Honour's Choice Read online

  The image of her nephew as a thin, twelve-year-old, freshly orphaned, came to mind. He had been so shy, so afraid to believe he would be cherished. All he had needed from her then was love and reassurance. Lady Juliane was suddenly certain that that was what he required now.

  The countess joined him, took his hand, and waited. Minutes passed. His fingers tightened and he stirred.

  “Aunt Juliane, tell me about—about Michelle’s last days.”

  “They were peaceful,” she began and ended some time later. “She just slipped away. Adrian made it home before the end. Michelle smiled when he took her hand.” Lady Juliane tightened her grip. “I think she grew tired of struggling. That she was happy to go.

  “Some days earlier she made me promise I would take Leora to Town in the fall whether—” She faltered. Tears spilled down her cheeks.

  Hadleigh wrapped his arm about her. “I so wish I could have been here.”

  “But you could not,” Lady Juliane whispered as she eased an arm around his waist. “Tell me what happened, Hadleigh. Please.”

  Haltingly he told her an antiseptic version. Hadleigh had fought thinking of Sarah since his arrival. His aunt’s request opened a floodgate. His eyes softened and he smiled.

  “Sarah—Lady Edgerton. You would respect her intelligence, her skill, her ardour in caring for the sick. Do you know, she reads Milton.” Hadleigh smiled remembering the lilt of Sarah’s voice.

  Lady Juliane hid a sudden qualm. “Did she read to you?”

  “Yes and I helped her memorize the Latin names for her herbs. She is determined to master all of them.” Hadleigh beamed. “And she will. She was not even put off by my beetles.”

  The countess’s look sharpened. “She has no plans to wed.”

  Hadleigh scowled. “She is to marry a physician.”

  “Oh,” Lady Juliane murmured. “And her stepdaughter, did you say her name was Amabelle?”

  He nodded. “A beautiful minx much like Leora. And a mountebank at cards.” He told of Amabelle’s triumph in piquet and they laughed. They did so again when Hadleigh described Amabelle’s reaction to de la Croix.

  Lady Juliane squeezed his hand. “André loves you dearly,” she said. “He feels very deeply about—”

  “I know,” Hadleigh cut her off. “I know that what happened was not his fault—in any way.” He met her gaze. “I have always known that in my heart.”

  “There will always be pain where there is love,” Juliane voiced aloud her realization. “We must have the courage to keep fear from snatching the joy.”

  They sat in companionable silence for a long time, his arm about her shoulders, hers about his waist.

  Cauley found them this way and cleared his throat several times before Hadleigh looked over his shoulder.

  Lady Juliane stirred as if waking from a long sleep. She sighed and hugged him. “Thank you, Hadleigh. It does not seem so—” She stopped, unable to find words.

  “I thank you, Aunt,” Hadleigh said, his voice tight with emotion. “You have made matters much clearer for me.” He chuckled. “Leora will have my head if I do not change my ways. God protect the poor fellow who weds her.”

  Lady Juliane picked up his crutches with a gurgle of laughter. “I miss Daniel and Louis’ tricks. They have taken after you and André. Remember when you two set a bucket of water on the door into your uncle’s office and he got doused?”

  “I had never seen him so angry,” Hadleigh chuckled.

  “You tried to take the punishment for André. I told Adrian it was not right to cane you both when André admitted it was his idea. But he said it would make him think twice before he led you astray again.” They walked in silence except for the thumping of Hadleigh’s crutches.

  “André left Trees because he thought it would be better for you. May I write and bid him home?”

  Hadleigh stared into the distance. “I will write him.”

  When they returned to the house, Holdt, alerted by a footman, hurried to open the side door on the main floor. The unexpected smile Lady Juliane gave him prompted profound relief.

  When her abigail came to help her dress for supper, she did not know what to make of finding the countess digging deep in one of her dresser drawers. “My lady, what is it?”

  A triumphant Lady Juliane pulled free a sheer silk night rail. “I wonder if Adrian will recall it,” she murmured. “It has been six and ten years.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  London September 26 Tuesday

  Hadleigh halted his mount in front of the Jermyn Street flat that André had won in a game of faro a month earlier. The exterior was much like its neighbours, all narrow frontages with steps that led to innocuous front doors.

  His foot ached after the long day in the saddle. But the thought of the note André had sent after he removed from Grosvenor Street still made Hadleigh smile.

  A person of my advanced years needs a place to reflect in private and entertain friends away from the paternal eye. In my recent efforts to assist a pretty young widow in selecting furnishings to refurbish her rooms I have discovered a liking for Adam’s designs. I need to develop my own style and find this experiment must be conducted in quarters peculiarly my own.

  When a boy in ragged clothes appeared at the head of his horse, Hadleigh steeled for the dismount. At least Cauley is to meet me at Grosvenor Square and is not here to twit me about being too long in the saddle. He put his weight on his right foot as he swung down, and then took up his grandfather’s cane, a gift from the dowager. Tossing the boy a coin, Hadleigh told him to await directions. He limped up the steps and rapped on the door.

  A thin man of an indeterminate age with a decidedly French air peered around the door as if expecting a Bow Street runner.

  “Is this the address of Baron de la Croix?” Hadleigh asked. His interest was tweaked by this servile curiosity.

  “Oui, monsieur. Pardonnez, I forget my English, sir. This be monsieur le baron’s home.”

  These stammered utterances would have amused but for the terror deep in the man’s eyes and his obsequious pose. Hadleigh wondered what new folly of André’s this was. “I am the baron’s cousin, Tarrant,” he began.

  “Entrez, sil vous plait, monsieur. My lord speaks of you oft. Make yourself comfortable. Perhaps in his office, at the top of the stairs. Or, if you prefer, in the front salon.” The man gestured to his right, then took Hadleigh’s hat and gloves.

  Hadleigh eyed the stairs with an interior sigh. “I shall await the baron in his office. When is he expected?”

  The man shrugged. “Soon?”

  “Tea and biscuits, then. Do not inform him of my arrival.”

  “Oui, monsieur,” the servant bowed low, and disappeared down a set of stairs below the set that led upward.

  A striking rectangular mirror with a centre arch adorned by a pendant of six heads of wheat, the whole framed in heavy gilt, caught Tarrant’s attention. The simplicity of the design was enhanced by a sense of delicacy. Hadleigh began to appreciate André’s “experiment in style.”

  Plying his cane Hadleigh trod up the stairs. In André’s office he sank into one of a pair of leather armchairs before the empty grate.

  He was relieved he was not as tired as he had feared nor his foot as painful as it still could be at times. Days of long walks and hard rides, first at Trees and then at Tarrant Hall in Norfolk outside of Lyme Regis, had renewed his strength.

  Hadleigh envisioned improvements to the weedy remnant of an herb garden he had found on his estate. Just the thought swirled Sarah’s exotic scent about him.

  Sarah. Has Hale returned to England? Has she married?

  Footsteps on the stairs ended his reverie. Hadleigh thanked the servant and ate. To distract himself from thoughts of Sarah, he determinedly turned to other matters. Of first importance while I am in London is the Board of Agriculture meetings.

  But he then thought of the bookseller Tretain believed might have the herbal book he wanted to purchase. Hadl
eigh intended it for Sarah. It is a very small gift, he assured himself. Anyone, even Hale, could not object. The thought tightened his fist and the biscuit in his hand crumbled to bits.

  “Damme.” Hadleigh brushed the crumbs from his hand. I hope Amabelle has been able to prod Sarah to come to London. He paused, caught between fear and hope. Who can object if I consult Sarah about my plans for the gardens?

  After I give Sarah the book, after I thank her properly she will no longer haunt my dreams. The thought was dour.

  * * *

  Baron de la Croix returned later that afternoon. He handed his hat and gloves to his new valet cum butler cum footman, Gervase. He checked his appearance in his recently purchased Adam’s mirror. “Please order in supper. I dine alone.”

  “Yes, my lord,” the thin man bowed. “A package arrived this morn, my lord. I placed it on your desk.”

  “Thank you.” De la Croix trotted up the stairs. His mood grew sombre as he withdrew a letter from his jacket. It had come via the Secretary for War and its content did not please.

  André went straight to his desk across from the door. Tossing the dirty creased letter on it, he inspected the square package. The lack of marks told him it came from someone in London. The baron removed the paper and found a wooden box.

  Finding a note inside, de la Croix read it and smiled. He tossed the foolscap aside and removed a tissue-wrapped pocket watch. He opened it and traced the VNT wrought inside the cover. Verne Nicholas Tarrant. Hadleigh’s father.

  How like Lady Broyal—Maddie, he amended. He recalled her insistence on her given name after his part in her rescue this past May. I must arrange to call on them now that they are in town. I wonder if the whole clan came, he thought thinking Maddie’s sisters, brother, and aunt.

  At a slight stir behind him, André stilled. He laid down the watch and turned. His poised stance and bland expression evaporated when he saw Hadleigh. He bounded across the room and enveloped him in a fierce hug.

  Hadleigh returned the embrace.

  The baron put his hands on Hadleigh’s shoulders. “You have come. I had begun to wonder,” he exclaimed.

  “A sample of your famous insouciant charm, eh?” Hadleigh teased. The inkling hovered that André still held himself responsible for what had happened. He momentarily gripped André’s hand hard before he resumed his seat.

  With some bemusement, Hadleigh watched de la Croix saunter back to his desk. His blue pantaloons were tight enough to satisfy Beau Brummel, the current arbiter of dress, as was the perfect fit of the darker blue coat by Weston. This subdued elegance was offset by the splendour of a heavily embroidered white satin waistcoat adorned with ornate gold buttons and a fall of lace at André’s cuffs—something that would not meet Brummel’s approval. Very unfamiliar was the light coat of powder on the baron’s face.

  André returned, concluded his own inspection, and sat opposite Hadleigh. His gaze flitted to the cane. “You look well. How fares the obstinate right foot?”

  “My compliments to you, also,” Hadleigh replied. When self-reproach flashed in André’s eyes, he cursed his pride that hated any reference to his feet.

  Forcing a laugh, de la Croix repeated. “You do look well.”

  “You look a trifle—pale?”

  “It is better than taking arsenic,” André jested. “It covers the atrocious darkening of my skin that occurred when I—but I forget.” He grinned. “I have something of yours.” André held out his closed hand, palm down.

  Hadleigh cast a sceptical look at the hand.

  “‘Tis not one of the coleoptera you love,” André quipped. “Nor a beetle.” He turned his hand over and opened it.

  Surprise and wonder filled Hadleigh’s features as he accepted his father’s watch. It had been lost since George’s men had taken it. “Where in the devil did you get this?”

  “Sadly, I cannot claim its recovery. Broyal found it.”

  Hadleigh caressed the watch. “I wish I could thank him.”

  “You can,” André said. “He and his lady are in town.” He glanced toward the door.

  “Was that your horse outside my door?” At Hadleigh’s nod he went to the hall. “Gervase,” he called, “order supper for two and send Mr. Tarrant’s horse to the mews.”

  “Oui, my lord,” came from below.

  “Who is that fellow? Did he come with the flat?”

  “No though it did have some rather atrocious items,” André said with a flash of annoyance. “Some still remain. Barstern was a fool to wager this place and he with five more years than I. I tried to warn him off but—” he shrugged.

  Remembering the man at Eton, Hadleigh agreed. “He never was one to use his head. But your—what is he, a butler?”

  “Gervase.” André waved negligently. “My man of all work. I happened on him when he tangled with footpads who were beating him. The odds were not fair with one against many.”

  “Since when is being rescued an indenturing procedure?”

  “He had no position and I had won this place but a few days earlier.” He gave a Gallic shrug.

  A suspicion came to Tarrant. “In what part of town did this encounter occur?”

  “Marylebone Road,” clipped André. He leaned forward. “Now that you are in town I shall introduce you to some widows. They should interest you more than your beetles.”

  Hadleigh refused to be lured from the topic. “Marylebone Road? Where a large portion of the French émigrés live? What were you doing there?”

  Sighing, André settled back in his chair. “I thought to find de la Ferronays.”

  “Comte Auguste de la Ferronays? The one who provided such useful information after he returned from Sweden?”

  “Will you not reconsider helping me?” André’s features hardened. “I will have George and Porteur.”

  “It is more likely that those devils will have you.”

  “First we have to find one another,” de la Croix said. He rose and went to his desk. When he returned he handed the creased letter to Tarrant and sat.

  After reading it Hadleigh looked up, troubled. He glanced toward the door and then asked softly, “Who is this Pamadert?”

  “A French aristo who married an English woman. She, unfortunately, went to the guillotine in ‘93. Pamadert saved his daughter and brought her to England. I understand she lives with an aunt in Hampstead. He returned to France and is breaking English ciphers for Napoleon—”

  “Breaking our ciphers? Good God.”

  “He does it in a way to benefit England,” he said sotto voce. “England could use your help.”

  “England will have to do without me,” Hadleigh told him, his frown darkening. “I mean to concentrate on Tarrant Hall.”

  “You cannot bury yourself in the country—”

  “I never intend to lend myself to the consequences of your kind of hunt again.” He paused. “What does Tretain say?”

  André fingered one of his ornate gold buttons.

  “Surely you do not think you can keep him unaware of this? Your rooms are not far enough away from Grosvenor for that.”

  “He will not interfere,” the baron said.

  “No, not in a manner direct, but Tretain has his ways.”

  André shrugged. “Did you stop at Trees?”

  Hadleigh conceded the subject for now. “It was in an uproar. Aunt Juliane brings Leora and Anne Marie to town.”

  André’s face lit with pleasure. “Tante does well then.”

  “Very much so. Leora is in alt.” Hadleigh grinned. “I fall into a quake whenever I consider what will happen with both of you let loose upon the Town.”

  De la Croix pursed his lips. “It may be an inconvenience to have to watch over a little sister.”

  “A very pretty grown-up sister. I fear we will find plenty of gentlemen who, unaware of her true nature, will be pleased to do it for us,” Hadleigh told him. “But I shall be put more to the test since I shall be in Grosvenor.”

  “But no,” A
ndré protested. “You must stay here. I have a room that will be très comfortable.”

  “It would get me away from all the petticoats,” Hadleigh said considering it.

  “T’will be like your Oxford days when you deigned to let me visit,” André said. “I promise not to involve you.” He ignored Hadleigh’s disbelieving snort.

  “Mrs. Wainrite has a friend who will please you. She has such, ahh, pleasant attributes. Perhaps not as comfortable,” he cocked his head, “as a certain widow in Sussex.”

  Hadleigh bridled. “Do not insult Lady Edgerton with such a jest. I owe her my life and will not have anyone demean her.” He tossed back the missive. “Have you found any trace of this Frenchman Pamadert claims is in England?”

  André wondered at the force of Hadleigh’s response to his mild jest but knew well enough to acquiesce. “Non. But I have cautioned the War Office.”

  “Where and who have you been questioning?”

  “I knew you were still interested.”

  “Of course I am concerned about the welfare of our country,” Hadleigh protested. “But I will not become as involved as you would like. I am in London only to attend the Board of Agriculture meetings.”

  “The Board of Agriculture?” spluttered André. “There is another reason, surely, that you have come.”

  Hadleigh smiled. “To see you, brother.”

  De la Croix eyed him suspiciously. “That may be true, but you forget I know you very well, mon frère.”

  “I mean to locate a book dealer who specializes in older texts. My father’s meagre library lacks some of my favourites,” Hadleigh prevaricated.

  “Tomes.” André rolled his eyes.

  “Tell me more of Gervase,” Hadleigh prompted, glad to have André off the scent. “He seems a rabbit in the fox’s lair well aware of his danger.”

  * * *

  Donatien hailed Gervase from his hackney as the valet walked back to the flat. Pretending to ask directions, he demanded, “Have you learned anything?”

  “Non, M. Chercheur,” Gervase began. At the warning in the man’s eyes, he switched to English. “No. Well yes. A package from Viscountess Broyal arrived but it was only a watch—a common pocket watch.” Seeing displeasure, he added, “The baron has a visitor. M. Hadleigh Tarrant.” Gervase blanched at the flair of recognition in the piercing eyes.