crept in to ease the chill in her veins. Coming home still held the same appeal it had after the countless trips to London during the heyday of her youth. Then, she’d been sick of all the silliness associated with balls and parties and courting. Now, home was just a familiar sight to fill the emptiness in her soul.

  The wagon rolled to a stop, and the horses let out a shrill whinny. Behind the sprawling house, a horse in her father’s stable answered the high-pitched call.

  “Ready?” Tom asked.

  “I don’t have much choice, do I?” She nodded at the window as beyond, the front door opened. Billings, her father’s manservant, stepped onto the porch, lantern held high.

  Tom gave India’s shoulder a squeeze, then scrambled over the edge, her canvas in hand. Assuming the role they had designed, he offered his hand to aid her exit. With a deep breath, India turned her gaze heavenward, uttered a silent prayer, and climbed to the ground.

  “India! Merry be, is that you, miss?” Billings held the lantern higher. His aged features took on excitement, and he hurriedly swung back to the partly open door. “Lord Prescott, come quick! Miss Prescott has returned!”

  Cathain. Mrs. Cathain.

  As she thought of Cain, India’s eyes misted over again. All too aware she ought to be overjoyed to be home, she let the tears fall and accepted Billings’ tight hug.

  “We have been so worried about you, miss.”

  Her father joined them, his grey hair out of place, as if he had rushed to the door. “India?” he asked in disbelief.

  “Father!” The first true joy at returning came over her as she flung herself into his sturdy embrace. If only Cain could be here. Standing behind her, ready to shake his hand. She pushed the absent thought aside and rose to her toes to kiss her father’s cheek.

  “Oh, daughter, I’ve missed you. Are you well? Did they harm you? The note left behind…” His voice cracked as his arms enveloped her so tight he flattened her tender breasts.

  She let out a squeak and pushed on his stout chest.

  He let her go, but not before hugging her tight once more. As the wagon trotted off, her father looked beyond her, noticing Tom for the first time. His gaze raked over Tom’s haphazard attire, taking him in from shaggy blond hair to bare feet. “Who is this?”

  India moved to stand at Tom’s side. Time to play the actress. With a little luck, her emotions wouldn’t betray her lies. She gave Tom a gracious smile. “Father, this is Mister Thomas Bennett. He was captured from a Navy ship shortly after my kidnapping, and he rescued me off The Kraken. Mister Bennett, my father, Baron Prescott of Haverly.”

  With the manners befitting a Naval officer, Tom stepped forward, folded one hand in the small of his back, and bowed low before her father. “Lord Haverly, a pleasure to meet you.”

  “A Navy man, you say?” One bushy grey eyebrow arched approvingly, and India began to relax.

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Good good, fine work. Come in. I must repay you for the return of my daughter.” He beckoned to the door.

  “Father.” India rushed forward to catch his elbow. “Mister Bennett and I have been travelling for days now. Perhaps he would enjoy a bed?”

  He nodded slowly, the way he always did when he had forgotten social protocol and didn’t want to seem ungentlemanly. “Indeed, I had intended to offer nothing less. We’ll put him—”

  “India Anne Prescott!” Colette cried as she flew out of the door. Her rotund weight nearly knocked India onto her backside as Colette captured her in a hug. “You’re home. Praise God, you’re home and alive.”

  Doing her best not to wince at her maid’s exuberant greeting, India kissed both of Colette’s cheeks. “Perhaps we should take this reunion inside? I would like to sit a spell in the parlor I’ve missed.”

  “Yes, come, come, you look atrocious, dear. Simply atrocious. And you’ve lost weight.” Colette pinched India’s cheeks. “Your father can see to our guest. I will see to you.”

  As they stepped toward the door, an imposing figure emerged to block their entry. India’s blood turned to ice. Richard. She hadn’t prepared to greet him so soon. Hadn’t thought for a moment that he would be visiting with her father so late at night.

  He edged Colette out of the way and caught India’s hands in his rougher ones. “Miss Prescott, words cannot define how grateful I am to see you.” He brought her close, brushed his lips over her cheek. But his cordial kiss lacked the warmth he had once exhibited. His embrace was limp, and he quickly released her, as if he could not bear the thought of touching her.

  She summoned the smile she always used on him, a mix of slight affection and subtle deference. “Mr. Grey, I’ve thought of you often.” And all the ways she’d like to wring his neck.

  Colette placed a firm hand on Richard’s chest, urging him to step aside. “Come now, Mr. Grey, you may have your reunion with your intended on the morrow. She needs her rest.”

  With that, Colette grabbed India’s canvas from Tom, whisked her into the house and up the grand staircase to her bedroom. Once inside, India rubbed her perspiring palms on her trousers and took a deep breath. To pull this off successfully, she’d need Colette’s aid. Obtaining it, however, would be as difficult as convincing the woman that corsets were now out of fashion and skirts fell to the knees.

  As Colette lit the lantern on the ornate walnut vanity, India sat on her perfectly made bed of down and folded her hands in her lap. “Colette, if ever you have truly loved me, I need your aid.”

  The older woman’s face washed white with concern. She sat down on the edge of the bed and took India’s hand in her larger, pudgier one. “What is it, dear? Did they…” A frown tugged at her brow. “Did that monster abuse you?” Sitting taller, she pursed her lips and huffed out a breath. “If he did, we’ll have every ship at sea hunting him. When they find him, we’ll see to his hanging.”

  India almost rolled her eyes at the proposed punishment. It was exactly what Cain faced if he were caugh
t, regardless. And her father’s ships, along with the Navy, undoubtedly had been searching for her this whole time.

  She bowed her head and shook it. There was only one way to deal with Colette when it came to objectionable matters—put it to her directly. Present the facts she could not argue. Then she would be forced to discover a means of turning the objectionable into appropriate.

  In a quiet voice, India answered, “I cannot marry Richard.”

  A cool hand rubbed her shoulder reassuringly. “You’ve had a difficult time, dear. We all understand that. Mr. Grey’s a fine match. He’ll make a good husband, even if you object to his appearance. He’s been worried sick about you. Why he returned from France the instant he received word of your capture, and I don’t believe the man has slept a wink since.”

  India flopped onto her back, having heard much of the same argument too many times to count. “He objects to the potential loss of my father’s money. But that’s not the matter at hand, Colette.”

  “What is it then, dear? I’m sure Mr. Grey would be willing to give you time to recover. It must have been terribly stressful for you.”

  Exhaustion tempted India to turn into the soft mattress and escape the coming carriage-wreck this conversation would cause. To avoid it, she pulled herself back into a sitting position and looked her maid squarely in the eye. “I cannot marry Richard because I am already wed. To Theodore Cathain. Cain. The pirate who Richard betrayed.”

  In twenty years, not once had India seen any indication Colette was capable of fainting. But her face turned so white she looked like a ghost, and she grasped at the tall bedpost to catch herself from falling.

  India rushed to her maid’s side. No. This wouldn’t go smoothly at all.

  351

  Bound By Decency

  37

  “Daughter, you haven’t left the house since your arrival.” India’s father set his hand on the open ledger beneath her nose, covering the entries with his lace cuffs. “I believe I should send for the physician and postpone this trip to London. They will do without me at Mrs. White’s this month.”

  Lifting her gaze, she tried for a convincing smile. “Father, I’m quite well. You know I don’t take to the rollicking of the sea. Go on to London.” Three days of his constant hounding about her ordeal had delayed her ability to review the accounts with Tom. She wouldn’t have her father postpone his meeting for anything. His absence gave her the time she needed, and if she managed to find the necessary proof before he returned, her father and all his acquaintances would be in one place. Simplifying the matter of summoning them to her home.

  To reinforce her objection, she nodded at Tom. “Mister Bennett and I need to finish our review and decide whether North Atlantic Freight can support the acquisition of a new ship and an additional run.”

  “This is a matter you should discuss with Richard.” Her father’s bristly salt and pepper eyebrows drew together. “You’ve hardly spent any time with him at all.”

  India looked to the great hall where Richard paced before the door. He had been the largest contributor to her delay. Although he had spoken to her directly on only three occasions, each time the opportunity arose, he distracted Tom. He dragged him into conversations about his years in the Navy. Grilled him about his family. As if he dug for some detail that would prove Tom’s claims of being Cain’s prisoner false.

  As for her, her intended could barely bring himself to look at her. Like being on Cain’s ship gave her some foul disease.

  She chuckled. “Mr. Grey has his mind on the merger. North Atlantic Freight is too small a concern to distract him with.” With a warm smile, she changed the subject back to the matters that concerned her. “Will you be meeting with Stanhope, Sunderland, and the rest of you who cannot leave politics alone?”

  “Sunderland is at his country estate. Stanhope will be present. I shall tell him you send your regards.” He patted her shoulder with an affectionate smile. “He will be glad to hear of your return.”

  A genuine smile touched India’s lips. Perfect. The favor of the Lord of the Treasury, and who Colette relayed was rumored to become the next Viscount of Mahon would ensure Cain’s pardon.

  “Please do send my regards. I’ve always felt a certain affection for him. He used to bring me strawberry confections as a child.”

  Her father tipped his head and rubbed at his chin. “Yes, as I recall, you used to claw at his pockets.” He gave her a wink. “Quite unmannerly, my dear.”

  India laughed softly and waved her hand at the door. “Go, Father. Enjoy your trip.” Please leave now.

  Obediently, he bent to place a kiss on the top of her head. “Send Billings should you need anything. When I return, I should like to see you dressed in something other than these distasteful pants. You’ll give me an apoplexy sitting around like this when we have guests.”

  India glanced down at her comfortable sailing garb. From the corner of her eye, she caught Tom’s smirk. If he only knew how wearing a corset pained her, he wouldn’t be laughing. In truth, she’d have tolerated the uncomfortable stays if it weren’t for the fact her gowns were already too tight about the waist. Her current shirt and trousers were the practical solution while Colette let out her clothes.

  India answered her father with a dutiful nod. His shoes clicked across the marbled front hall, and he disappeared from view. But his low, resonating voice drifted to her ears.

  “Are you certain she does not need to see a physician, Colette? She does not look well. I’ve never seen her so pale or such dark circles under her eyes.”

  “Oh, my lord, how you do worry. Have you forgotten how she suffers when her feminine time comes upon her?”

  Even from this distance, India could hear her father’s sharp intake of air, a sound not unlike he’d inhaled a tart. Bless Colette. She might grouse about this business of deception, but she certainly knew how to divert her father.

  India waited for the front door to close before she hurried to the draperies and peeked outside. Richard glanced over both shoulders, uncustomarily…jittery. She frowned, struck by the oddity. He couldn’t possibly know she intended to prove his guilt. She’d denounced Cain every time his name came up. Told them she’d been left in the galley, where Tom was her only company. Strange. What did Richard know?

  As her father ducked into the coach, Richard stuffed a hand into his left coat pocket. Hastily he pulled it free, his fingers closed around an object she couldn’t make out. But as he transferred the item to his opposite hand and stuffed into his right pocket, steel caught the sunlight. India’s eyes widened. Though many gentlemen carried pistols, Richard had never fallen into the habit. Why now? And why would he take pains to place it where her father couldn’t notice?

  The coachman slapped leather lines against her father’s favorite team of grey geldings, and the coach rolled down the drive.

  Before India could further puzzle over Richard’s strange behavior, Tom broke into her thoughts.

  “India, who is Benjamin Bainfield?” Tom set her ledger on the desk, spun it around so it faced her, and pushed it across.

  “Bainfield? He’s the man my father insisted I hire so the hoity-toity English gentry can’t discover I own North Atlantic Freight.” As the hair lifted on the back of her neck, she eased back into her chair and pulled the ledger closer. “Why?”

  “I found the entries Cain told you about. Bainfield is the recipient.”

  Bainfield? India ran her finger down the list of payables, unable to believe Tom’s words. There must be a mistake of some sort. Bainfield and she had countless conversations about the aberrations of slaving. The unspeakable conditions on ship, and how even the crewmen suffered. Not fit for dogs, I tell you, Miss Prescott.

  In bold black ink, penned in a hand unlike hers, Benjamin Bainfield’s name became unmistakable.

  Tom slid a ledger she had commandeered from her father, this one belonging to Grey and Cathain, beneath her nose. “He’s here too. Once in February. Once last month.
Only last month’s dollars are missing. Do you suppose he is the man Blackbeard shot?”

  As India’s stomach churned, she shook her head. “No,” she murmured. “He strictly handles all the arrangements. He pays my captains, and they pay their crews. I’m not sure the man knows how to sail.”

  “So why him?”

  Because he knew the necessary contacts. And Richard knew Bainfield could be trusted to stay quiet. Barring some monumental event like Cain’s escape, Bainfield posed no threat. But Cain had escaped. And she knew Cain’s confidences. Blinking rapidly, she slammed the ledger shut. Richard hadn’t expected her to return. He hadn’t paid Bainfield yet, not because Bainfield died on some island across the ocean, but because he didn’t intend to pay him for a failure. God’s teeth, no wonder he had leapt at the opportunity to accompany her father into London. And the pistol…

  She bolted out of her chair, “We must leave now, Tom. Take Father’s horse, go down the lane to the next estate. Tell Lord Barrington’s stable master I must borrow his coach and coachman. We cannot take a fisherman’s wagon to London.”

  Tom eased to his feet, his expression puzzled. “What is it, India?”

  Panic seized her chest, and she struggled to draw in a breath. If Bainfield died, all hope of saving Cain was lost. The ride to Barrington’s would cost Tom time. Time that might make the difference between success and failure. Life and death.

  Tom’s strong hands gripped her shoulders and eased her back into the chair. He knelt on one knee before her, green eyes dark with concern. “Breathe. What is it you know?”

  Swallowing, India willed her pulse to even out. “Richard’s going to kill Bainfield. I saw him put a pistol in his pocket. He didn’t expect me to return. He knows Cain well enough to realize I wouldn’t be here, in England, unless Cain cared about me. And he would have no reason to let you, a Navy man, live either.” She shook off Tom’s hands and stood. “He knows we know the truth, Tom. And he’s going to eliminate the only person who can prove it.”