Only a Hero Will Do

by Susan Lodge

  Stark closed the door behind him, almost flattening the nose of Perkins, who must have been intimidated by the presence of the colourful lord and had shown him to Hetty’s cabin. Dressed in a puce jacket and daffodil waistcoat, he folded his arms and considered her with a malignant smile.

  “Well, Hetty, you have led me quite a dance, one which ends right now. We will leave immediately. You have disgraced yourself for the last time. I will not have you attempt to ruin my good name again.”

  Hetty stood as tall as she could and gave him her most withering stare. “I have decided I am not marrying you, Lord Stark. And as I recall, you have already ruined my good name. What more can you do?”

  “I will show you what more I can do, my dear. I have every intention of dealing with your disobedience once I have you ashore. You might as well learn from the start how this marriage is going to work.”

  Her confidence crumbled and she took a step back. His snake eyes positively glowed with the thought of punishing her. Then she heard the cabin door open, and as if on cue, Doctor Withington loomed over Stark’s shoulder.

  “I would advise you to stop harassing my patient with your ugly threats, Lord Stark.”

  Stark turned at the sound of the quiet, menacing voice. He raised his quizzing glass and eyed Robert contemptuously.

  “Who are you to advise me of anything, sir?”

  “I have been tasked with the responsibility of returning Miss Avebury to her home.”

  Starks eyes narrowed. “Perhaps you should attend to your own business. I will escort my betrothed back to Avebury Hall.”

  The doctor did not move, but he seemed to grow broader and taller. “As I said, I have undertaken to deliver her back to her home. I have business with her father.”

  Stark adjusted the lace ruffle on his sleeve, looking perturbed. “Avebury and his wife are in London and are not due back for a few days. They had not expected the ship until Thursday.” He paused and studied Hetty for a moment, then turned back to Robert. “It seems I have caught you with my future bride once again. I didn’t like it the first time, and now I find it a disturbing coincidence.”

  He turned back to Hetty. “I hope you haven’t been behaving like a common doxy, madam.”

  ***

  Robert had put up with the popinjay’s sneering manner back at Avebury Hall, and he had resisted the temptation to hit the man, not really having a motive to do so – other than dislike. Now, so soon after those poignant moments embracing Hetty Avebury, he had plenty.

  He stepped forward and delivered a punch to Stark’s chin that spun the man from his feet, and he sprawled on his back like an upturned turtle. Robert ignored his smarting fist and released a profound sigh of contentment.

  “I will not have Miss Avebury’s name sullied in such a way. I will return her to her father. She is obviously distressed by your presence, so I must insist that you leave at once.”

  Stark pushed himself into a sitting position. His eyes were pale pools of hatred, but he did not attempt to return the attack. He jabbed a finger at Robert.

  “You will be hearing from me. I am a good friend of Admiral Cookson.” Then he turned to Hetty. “And you, miss, will no doubt come to your senses. Your father has already agreed to the contract, and I suggest you have a good hard think about your actions. The future of your family’s wellbeing is in my hands. Do not forget that includes dear Aunt Amelia as well.” He rubbed his chin and glared at Robert as he staggered to his feet.

  Robert strolled forward to open the door. “Good day, Lord Stark!” And with great restraint, stilled his boot against helping the man on his way out.

  Closing the door behind Stark, Robert turned to find Miss Avebury staring at him, open-mouthed.

  “Are you quite mad, Doctor?”

  Robert was slightly hurt by this response. “I do not allow my patients to be abducted by anyone, Miss Avebury.”

  Nevertheless, by protecting her, he was now thoroughly embroiled in the Aveburys’ family problems. Caution, protocol, and common sense – three qualities he had in abundance – had all dissolved in an instance of heroic self-indulgence.

  ***

  At that moment, with a swollen fist and protective look about him, Doctor Withington did look very heroic indeed. Hetty wanted to comfort him. Springing forward in an inelegant move, she caught his hand and stroked her fingers over the abrasions.

  “I don’t think it is broken. Can you move your fingers?”

  Robert wiggled them obediently.

  “No, not broken,” she repeated, still studying his hand.

  “No, indeed, it is not. Thank you for your diagnosis and your concern, but as I recall, I am the doctor and you are the patient, or have we suddenly changed roles?”

  His words, as usual, were laced with sarcasm, but they were so soft that her stomach did a backward flip. She wanted to keep his warm and solid hand as a trophy. No one had ever defended her in such a way, not even when Stark had ruined her in the rose arbour. She sighed.

  “I rather think you shouldn’t have hit Lord Stark. He has an ugly temperament and prestigious connections. Not a man to make your enemy.”

  “Miss Avebury, the man could never be anything but my enemy after treating you so badly.”

  She bathed in the warmth of his words before she realised she still held his hand, her thumb still stroking his knuckles.

  He made a strange, strangled noise. She swiftly released him then stepped backwards, suddenly aware of the intimacy.

  “Ouch!” The back of Hetty’s head collided with the lantern, which propelled her forward again.

  “Steady now.” Robert caught her neatly. His breathing was heavy as he adopted a more professional position to examine her injured head.

  After a cursory glance, he took his leave with unnecessary haste.

  Chapter Eleven

  Hetty stood on the quayside, waiting for Doctor Withington to secure transport, when she heard her name being called. She looked around and gasped in delight at the sight of Annie waving and hurrying toward her.

  “Miss Hetty! Miss Hetty!” Annie stopped in front of her and lowered her voice. “Or are you Harry still or someone else?”

  Hetty shook her head then enveloped her in a hug. “Annie, I am so pleased to see you.”

  Her maid smiled in relief then frowned. “I’m sorry I lost you, Miss Hetty. But by the time I found out where the press-gang had taken you, it was too late. You had already sailed. When I was questioned, I thought it was better to tell the truth so they could get you out of danger. I heard you would be returned on this ship, only it’s arrived early. I wasn’t expecting you for a day or so.”

  “It doesn’t matter, Annie. Lord Stark came to claim me, but the doctor sent him on his way.”

  Annie glanced at the returning doctor and hastily smoothed down her skirts then straightened her bonnet.

  “Your lost maid, I take it?” the doctor said.

  Hetty nodded, and Annie bobbed a curtsy. “Annie Dance, sir. At your service.”

  ***

  Robert noticed the remnants of some bruising to her face. “Tell me, Miss Dance, are you still employed at Avebury Hall?”

  “No, sir. Lady Avebury had me thrown out when I returned home after I lost Miss Avebury.”

  “That’s terrible,” Hetty gasped. “Have you found another position?”

  Annie squared her shoulders. “I’m looking for one still. It’s not easy without any references. I had some work in the Rose and Garter, but I wasn’t suited – not for what the landlord wanted,” she added, lowering her voice.

  “It was my fault, Annie.” Hetty’s voice was remorseful. “I should never have involved you in my escape plan.” She turned to address the doctor. “Annie can act as my chaperone. She is one of the few people I trust in the world. I am sure that is the best plan, Doctor Withington.”

  Robert wasn’t sure the girl had the resolve or authority to be Miss Avebury’s chaperone, but it did solve a problem for the present
. He couldn’t possibly install her in any establishment unescorted. Besides which, the two pairs of soulful eyes set on him quelled any protest he might utter.

  He had to wait for her father to return from London and then plead Hetty’s case. He had already penned a letter to Sir Henry Avebury to tell him of their arrival, that his daughter was cared for, and that he would call upon him with Hetty to discuss her welfare.

  For the time being, he would install the women in his rented town house – then he had work to do. The transfer of the wounded men to Haslar hospital was underway, and he needed to check on the progress of his patients.

  ***

  Stark woke his driver with a vicious kick before swinging into his coach. As he slumped against the plush grey squabs, his foul temper increased when his eyes settled on the uninvited passenger that lounged in the seat opposite him.

  “What the devil! This is a private coach,” he sputtered, but his anger abated as his eyes adjusted to the poor light of the interior. A chill crept through him.

  “Hello, Stark.” Anthony Avebury leaned forward and grinned. “Good heavens, you’ve turned the same unfortunate colour as that coat you’re wearing.”

  “I heard you were back,” Stark replied.

  He, like many others, had been glad when Hetty’s brother had left to join his regiment. When he had heard that Avebury had been lost in battle, he had been almost joyous. Anthony Avebury had always been a thorn in his side through school, university, and beyond. When Stark had agreed to marry Hetty, it had been with the belief that this man would never return to torment him.

  “I am surprised to see you, Avebury. I understood there were no survivors. Your company was said to be completely wiped out.”

  “Not quite – there was an ambush, but as you know, I am a born survivor. You really should be a little happier at my return, Stark. A fellow might think you weren’t pleased to see me.”

  Stark attempted to hide his fear. “Your father must have been overjoyed. In fact, your return could not be more convenient. As you have probably been informed, Hetty and I are to be married.”

  “Yes, so I heard. It seems she was so delighted with the prospect that she decided to run away to sea.”

  Stark pursed his lips and held on to his temper. He knew Avebury won arguments one way or another. It was better to just humour him.

  “She’s very high-spirited, but she has now been returned from her little escapade. Her ship docked earlier this morning. I tried to collect her but was prevented from doing so by some doctor fellow who seems to have elected himself as her protector. I was just about to summon help to teach the upstart a lesson.”

  Anthony ignored him and knocked his cane on the coach roof. He poked his head out the window.

  “Avebury Hall, if you please.” Settling back down as the carriage dutifully moved off, he grinned at Stark. “You don’t mind taking me home, do you? This is such a comfortable conveyance.”

  Stark’s mouth fell open. “Did you not hear me? Your sister is on the quayside with that doctor brute, who insists on bringing her home himself. Together, we can collect her.”

  Anthony relaxed back in his seat and wagged a finger at Stark. “As you well know, Hetty is not my sister. Let the doctor bring her home. There is no hurry. I don’t fancy brawling just at the moment. My tailor only just finished this yesterday.” He passed a hand over the sleeve of his dove-grey superfine coat. “Anyway, I have to talk to you first about your intended marriage. In short, it is not going to happen.”

  “What! But I have agreed to it with your father. The papers have been signed.”

  “You deal with me now, Stark. Not my father.”

  Stark’s temper flared. “You forget, Avebury, I know the truth about Hetty. I’m doing your family a favour. No one else will take her when they know she’s someone’s bastard.”

  “Hetty’s circumstances may come to light, but the Avebury name will not be tarnished. My father acted in kindness by taking in the girl. Hetty’s mother was a harlot. The Aveburys will be looked on as charitable for a change, our family name untarnished. Whereas, your little family indiscretion might just erupt now I am back.”

  Fear built in his gut as he remembered how Avebury’s mind worked. He made a habit of collecting or planting information, engineering ways to gain power over people, no matter the cost. What bit of his murky past was Avebury going to use this time?

  Anthony lit a cheroot and puffed smoke in the air then stretched out his legs and settled them on the seat opposite.

  “You will not marry Hetty because I intend to. However, in return for your inconvenience, your nasty little family secret will remain intact.”

  “What secret?” Stark whispered.

  “While I was in France, I met an acquaintance of your family – a Lieutenant Roudine. He seemed to know all about your father’s rather unpatriotic trading practices. My company defeated his in a skirmish north of Lyon, and he had several tales to amuse me with while under my supervision.”

  “My father’s dead,” Stark snarled.

  “Yes, I know. It happened just before his secret was about to be revealed, as I remember.”

  Stark hesitated. Unlike his father, he had no investments in the cargoes that managed to find a path through the blockades off the French coast but that would not spare him.

  “My father was cleared of those rumours. He was fully exonerated in the House. King George even attended his funeral.”

  “Ah, but witnesses are witnesses, and proof is proof. The smoke might have cleared, but by God, Stark, if you don’t relinquish Hetty, the fires of hell will rain down and destroy your family name. As for our monarch, I hear he’s indisposed at present. Quite mad, they say. No, I don’t think when his son eventually takes over he will be so understanding. Especially after I have explained things to him.”

  “You are despicable, Avebury.”

  Anthony dealt him a satisfied smile before he continued. “You will destroy the contract with my father regarding Hetty’s finances. That is the price of my silence, Stark. Agreed?”

  There was no point in arguing. Avebury always won. Stark still wanted Hetty and her inheritance, but Anthony Avebury had just made the risk too high.

  “If I agree, how do I know I can trust you?”

  “What a remark to make to a gentleman! I should call you out for insinuating that I would not honour my word.”

  Stark shivered. “All right! Agreed.”

  “Good! Now, there is one thing you need to do to seal the agreement, something to convince Hetty that I would be a perfect match for her.”

  ***

  Hetty sat before the window in the study of Doctor Withington’s rented town house, wondering how long this pleasant respite would last. During those last days at sea, their relationship had shifted. He was no longer ‘the doctor’. He was her doctor and her friend.

  Beyond the common, she could see the harbour, and she watched the early morning sunlight glitter off the sails of incoming frigates. It would have been a perfect day if her thoughts didn’t drift to the reception she could expect at Avebury Hall. Even Aunt Amelia would be furious with her.

  Pushing the unpleasant images from her mind, she gazed around the room and smiled. It was a shambles, but an organised shambles. A room filled with unanswered questions. Books were stacked on the side table; some lay open and others had markers inserted in the pages. In the middle of his desk was an open journal on which was balanced a heap of unopened correspondence. A storeroom, which housed a collection of glass phials and bottles, lay to the left. Small covered dishes stood in a row, all labelled and dated. She itched to use the microscope. Although she dared not touch anything, this one room held more interest than any house she had ever visited. The room was exactly like Doctor Withington – intelligent, dishevelled, and honest. She was certain that he could solve the most complex problems thrown into it. For a few moments, she imagined living here. It was small and totally unfashionable, but it felt comfortable and
safe.

  Handy, Robert’s servant, shuffled in. It was an inapt name, as his right arm ended at a stump just below the elbow. He had the leathery face of a sailor and a shock of grey hair that sprouted to his shoulders. He reminded her of the granite lion that sat in the fireplace back home. She stared at him in fascination. Had Robert been the one to remove his arm?

  Remembering her manners, she bade him good morning. He gave her a scowl and mumbled, “Morning, miss,” before placing a few more letters on the pile for his master’s attention.

  “Goodness, the doctor is popular!” Hetty exclaimed.

  “Been piling up. ’Alf his mail chases him around the country. Never ’ere more than five minutes,” Handy muttered. He collected a discarded tea tray and left, grumbling something about fancy female breakfasts.

  She frowned after him, wondering where the man had been schooled in the duties of a butler.

  ***

  A few minutes later Robert entered the room. Hetty sat in his armchair by the window, her head buried in one of his newspapers. He cleared his throat, and her head jerked up. She smiled but he could detect her uncertainty and wished he could dispel it.

  He settled in the seat opposite her with an inward sigh. “I have received word from your father. We will travel to Avebury Hall this afternoon.”

  Her smile faded as she folded the newspaper and nodded. “You realise I will not stay if I am forced into this match. I will run away again.” The silence hung for a few moments before she continued. “Can’t you just say I gave you the slip in Portsmouth, and you have no idea where I am?”

  Robert stood, walked across to the window, and stared out. How was he going to handle his imminent meeting with Henry Avebury?

  “No. Running away is not the answer. I want to meet your father and persuade him to change his mind. If you are estranged from your family, you will regret it eventually.” That was just what he had done – left his home in bitterness. It was a hurt that would never heal, a hurt he didn’t want her to suffer. He would not let Stark have her. Somehow, he would find a way.