The Rebel's Promise (26 page)

“Splendid!” he rubbed his hands together gleefully. “Now, my dear, we must press on with the wedding plans, must we not? I must confess my anticipation of our wedding night has been heightened even further by recent events.” He licked his lips lasciviously and Rosie felt sick bile churn in her gut.

“You cannot think I will marry you now?” The words burst form her before she could check them.

“My dear Rosie, you have no choice,” he replied patiently, as if he was chastising a small child, “You are forgetting that I still hold your brother’s confession. And, before your intrepid rescuers arrive, I must inform you that my lawyer is under strict instructions to make the contents of that document public should our marriage not take place on the scheduled date.” He smiled cheerfully, “I think all that remains now is for us to await the arrival of the so dashing Lord St Anton and Drury, that tame bear of yours.”

“I don’t think they will come,” Rosie said quietly, “After all, they will not know I am here.”

“They will not come immediately, that’s true,” he agreed, “They will be too preoccupied with a little … ah,
diversion
… I put in their way. Although they are both quite monumentally stupid, they will probably consider the option that we may be here. I expect they will arrive forthwith. They are both so very fond of you, my darling. But please don’t worry your pretty head that they will come between us again … Poulter, my groom, and his hired thug have strict instructions to finish them off … once and for all this time.”

“Clive, please, let me fetch help for your aunt.”

Lady Harpenden’s face was grey and her lips had taken on a bluish tinge. Her breathing was coming in shallow, ragged pants and she appeared to be unaware of her surroundings. Rosie was becoming increasingly concerned for her.

“Mrs Dawson will be able to bring her a hot drink for the shock and, if we can ease the discomfort of her wounds … “

Sir Clive sighed, “Mr and Mrs Dawson are both somewhat indisposed,” he said apologetically, “They made the mistake of taking my aunt’s side and … well, I could not have that, could I? Servants sometimes need a reminder of their place, my dear Rosie.”

Rosie shuddered at the thought of what Sir Clive might have done to the aging, harmless couple who had served his family devotedly for so many years. She wasn’t sure Jack would get here in time to save Lady Harpenden … and she knew it was only a matter of time before Sir Clive’s brutal attentions were turned in her own direction. She may not be so lucky this time.

At that moment the door opened and Poulter entered, his face troubled. He nodded deferentially in Rosie’s direction which struck her as faintly ridiculous. The man had clubbed her about the head a few days ago and had now abducted her, for heaven’s sake! In the circumstances, his courtesy was somewhat misplaced.

“Sire,” he kept his voice low, “The old man is in a bad way. I don’t think he’ll live if we don’t get him some help.”

“’Tis the same situation with Lady Harpenden, here,” Rosie said coolly, “You would appear to have assisted your master in a double murder …”

The groom’s face paled further and Sir Clive interrupted shrilly. “Be quiet! Quiet, I say! I will decide what happens … I will not be crossed!”

“And I’ll not assist you in murder, sire” Poulter faced him bravely, much to Rosie’s surprise, “I won’t swing for your actions and nor will Gem.”

Sir Clive, his face contorted with madness, struggled to get his pistol out of his coat pocket with his ruined right hand. Poulter bowed again to Rosie and came over to examine Lady Harpenden who had slumped forward in her chair. Rosie, leaning in close, could not detect any sign that she was breathing.

Jack chose that moment to burst into the room. Taking in the scene at a glance, including the pistol which was now levelled in Rosie’s direction, he launched himself at Sir Clive, grappling with him for possession of the weapon.

“You have lost, my lord,” Sir Clive’s feral breath touched his face as he whispered triumphantly, “My lawyer has instructions to publish Harry’s signed confession should I die an untimely death. She will hang for her love of you …”

Poulter’s quiet voice interrupted him.

“Sire, her ladyship is dead. You have killed your aunt.” Knowing that the rational man deep inside him loved and respected Lady Harpenden, Rosie hoped the words would – on some level, at least– touch him.

“No!” It was an impassioned wail and, for the first time in a long, long time, there was no trace of madness on his face. The only emotions left were pain and remorse. As he broke free of Jack, Sir Clive lifted the pistol shakily with his left hand and Lady Harpenden, defying the odds, drew in an endless breath. A single shot echoed round the room and Sir Clive pitched forward onto the carpet, his torment finally brought to an end by his own hand. Grimacing, Jack stepped forward and threw his coat over all that remained of Sir Clive Sheridan.

Jack was subdued on his return to Delacourt Grange after the funeral. He bowed low over Lady Harpenden’s outstretched hand. “It is done, my lady,” he said simply.

Her face, still a patchwork of different coloured bruises, relaxed a little. “Was there any talk?” In spite of everything, the family name remained her prime concern.

Jack shook his head, “The story that he died in a tragic riding accident is holding up. Your ladyship’s generosity to the Dawson’s – together with the fact that Poulter and his bovine accomplice are facing the noose if they breathe a word – have ensured that there is no tongue wagging. Fortunately, the neighbourhood was unaware of his worst excesses and the recent deterioration in his mood.”

“And Mr Dawson?” The dressing applied by the doctor to Lady Harpenden’s damaged nose only managed to accentuate her hawk-like expression.

“He will make a full recovery. The injuries were less serious than they first seemed and he, and Mrs Dawson, were very understanding. Their loyalty to your family is quite remarkable, my lady.”

“As it should be,” Something of the weariness she felt showed on her face, and Jack offered her his arm so that he could escort her into the morning room, where a light luncheon had been set out. He knew that she felt an inordinate amount of guilt over Sir Clive’s death and the events leading up to it. She wondered if things might have been different had she not projected her high expectations onto her nephew when he was a boy. Should she have recognised his fragility and done something about it? In her fierce determination to protect the family name, had she been responsible for destroying its most prominent member? Or was the damage already done when her brother, detecting something of his wife’s wildness in their son, had attempted to beat it out of him? These were the questions which would forever haunt her and Jack – knowing there were no straightforward answers to them – felt sincerely sorry for her.

Rosie was waiting for them in the morning room and she smiled shyly at Jack as he entered, but he appeared not to notice. Now that there were no secrets between them and all of the barriers to them being together had been removed, she wondered where their relationship would go next. He had been distant and preoccupied since the horror of Clive’s suicide, but that was natural. His time had been taken up with the aftermath and arrangements for the funeral.

Lunch was a quiet affair, during which Lady Harpenden announced her intention of returning to London the following day.

“So soon, my lady?” Rosie asked, “Are you sure you are quite recovered?”

Her ladyship nodded decisively, “I must go to London and make sure that no trace of scandal gets out,” Her mouth trembled in a brief moment of weakness.“I need to be busy, my dear. What about you? What will you do next?” She glanced from Rosie to Jack, her gaze significant, and Rosie felt her ready blush begin to rise.

“I cannot remain here,” Jack’s quiet voice halted her pleasant daydream, “There is something I must do, and, in order to accomplish it, I must go to London. Lady Harpenden, I would be most honoured if you would permit me to accompany you?”

Rosie’s heart sank at the words. Her suspicions had clearly been correct, after all. The greater draw of Lady Cavendish was pulling him back to London. He had stayed out of pity, not love. She maintained a dignified distance from Jack until he left the following day. She wished she could say that her coolness of manner affected him but, so lost in his own thoughts was he, that he clearly did not notice. His farewell was brief and absent-minded and Rosie wondered, as she watched Lady Harpenden’s carriage rumble down the drive, if she would ever see him again.

It was almost a week later when Jack dismounted and gazed up again at the beautiful, golden house, the mullioned windows of which reflected the sunlight back at him in a hundred bright points of light. The honeysuckle around the door had blossomed and its sweet scent welcomed him home as he stepped through the open door.

The smell of beeswax and fresh baked bread made his nostrils twitch with delight and, through the open door of the parlour, he glimpsed sunlight streaming into the cosy parlour he remembered so fondly. Mrs Glover bustled through, carrying a pile of freshly laundered linen and caught herself up short at the sight of him. Bobbing a quick curtsey, she nodded towards the garden, “Miss Rosie,” she grinned delightedly, “Is outside, my lord.” The broad smile stretched her features even further, “Oh,’tis mighty glad she’ll be to see you, Mister Jack!”

Jack made his way to the wide patio which ran the length of the rear of the house and stepped out onto it, viewing the garden below him. A rug had been laid on the grass under the shade of a broad oak and Rosie was seated on it, leaning back against the broad trunk of an aging oak. The bruising on her face was gone now, but her arm still rested in a sling. A golden retriever puppy was frenziedly tugging at the edge of the rug with sharp teeth, its plumy tail waving joyfully. Jack paused, content to watch her before making his presence known but, as he stepped down onto the grass, some sixth sense made Rosie turn her head in his direction. The smile he loved so dearly blossomed and, without hesitation, she rose and ran into his open arms.

Mrs Glover and Tom, unashamedly watching through the dining room window, later swore that the kiss which followed could never have been matched for intensity or duration. When Jack eventually raised his head, it was only to gaze in wonder at Rosie’s glowing features. He lifted a hand to stroke her hair and Rosie caught hold of it, pressing her cheek against his palm. Mrs Glover sobbed uncontrollably as Jack released Rosie and went down on one knee before her.

The moment Rosie had come to believe would never happen, had arrived at last. Feeling that her heart might just burst with joy, she tugged at Jack’s shoulder and nodded her acceptance as he rose and, careful of her injured arm, he clasped her to him once more.

Harry, rounding the corner in a bound, paused and - correctly interpreting the scene - hurled himself upon them with a whoop of delight. Staggering slightly from the impact of his exuberance, Jack lifted him off his feet in a crushing bear hug. Then, presenting one arm to Rosie and the other to Harry, the Earl of St Anton led his family into the house.

“Why
did
you go back to London, Jack?” Tom asked later, as they drank a toast.

Jack produced a document from his coat pocket and handed it to Rosie. “To get this,” she scanned it quickly and raised shining eyes to his face, “’Tis your blasted confession, scamp, and you have Lady Harpenden’s intervention to thank for its retrieval. I could not persuade the damned lawyer to part with it. Before he died, Sheridan told me he had left instructions that, should he meet an untimely end, it was to be published. The lawyer had the document ready to send to the Gazette and a letter to the king. I was on the verge of breaking into the little worm’s offices at night to steal it when her ladyship stepped in. Lord, you should have seen his face when she called him a ‘jumped up, snivelling, little clerk’!”

“Break into the lawyer’s offices?” Harry’s voice was tinged with envy, “By Jove, I wish I’d thought of that. How much I would have enjoyed it!”

“Heaven help us all, we’ll have the lad turning into a housebreaker next! Throw that blasted thing onto the fire!” Jack commanded and Harry, with a delighted grin, rushed to do his bidding. They watched in silence as the paper blackened, curled and then caught light before vanishing into the flames.

Rosie hid her face against Jack’s shoulder, saying, in muffled accents.

“I thought you had gone to see Lady Cavendish.”

Jack took hold of her chin and tilted her face up to him.

“You would appear to have the self-confidence of a gnat … and a very poor opinion of my fidelity, sweetheart.” He said, dropping a kiss onto the end of her upturned nose. “The only remedy will be to make you Lady St Anton as soon as I can and devote the rest of my life to convincing you of my love for you. Besides, Bella and Perry appear to have discovered a certain pleasure in each other’s company … which would appear to me to be a match made in heaven ... or between the pages of a farce. I confess, I neither know nor care which.”

“When will your wedding day be?” Tom enquired.

“Next week, if not sooner,” Jack reached into his other pocket and produced another piece of paper. “I also took the time, whilst in London, to procure a special licence. Why do you ask?”

“No particular reason.” Jack and Rosie exchanged an astonished glance. Was Tom actually blushing? “I thought that I might travel to Scotland again, once you are wed … perhaps pay another visit to Kilcroath … and stay a little longer this time …

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