Honour's Choice Read online

  Recognizing her brother’s hand, Sarah smiled thanks. “My lord, please excuse me while I read this.” She broke the seal on the missive and read.

  Sarah’s eyes narrowed as she did so. She folded the letter and put it in her pocket. “When will you leave, my lord?”

  “The berlin should arrive in two days. If you will loan fresh teams we depart in the early afternoon. My lady, I am sorry for the brevity of my stay. Hadleigh has asked—”

  “Do not think of it,” she answered. “I would be anxious to see my family.” Sarah shook her head when he reached for the basket. She picked it up. “Excuse me.”

  De la Croix sauntered outdoors and rejoined Hadleigh and Amabelle. “How sad that you have no sisters or brothers, Miss Edgerton,” he teased. “Is it the same for your stepmother?”

  “No, Stepmama has a younger brother, Michael Leonard. He came to live with us when he finished school but—” She looked at Hadleigh who was studying André. “He is in London.”

  “Lady Edgerton just received a letter from him. It appeared to upset her,” he said with a hint of concern.

  “Pah, he must be in debt again. He thinks always to make use of the money Papa left—” Amabelle gulped. “Please pay no mind. I do hope he is not ill. You have no idea how many people want Stepmama’s medicines.” She rose.

  “Excuse me, gentlemen. I must speak with her.”

  When she was gone, Hadleigh asked, “What was that?”

  “I was merely curious.”

  “Merely? You? I want no mischief for Lady Edgerton.”

  “Have you made progress with the beauty, Hadleigh? Faith, if it was I— Are you certain you wish a hasty departure?”

  “Yes,” Hadleigh answered.

  “Well, that stepmama would put anyone off,” André said offhandedly. “Didn’t Henry give his Ann of Cleves, the ‘Mare of Flanders,’ a house in Lewes? Is the lady a descendant?”

  “My God, you go too far,” Hadleigh declared.

  “She is only the beauty’s stepmother.” André leaned his head to one side. “Our hostess and Aphrodite return.”

  Hadleigh gritted his teeth, held his reprimand for later.

  * * *

  Once inside the house Amabelle hesitated. She looked toward the corridor that led to Sarah’s stillroom and then back towards the main part of the house. As she did so she heard Darton open the front door and bid Dr. Crandall a good day.

  Amabelle puzzled for a moment what to do. Since that day nearly two weeks past when Crandall had scolded her she had been uneasy in his company. He treated her no different than before but Amabelle had an uneasy sense she had been and still was lacking something in his eyes.

  I shall go help Stepmama, she thought and headed toward the stillroom but halted a few steps later. No, Dr. Crandall will probably wish to visit with Stepmama before he sees Hadleigh. She raised her chin, with a stubborn moue. I shall not avoid Mr. Crandall. No. In fact I need to consult with him about Stepmama. She has been oddly quiet and with such poor appetite of late. Yes, she latched onto the thought, it is my duty to speak with Mr. Crandall.

  Her mind made up Amabelle hurried toward the main entrance. Then she heard footsteps and nearly tripped over her skirts when she skidded to a halt. Her balance regained just as the doctor came within view, she squared her shoulders to face him without flinching.

  “Good morn, Miss Edgerton,” Crandall said with a slight bow. “How fare you?”

  “Very well, Mr. Crandall. And you?” Amabelle nearly rolled her eyes when she realized how silly was this prattling. She hurried on, “I am most concerned about Stepmama. Perhaps you could convince her to speak of what is wrong.”

  “I know her spirits are a touch low at Mr. Tarr’s leaving but that is natural.”

  “Not eating is natural?” Amabelle said more sharply than she meant to.

  “I doubt Sarah eats nothing,” Crandall said smiling.

  “You never take me seriously,” Amabelle said, peeved at his attitude and what it said about how he thought of her. “But you must this time, for Stepmama’s sake. There is something—oh, she is not herself at all. I am so worried.” She looked beseechingly at him and thought she saw a flicker of approval. Why that warmed her, Amabelle didn’t know but she wanted more of it.

  “What else have you noticed?” Crandall asked.

  “She is very, very quiet. Not in that contemplative way of hers,” she said with a dismissing wave of her hand. “No, she is deeply upset or else very worried. When I ask her, Stepmama says all is well. But she hardly touches her food—merely moves it around her plate. And her eyes, there is such sadness in them,” Amabelle said with a sigh. “Please find out what is wrong and give Stepmama a tisane or something to fix it.”

  Crandall seemed to stare at her appraisingly for a long time. Growing impatient, Amabelle placed her hand on his arm. “Please help her.”

  “You have proven more observant that I would have thought,” Crandall said. “And kinder too.”

  A blush began to steal up Amabelle’s neck. She wasn’t certain whether to be pleased or insulted. Did he really think her unkind? “But you will speak with her?”

  “I shall try, Amabelle.” He put his hand over hers, squeezed it and then dropped it and walked away.

  Amabelle gazed after him. She imagined the flowery splendour of the baron’s dress and feminine features and then thought of Hadleigh’s simple dark dress and starker features. She compared the two young men with Mr. Crandall. The doctor chose a more moderate dress but the colours suited him. Especially the blue cravat he wore today, she thought. “And truth be told,” she mused to herself, “his features are more pleasing.” Realizing the direction of her thoughts, Amabelle shook her head. “This is nonsense,” she murmured but the idea that she preferred the doctor’s looks lingered.

  Chapter Twelve

  Edgerton Manor June 9th Friday

  Sarah awoke in mid-scream. She trembled as on the day she had first seen Hadleigh. It all flashed before her—taking tea at the White Swan, the portly man she now knew was George walking past, Hadleigh’s entrance. Her words to Elminda. He did not glance our way. He follows the portly fellow we saw earlier. On its heels trod the certain thought that George had heard her. He noticed Hadleigh and had taken him because of her.

  “No. Oh, God, no” Sarah moaned. “I caused Hadleigh’s capture. His torture.” Utter devastation ripped a torrent of strangled sobs from her. When the mad bout eased, Sarah noticed the grey light that announced the new morn. The dreaded day of Hadleigh’s departure had arrived.

  * * *

  “That should be the last of it, sir,” Cauley said.

  The urge to order everything be brought back was so violent that Hadleigh trembled. To avoid voicing it, he dismissed the batman.

  At the doorway, Hadleigh glanced about the salon. Sarah’s touch, the texture of her skin, her scent, the taste of her lips cut through him like Letu’s blade. Long-honed discipline enabled him to continue.

  On the gravel drive behind four glossy bays Tretain’s berlin awaited. Hadleigh didn’t realize he had halted in the doorway to stare at it until Darton coughed. Sarah wants you to leave. You must do it in a manner worthy of her.

  Hadleigh thumped to the drive on his crutches. He saw Brady and Cauley behind the berlin, Molly, Annie and other servants to one side. Will I ever see Sarah again? The answer fluttered like a wild fearful thing. Then he heard Amabelle. Relieved, Hadleigh turned.

  André was shaken by the look in Hadleigh’s eyes. “What is it, mon frère?”

  “Sarah? Lady Edgerton?” Hadleigh demanded.

  Amabelle blushed. Sarah’s early morn garbled note had not read true. “Stepmama has not returned from a birthing. I—she—we wish you health and happiness.”

  “Do you make for London?” Amabelle asked to change the subject.

  Do this well for Sarah, Hadleigh commanded as he looked past them at the manor house.

  De la Croix spoke when Hadleigh did not re
spond. “‘Haps—for the small season.” He winked and brushed her cheeks with a kiss. “Au revoir, mademoiselle.”

  At Brady’s teasing whistle, warmth flamed across Amabelle’s face. “Stepmama said to wish you both God’s Blessings.” Rising on tiptoe she kissed Hadleigh’s cheek.

  Hadleigh saw those assembled through a haze. He thought of all they had done for him. Of Sarah. His throat constricted. How can I leave? Leave her?

  Brady’s loud chuckle gave him a mental nudge. “Watch who ye keep company wit,” the coachman teased.

  Hadleigh flashed a grateful, if weak, smile. “My thanks to all of you. I have left tokens of appreciation for you with Darton. God bless you and—your good lady.” He lurched toward the waiting coach.

  Cauley swung Hadleigh up and shifted him onto the seat. “Sorry, sir, we’ll get the hang of it,” he apologized. “I’ll ride at the side.”

  Following the coach as it left, Cauley looked back and grinned at Annie, who threw a timid wave from Molly’s side. He blew a kiss and left the ladies to decide its target.

  André helped Hadleigh place his legs up on the seat, then leaned back. A contrite smile hovered. “We make for Trees.”

  “Tarrant Hall,” Hadleigh objected.

  “Tante Juliane needs you,” de la Croix said bluntly. “Tretain asked me to beg if necessary.”

  Hadleigh looked away. He owed such a debt that refusal was impossible, but also knew he could not yet help anyone.

  “There was the veriest storm in London last week,” André continued with determined amiability. “That old oak in Birdcage Walk in St. James Park was uprooted—surely you remember it? Tretain caned us for throwing rocks at dandies’ horses from it the first time we came to town with him.”

  “Another scrape you got me into,” Hadleigh half-snarled.

  From a window on the first floor, Sarah stared at the crest of the road where the berlin had disappeared from sight. She dried her tears, determined to conduct the mourning of love lost in the privacy of her heart.

  * * *

  Trees Estate Northamptonshire June 15th Thursday

  It was early afternoon when the berlin topped the hill that gave the best view of Trees from a distance. André peered eagerly at the Elizabethan pile he had first seen on a moonlit midnight many years past. “Everyone will be gathered to greet us.”

  His anticipation deepened Hadleigh’s dread. The idea that he had failed Sarah had grown during the journey. He had neither the will nor the strength to help Lady Juliane.

  André waved his hat at those who rushed down the steps as the berlin swept into the wide approach. “The boys kept watch in the tower as we once did.” Before the coach completely halted, he jumped out. His sister Leora, a slighter mirror image except for her less angular features, threw herself into his arms.

  Tretain opened the door when the coach halted. “Good to have you home, Hadleigh,” he said, his voice tight with shock at the sharpness and harshness of his nephew’s features. A “my lord” at the earl’s elbow turned him to a man who was taller and much broader than he. At the man’s nod at the crutches the earl stepped aside.

  “Hadleigh will see everyone inside,” Tretain ordered. His two young sons reluctantly tugged their mother up the steps. De la Croix followed with Leora and Anne Marie.

  “Thank you for coming,” Tretain said as he watched his nephew take up his crutches. “Can you manage the steps?”

  “He’ll die trying,” Cauley said quietly.

  The earl schooled an impulse to smile.

  “My valet, Cauley,” Hadleigh said in introduction.

  Tretain motioned to his young butler. “Holdt will show you your quarters.” To Hadleigh, “Come to the family salon.”

  The beads of perspiration on Hadleigh’s brow when he entered the salon showed the struggle the steps had been. Leora and Ann Marie in turns hugged him and were stunned when he did not return the embrace.

  Daniel and Louis bowed.

  “Did it hurt?” Louis piped in his nine-year-old voice.

  “Hush, idiot.” Daniel pulled him back by his coattail. “He is just a baby,” he apologized.

  “I am not,” Louis protested.

  Hadleigh saw that all were in mourning black. His heart lurched at the great change in his aunt. He leaned on his crutches and held out a hand. Tears welled. “Aunt Juliane.”

  She rose and embraced him long and hard. “Do not say more,” she whispered. “I could not bear it.”

  Hadleigh clung to her. The weight of grief for Michelle’s loss and for Sarah almost overwhelmed him. He became aware of silence broken only by infrequent sniffs. When he looked through misty eyes he saw Leora staring at the floor, Anne Marie wiping her nose. The boys bit their lips. He refused to look at Tretain or de la Croix. “I need to rest.”

  “Of course,” Lady Julianne murmured.

  Leora stepped forward. “We prepared a room on this floor in the west wing. Anne Marie and I shall show it to you.”

  Hadleigh made for the door. The young ladies followed.

  “Boys, back to your tutor,” Tretain ordered. “Hadleigh will feel more up to you two ruffians after a few days rest.”

  “André, will he always use those crutches?” asked Daniel.

  De la Croix crouched down before the boys. “Your cousin will not be up to your tricks just yet. His right foot is not healed and he dislikes that. Remember when you had the chicken pox? Treat him as if you do not see the crutches.”

  They gave solemn nods and left with unusual docility.

  Lady Juliane sighed. “He is much altered.”

  Tretain put his arm about his wife’s shoulders. “How long before he can walk without crutches?”

  “Lady Edgerton hazarded that it would be two, three months. The removal of an abscess on the right foot damaged the muscles,” André explained. “The treatment is painful.”

  Lady Juliane turned her head into her husband’s shoulder.

  “And he hates his incapacity,” Tretain said to no one. “His mental state?”

  “Morose to a troubling degree. Lady Edgerton suggested it would take time. He holds me responsible. Justly so.”

  “No,” Tretain said. “He went with you willingly. If he does not recognize that just now, he will in time.”

  “It is good to have you home,” Lady Juliane murmured.

  “I’ll not remain long,” André said. “Hadleigh thinks I hover. It increases his choler. He will be better for my absence.”

  * * *

  Trees July 1st Saturday

  Lady Juliane sat on Michelle’s bed. She fingered her dead daughter’s favourite doll, and stared unseeing out the window.

  The dowager Countess of Tretain, now six and seventy, loomed over her daughter-in law, then hobbled to a chair near the bed and sat heavily. She placed one cane against her skirts and leaned on the other.

  Because of severe rheumatism, the dowager seldom left her quarters. She wore the wide panniers of by-gone days. They accentuated her thin frailty, as did the huge wig atop her wrinkled features. Rouge brightened her pale, leathered cheeks and her lips. Her eyes were sharp and clear. They blazed now with an anger that cut through the grief Lady Juliane used to keep everyone at bay.

  “Mother Tretain, you should not have left your room—”

  “Be still,” the dowager commanded. “Someone had to do something—bestir themself. This house is a mausoleum when Hadleigh and Leora are not flying at one another.”

  Lady Juliane studied the limp doll in her hands.

  “Have you no other children, no husband,” said the old aristocratic woman, “that you wallow in this cowardly grief? “Anger. Sorrow. What have they gotten you?” challenged the dowager. “Juliane, you surprise me.” She raised a wrinkled hand. “Do not tell me that you have lost your eldest, your most beloved. No.”

  She tightened rouged lips. “I have laid three babes under a year old to rest, a husband, and a grown son as well as your daughter—my granddaughter. Do n
ot talk to me of sorrow.” Lady Tretain rubbed the head of her dead husband’s favourite cane. She raised it and struck the floor.

  “They are gone, as is Michelle, the dear sweet child. Dead. Parted from us until we die.” Her lips curled. “Better to die than let grief turn life into this living death you are forcing those who love you to endure.

  “Take a long look at Adrian. He grieves for his daughter and for you. And your children? When did Daniel and Louis last laugh? Or Anne Marie sing? Hadleigh sulks in his rooms.”

  Lady Juliane shook her head. She could not stop the tears.

  “Everyone lost Michelle not just you. But they follow your lead, Daughter. Our men and children stand or fall by our example.

  “Lead them to life, Juliane, or at least toward the possibility of joy. There is too much grief in this world.”

  “I have tried—”

  “You have hidden. Look about. See what has happened. Guide Hadleigh and you will help yourself. He, too, has built a prison in his mind.”

  The dowager struggled to her feet. “Share your grief so he can share his with you.” She laid a hand on Juliane’s cheek. “We have those we love for far too short a time to waste so much of it.”

  Lady Juliane forced herself to take a long look about herself. She discovered, to her dismay, how much her grief had changed the household. Leora and Anne Marie tiptoed around trying to anticipate her every wish. Her mischievous sons had become troublingly meek. Her husband had aged ten years.

  She gathered her courage and approached Hadleigh’s rooms.

  “Mr. Tarrant isn’t here,” Cauley told her, but added, “He might be at the mausoleum.”

  Walking to it with hesitant steps, Lady Juliane thought back to the day in France when she had found her Leora and André, their father gone, their mother dead. She prayed to again find the courage that had enabled her to help them.

  Past the last turn in the path Lady Juliane saw the white marble monument, final home to five generations of Tarrants. Hadleigh sat hunched over on a bench before it.