Honour's Choice

by Joan Vincent

  “I shall have to speak with Amabelle,” Sarah noted acidly.

  “But more to the point, why do you continue to refuse Mr. Tarrant? I am certain you love him.”

  Sarah’s chin jutted. “Mr. Hale has said he—”

  “I shall not be put off,” Elminda said. “Lady Tretain told you that the family would be pleased to have you as Mr. Tarrant’s bride.” She sat beside Sarah. “I can understand how you would have to decline his offer if this was not the case.”

  Sarah’s mulish cast deepened.

  “Why you do you make yourself and Mr. Tarrant so wretched?”

  The unyielding glint in her sister-in-law’s eyes shook Sarah’s determination. Tears brimmed.

  Elminda took her hand. “I am a terrible, foolish, and forward woman. But I can keep a confidence.”

  Sarah blurted, “A young man should have a family.”

  Wrinkling her brow, Elminda considered this. “You are still young enough to have a dozen children.”

  Sarah looked away. “I am barren.”

  “Whatever gave you that idea?” Elminda scoffed. Her sister-in-law’s affronted look and the fierce red that flooded her cheeks took her aback. “Surely Rufus told you he could not father any more children?”

  Stunned, Sarah gaped at her.

  Elminda tsked. “I see my brother did not get past his pride. If he were here I would give him a proper dressing down. You know how dreadful that would be,” she added.

  Sarah grabbed Elminda’s hand. “Why do you say this?”

  “Because he deserves—”

  “No, the other,” Sarah insisted.

  Elminda patted her hand. “He had a horrid case of the mumps that descended, well,” she blushed, “you know where.”

  “When was this?”

  “When Amabelle was a babe.”

  Stunned, Sarah stared. “Thank—thank you—for telling me.” She plucked at her blanket. “I am rather tired. Please let me rest.”

  Elminda suppressed a desire to shake her and mulled over Sarah’s strangely unenthusiastic reaction.

  * * *

  Elminda Edgerton’s Cottage Edgerton Manor Dec 1st

  “Miss Elminda, there’s a gentleman who wishes to speak to you. Baron de la Croix?” the maid said, her tone asking permission for the gentleman to be shown to the small parlour.

  Elminda laid aside her embroidery and glanced hurriedly about the room. All was in good order. Then she strode to the mirror on the east wall. Her appearance was also as neat as could be. “Of course, at once, Cally.” She frowned, puzzled why this particular young man would call on her. The last she had heard he had gone to France in pursuit of the villain that had shot Sarah.

  De la Croix entered and bowed. “Thank you for receiving me, Miss Edgerton. You appear in good health.”

  “As do you, monsieur,” she responded. She walked back to the settee, sat, and motioned that he take a seat across from her. “How fared you on your journey?”

  “It was not a success,” he said with a moue of distaste. He raised his hand and placed a finger against his lips.

  Elminda steeled herself against his appraisal. His blue eyes were far too perceptive.

  Slowly lowering his hand, André smiled slightly. “I have come to beg your assistance, Miss Edgerton.”

  “In any way I can,” she said. “I have much to atone for. Have you called on Lady Edgerton?”

  André shook his head. “It is of import that she not discover I have called upon you. How does she fare?”

  “Mr. Crandall says the wound is healing. But he, both of us are very unhappy with Sarah’s progress.” She bit her lip, and clasped her hands tightly. “Sarah is very unhappy. I believe the reason lies with Mr. Tarrant.”

  “But Lady Edgerton refuses to see him.”

  “Yes. She even sends his missives back to him unread,” Elminda added. “They are both far too stubborn.”

  “We are agreed on that,” André said with a wry smile. “The thing is, can we do something about it? That is, if she truly cares for Hadleigh?”

  “Of that I am very certain, monsieur. She is making herself sick over caring for him.” Warmth flooded up her cheeks. “I recently learned part of the problem but no matter— If only we could place them in the same room for a time.” She studied the baron.

  “Lady Edgerton cannot travel. Could you persuade Mr. Tarrant to come to her?”

  “I have been considering how to do that—if I found that Lady Edgerton was not set against him,” André said.

  “How will you manage it?” She asked. “Is there anything I can do?”

  “He would come if he believed Sarah was in danger.”

  “You could tell him that her condition has worsened. That she wishes to see him?” Elminda suggested.

  “No, Crandall keeps him informed of Sarah’s condition. No. My thought is to tell him that suspicious men have been seen around Edgerton Manor. That it is feared Von Willmar has sent men seeking revenge.”

  “But will he not disbelieve that—think it is but a ploy?”

  “I fear so which is why I need a favour from you.”

  “Anything, monsieur.”

  “Would you write a missive purportedly to Lady Juliane—dated at least two weeks ago?”

  Elminda frowned and then smiled. “You wish me to write that I seek her advice. That I am concerned about strangers asking questions in Lewes about Sarah. That two men have been seen by Sarah’s coachman Brady acting suspiciously on the grounds around the manor.”

  “That will do very well. Perhaps mention an incident in which someone tried to break into the manor foiled by Darton and a footman but the men got away.”

  Rising, Elminda strode to the desk in the salon. “What date do you wish on this missive?”

  “Five days past should do nicely. Make the attempt to enter the manor happen the eve before the date. I shall say Lady Juliane showed it to me when I stopped at Trees on my way to see Hadleigh.”

  A short time later Elminda sanded the missive, folded and sealed it. She handed it to André. “Bon chance, monsieur. May you succeed for both their sakes.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Tarrant Hall, Norfolk December 5 Tuesday

  De la Croix set Leora’s bag of sweets on Hadleigh’s desk. A haphazard stack of letters caught his eye. He flipped through them. Written by Hadleigh to Sarah, all had travelled to Lewes and had been sent back unopened. He perused the one open missive among them. It was Sarah’s stiff formal thank you to Hadleigh for having her brother buried beside their parents.

  Hearing Hadleigh in the hall, André put the letter down and picked up the sweets. When Tarrant came into the office, he tossed it to him. “Greetings from Leora. She is certain your favourite sweets are not available in the wilds of Norfolk.”

  Hadleigh caught it and eyed the elegant baron. “What brings you to the wilds of Norfolk?”

  Leaning back against the desk, André crossed his arms. “What a paltry greeting, mon frère.”

  Hadleigh strode behind the desk and set the bag down. “How is the family?”

  “They demand you come home for Christmas.”

  Hadleigh shook his head.

  “Shall you be in Sussex then?” André asked.

  Crandall’s letter which urged him to come had burned a hole in Hadleigh’s pocket for two weeks. “No. December is not a month to travel.” He drew a bottle from a drawer. “Would you care for a drink?”

  André smiled. “I have brought you a keg of France’s finest, courtesy of a dour free trader I met outside of Yarmouth. I hoped it would be a wedding gift.”

  Ignoring this, Hadleigh poured a drink. “How fares your quest for von Willmar?”

  The smile tightened. “The free trader I mentioned took Chercheur to France, said he had one arm in a sling.”

  “I am surprised you did not follow him,” Hadleigh snapped.

  André raised his quizzing glass to his eyes. “Ill-humoured, ill-dressed, ill-mannered, mon fr
ère.”

  Hadleigh took a drink. “Leave be.”

  Lowering his quizzing glass, André grew serious. “What happened to the man who waxed poetic about Lady Edgerton? He would not sit in Norfolk and accept refused letters. He would be in Lewes storming the ramparts.”

  The fact that he wished to do so intensified Hadleigh’s anger. “You scrutinized my private papers.”

  The baron shrugged. “Never think only yours.”

  Hadleigh met his kind and concerned gaze. “Is any house safe from you?” he asked.

  Pressing two fingers to his lips, André thought a moment. “I have not yet attempted Carlton House.”

  “Carlton—not even you—” Hadleigh put up a hand. “No, I will not say it, for you would like take it as a dare.”

  * * *

  After a supper that made André wish he had dined at Lyme Regis, he followed his host to the library. A fire blazed and a bottle of his brandy with two glasses awaited them. He poured liberal amounts and raised a toast. “To family.”

  Returning the salute, Hadleigh drank.

  “Now,” André told him, “you shall explain what foolishness keeps you in Norfolk.”

  “You were against the match.”

  “I was until I saw you after Lady Edgerton was wounded. I thank God every day that she lives.”

  “As do I,” echoed Hadleigh.

  “Then why this — this hesitation?” When there was no reply, André threatened, “If necessary, I shall pour every drop of brandy in that keg down your throat.”

  Hadleigh took another drink.

  “With Crandall and Amabelle betrothed what stands in your way?” André challenged.

  Grunting, Hadleigh said, “There is Hale.”

  The baron gave a low whistle. “I never thought you that gullible. Amabelle wrote Tante saying Lady Edgerton sent Hale about his business. He sails for Greece.”

  Hadleigh snorted in disgust. “Is nothing private?”

  “Very little.”

  He sighed. “What did Sarah tell Aunt Juliane?”

  “She explained she had long ago made up her mind not to wed again.” André cocked his head. “What is your reason?” Again answered by silence, he lightly tapped a finger against his chin.

  “Last fall on the night of tante’s rout, you and Lady Edgerton went for a walk. You spent some time in the curtained alcove we frequented in our youth. When you came out—many minutes later, the lady sparkled.”

  Dropping his head into his hands, Hadleigh groaned. The memory of that encounter spread fire through his veins. “Damme you,” he swore and raised his head. “I dare not risk bringing her harm. If I go near her, George,” he waved his hand, “or this Chercheur may act again.”

  André, his chiselled features taut, met Hadleigh’s gaze. “Is that what you tell yourself?”

  Hadleigh stood. “It has been a long day. I shall see you in the morn.”

  André stared for moment into the fire. Two such stubborn pragmatists. Shall they be wretched the rest of their lives? Do I permit them to make me wretched for life?

  “Wait a moment,” de la Croix said, his tone hard. When Hadleigh turned back to him he reached into his jacket and withdrew the letter Elminda had written for him. “Tante Juliane thought I should show you this.” He grimaced. “Knowing how you feel perhaps it would be best if I just—” He looked to the fire as if contemplating tossing the missive into it.

  “What is it?” Hadleigh ground out.

  “A note from Elminda Edgerton.” He shook his head. “But you know how foolish women can be.” He moved to put the letter back into his jacket.

  “If Aunt Juliane thought I should see it then I should at least pay her the respect of doing so.” Hadleigh stalked to André and snatched the letter from his hand. He unfolded it and read.

  “Is this true?” Tarrant asked as he reread the words a second time.

  “I suppose in some—”

  “You believe the woman imagined this? That Brady and Darton lied about these men?” he demanded as he began to stride back and forth before the fire. “What have you done about it?’

  “Done, mon frère? Why I showed the missive to you.”

  Hadleigh halted. “You did nothing at Edgerton Manor?”

  “I have come to you from Trees,” began André but halted when his friend threw a furious look at him. “I did send Pascaul a note asking him to go to Edgerton Manor and—”

  “When did you send it?” snapped Hadleigh.

  “Yester morn.” He watched as Hadleigh stared into the fire.

  “She may even now be in danger,” Hadleigh murmured.

  “You said you thought you would endanger Sarah if you were near her. You are here and she is in Sussex. What harm—”

  “Do not play the nodcock,” Hadleigh snapped. He rubbed his forehead. “Von Willmar means to finish what he meant to do that night in the theatre.”

  “The man is in France,” de la Croix offered laconically. When Hadleigh cast a withering look at him he was hard-pressed not to smile. He pursed his lips. “It is not the month for travel—as you so wisely told me but this morn.”

  Hadleigh turned on his heel and strode out of the library.

  Rubbing the back of his neck André stood. Was that sufficient to get Hadleigh to Lewes? He considered his friend’s reaction to the missive and the fact that he had left with it clutched in his hand. De la Croix left the room with a lighter heart than he had had for many a day. “December is not a month for travel, ehh,” he murmured, a smile playing across his lips.

  * * *

  Edgerton Manor December 11th Monday

  Elminda’s coach halted before Edgerton Manor as de la Croix dismounted. “Baron,” she exclaimed, embarrassment buried by her concern. “You are just what Sarah needs. Well, not just, but—pardon me, I—”

  “I understand you perfectly, Miss Edgerton,” he said with a flourish. “Do we share a common purpose?”

  “If you mean altering the minds of two very stubborn individuals, I fear we have reached point non plus. Neither will take any action on their own.”

  “Ahh, but Hadleigh shall shortly arrive here pell-mell.”

  Elminda smiled. “Let us go inside.”

  De la Croix handed over his hat and gloves. “Cauley, your master will bolt through this door some time today. I count on you to not slow him down.”

  “‘Bout time,” he said, taking the baron’s greatcoat.

  “You shall send him to the—” André looked to Elminda.

  “The morning salon.”

  Cauley grinned. “I’ll see to a fire there at once.”

  “Excellent. I am chilled to the bone and refuse to suffer further for love.”

  Molly, with whom the valet had declared a truce during her mistress’s recovery, stopped Cauley near the stairs. “Is Baron de la Croix here?”

  “Yes, and,” he winked, “Mr. Tarrant’ll soon follow.”

  “Oh my.”

  He tweaked her cheek. “Tell Darton to put champagne on ice.”

  “Lady Edgerton keeps that bit of Bishop’s wort on her dressing table,” Molly told him, “but she won’t change her mind.”

  “With the baron in this, I put my money on a wedding—or two.” Cauley snatched a kiss and strode away leaving Molly smiling after him.

  * * *

  Great trepidation gripped Sarah at the salon’s door. Shaking away her fear of the memories it held, she entered. “Baron de la Croix, this is a pleasant surprise,” she greeted him with an effort to make her voice light and cheerful.

  André took her hand. “Good afternoon, Lady Edgerton. It is good to see you looking well.”

  She took in his muddied boots—a rare solecism. “Is—is everything all right?”

  Elminda came away from the fireplace. “I will get tea,” she said, and sailed out of the room.

  “Do sit,” de la Croix coaxed, and took Sarah’s hand.

  She clutched it. “Tell me at once. Is it Hadleigh?”
>
  The door behind them slammed open. Tarrant, mud-splattered from head to toe, entered in a cold rage. “You lied,” he stated, his tone dangerous.

  “Mon frère,” André protested, “do not make this a Shakespearean tragedy.” He kissed Sarah’s hand and released it.

  “The two of you will do well enough now, I trust.” André gave Hadleigh a push toward Sarah and left them.

  Sarah feasted on Hadleigh’s handsome angular features. “You are all right?”

  To keep from rushing to her, Hadleigh drew off his gloves and stuffed them into his greatcoat. Memories of this room flowed over him like an intoxicating wine: Sarah’s flowers, shared laughter, her hands on his bare skin.

  Hadleigh walked towards her. She is still not well. So thin, so pale. So beautiful. He caressed her with his gaze. “I have missed you. These past months have been the worst of my life. Let us be apart no longer.”

  Her hands clenched, Sarah dared not speak.

  Hadleigh laid the back of his hand against her cheek.

  “You are frozen through,” Sarah exclaimed taking it in hers. “Come closer to the fire. Let me ring for brandy.”

  “You can warm me faster and more thoroughly than any wine,” Hadleigh said. Before she could object, he swept her into his arms and kissed her with a desperate hunger.

  An intense jolt of joy overthrew all of Sarah’s objections. His passion wed hers and blazed through carefully constructed barriers. Sarah clung to Hadleigh, absorbed his love and shared hers.

  Later, as they held each other, her denial returned at Hadleigh’s mention of marriage. She struggled to distance her traitorous body from his.

  “Sarah, what is it?” Hadleigh asked surprised and troubled.

  “You know I cannot marry you.”

  “You sent Hale packing. Sarah, you love me. Why are you so afraid?”

  Sarah gave a half sob and jumped to her feet.

  Hadleigh stood behind her. “What is it?”

  Sarah shook her head. “I cannot—”

  Hadleigh pulled her back against his hard length. “What can you not do?” he asked.

  Sarah leaned into his warmth, devastated by the certainty that she would soon lose it. “I cannot bear your hatred.”