Ransome's Honor (34 page)

“Charlotte has met them, my lady.” Susan turned to her. “Charlotte, what think you of William’s lieutenants? Are they handsome?”

“Yes, each is handsome in his own way.” Especially the first lieutenant with the gray eyes she could spend eternity charting the depths of

No! Her heart belonged to Henry. Besides, the less time she spent in the company of Ned Cochrane, the better. She could not afford to have him pay her any measure of attention. For when the time came, he could not recognize her. At the end of next week, Ned Cochrane must see her only as Charles Lott, midshipman.

Julia paced the bedroom, Lady MacDougall’s ugly threats still ringing in her ears.

Her father and William had survived so much—bullets and cannon, shipwreck, fire, disease—yet if their honor were besmirched in such a way, everything they had fought for and gained in their lives would be as naught. No one would remember the lives they saved or the battles they won. All people would remember were the savage, malicious lies.

Julia cared little for her own reputation. In Jamaica, nothing said of her in Portsmouth would matter. But her father’s and William’s livelihoods depended greatly on what those in authority above them believed to be true.

She sank onto the musty chair beside the fireplace, where a small blaze made little progress in chasing away the chill of the rainy day. If she agreed to Lady MacDougall’s plan, if she broke her engagement with William and married Sir Drake, William would be humiliated. She would be casting off all her dearest friends. Susan might forgive her, but never again would they be as close as sisters. And Mrs. Ransome—pain seared Julia’s soul at the disappointment she would cause that dear lady.

Her father’s face floated before her mind’s eye, mottled with rage. She’d only seen him that furious once, when she was a child and he’d had one of
Indomitable’s
crew flogged; but if she turned her back on William, she had no doubt she would see that expression again.

Yet how could she not accede to the demands? If she did not do as bidden, the results would be no better. Her reputation would be soiled worse as a reputed harlot than it would be as a fickle woman who jilted one man to marry another. Her father would lose his position. William, if he were not also drummed out of the navy, would most likely never again regain the respect he now garnered. The rumors would chase Charlotte Ransome all the way back to Gateacre, and as Lady MacDougall threatened, Charlotte would never make a good marriage. And what of William’s brothers, also captains in the Royal Navy, whose progress depended greatly on reputation?

Lord God, please, show me what to do. I cannot make this decision by myself. It is not only I alone who must suffer regardless of the choice I make. So many lives will be affected

If only she’d stayed in Jamaica. If only she’d never come to this horrid place.

Her mother’s gentle voice and sweet smile infiltrated her thoughts, bringing the burn of tears to her eyes. Why had her mother never forewarned her that people—her own relatives—could be so cruel and spiteful?

She wished she could cut off all emotion and rely solely on reason to make her choice. Yet the idea that she might never see William and Susan and other friends again nearly drowned her with waves of sorrow and regret.

Honor. Love. The two were inexorably entwined. If she chose love, she would bring dishonor; if she chose honor, she would lose those she loved.

After what seemed hours, though the sun had hardly moved in the sky, a knock at the door interrupted her agony.

“Yes?” Her voice sounded shredded, just like her heart.

A servant entered. “Lady MacDougall requests your presence immediately, miss.”

A tear escaped Julia’s eye, but she dashed it away. A decision must be made, and she had only a gallows’ walk in which to make it.

Chapter Thirty-Four

D
rake lounged on the window seat in Aunt Hedwig’s bedroom, though he did not understand why the woman was not up and dressed on this important day.

“She will agree. Mark my words.” Hedwig looked up from her breakfast tray.

“How can you be certain? Everything Julia’s done has defied logic.”

“Only because you and your mother did not press the issue hard enough. What you’ve yet to learn is that when someone cares nothing of her own reputation-which is apparent for all to see in Julia, as it was in her mother—you must go further: You must go after those she loves most.”

He picked at a worn spot on his coat sleeve. “Are you certain this is the only solution left to us? To force her into the decision?”

“She proved more stubborn than even I could have imagined. We are fortunate she did not do what her mother did and elope before a plan could be put into action. And I had such a suitor lined up for Eleanor. Second son of a Duke with a sickly older brother. The fortunes of the Pembroke family would have been ensured for generations. But no, Eleanor had to run off and marry a sailor.”

Though the chill of the rainy day seeped around the windowpanes, Drake divested himself of the ratty jacket and threw it to the other end of the seat.

“Are you pouting?” Hedwig laughed. “You are upset that she did not come to you willingly, that she did not submit to your fumbling attempts at wooing her.”

Irritation festered in the pit of his stomach, but he could not risk raising Hedwig’s ire against himself. He wondered what, if any, spirits were in the house; he needed a stiff drink to settle his nerves. Since nothing in this room could answer, he stalked to the fireplace and stoked the blaze. “What man wishes to become a husband only by force and duplicity?”

Hedwig cackled louder. “Fool! If you had not wasted what little your father had restored to the Pembroke estate, imbecile though he may have been, you would not be in this position.” Her spite-filled laughter subsided. “Drake, once you are certain of a Pembroke heir on the way, you can leave Julia here and go and do as you please in London. I understand you have already taken to paramour Lady Margaret Everingham. Once you are wed, your debts are paid, and your lineage is secure, you can take as many mistresses as you please with all the freedom of the security that marriage brings.”

A soft knock was immediately followed by a servant opening the door. Julia, ghostly pale, entered the bedchamber. She balked upon seeing Drake and then closed her eyes as if the sight of him made her head ache.

He grunted and folded his arms. Even the idea of being able to set her aside in a few months did not offset his disgust of marrying someone who found the mere sight of him distasteful.

Aunt Hedwig continued eating. “Ah, Julia. Please come in.”

On stiff legs, Julia came a few steps into the room. The servant closed the door; Julia flinched at the sound of the latch clicking into place.

“Drake, you have not greeted your cousin.” At their aunt’s hard look, Drake bowed. Julia’s green eyes swept over him before she executed an ignoble curtsey.

Though it pained him, he offered his arm. “I am happy to see you, Julia. Come, sit with me.”

She stared at his arm for a moment before settling her hand on it. He escorted her to the window seat, eschewing the two hard wooden chairs nearer the bed. She dropped his arm and her hand disappeared under her shawl as she perched on the edge of the cushion.

“May I say you are looking well, dear cousin?” He nearly choked on the compliment. She looked like she was about to be ill all over the Italian-made carpet. He regained his seat and leaned against the pillows he’d piled there earlier.

She answered only with a brief nod.

“Had you a pleasant journey to Marchwood?”

Again, a single movement of her head to indicate assent.

“Though the day is drear, cousin, I should love to take you about the house so you can see all Marchwood has to offer.”

“Now, Drake, let us not be moving ahead of the issues at hand.” Hedwig finally set aside her tray. She dabbed her mouth with a lace handkerchief, adjusted her frilly mobcap over her hair, and resituated herself against the pillows. “Well, Julia, you have had an hour to consider the proposal put before you. What say you?”

Julia’s neck strained as she swallowed. Drake studied the outline of her profile. Really, she was not all that unattractive. If she were to soften toward him, they might have an amicable marriage.

“Lady MacDougall, I have spent the time since our last interview praying about the decision you have given me. Either choice I make will bring humiliation and pain to those I love.” As if moved by some unseen hand, she rose and crossed to the opposite window. “I have not easily arrived at a decision. And before I tell you what I am going to do, there is something you should know.”

She turned to face them both. “When Captain Ransome and I became engaged, I promised him that he would become sole heir to Tierra Dulce. If I jilt him, he may take legal action to claim this right.” She visibly swallowed again. “And if my father is angry enough, he might agree and make William—Captain Ransome—his legal heir.” She glanced from Hedwig to Drake. “As a man of honor, Drake, can you see the quandary this creates? Would you be willing to take me on so little promise as my thirty-thousand pound bridal legacy and nothing more?”

Drake’s innards careened, alternating between panic and anticipation. Without the promise of the fortune that would come from the sugar plantation upon the admiral’s death, marrying Julia for an amount that hardly exceeded his own debts suddenly seemed less palatable. But what choice did he have? “Yes, Julia. I would still take you for as little as that.”

Julia nodded and again turned to look out the window.

“Well?” Hedwig rasped, her hands fisted in her bedclothes. “What is your decision, child?”

Julia left the window and approached the bed. “Aunt Hedwig, I would like to have that letter, please.”

Drake really needed a drink. Brandy, whisky, port, anything. In mere moments, his most pressing debts would be covered, with a little left over to use as a stake to win his way back into the comfortable lifestyle he deserved.

Hedwig beamed and took the folded parchment from under her pillow. “I knew you would come to see things as we do, Julia. Tomorrow, we shall all depart for Scotland, and we shall see the end of this nasty business.”

Julia took the letter, unfolded it, her hand trembling as she read it. Though she probably did not even realize it, she edged toward the warmth of the fireplace.

Drake stood, preparing to receive his sentence with aplomb.

Julia stopped with her back to the fireplace and finished reading the letter. Her hands slowly ceased trembling. Drake’s started.

Julia refolded the letter. “Very well then.”

“I knew you would make the right decision.” Hedwig threw back the bedclothes and made to rise.

Drake reached to adjust his coat’s lapels and remembered he’d removed it. He settled for straightening his waistcoat.

“I was not certain I was making the right decision until I came in here.” Julia ran her fingers along the crease in the paper. “But after our conversation, I am certain I received the answer to my prayers for clarity.” Grasping the parchment with both hands, she ripped it in two and tossed it into the flames.

Drake could only stare. What decision had Julia made?

Aunt Hedwig gasped and flew from the bed, the breakfast tray crashing to the floor. She grabbed Julia’s arms. “How dare you defy me!”

“How dare I defy you? My dear Lady MacDougall, in all of your scheming have you considered how these rumors you plan to start will affect your own reputation? And Augusta’s and Drake’s? The aunt of a loose woman, relative of a man who would prostitute his daughter ? And they would quickly discover that you started these rumors yourself.”

Hedwig raised her hand as if to slap her. Drake grabbed her wrist, realization dawning. Julia had decided not to marry him. Wounded pride could not staunch the relief that flooded him.

Color returned to Julia’s cheeks. “I will marry Captain Ransome.”

“We will see about that!” Hedwig jerked her wrist from Drake’s grip. “Drake, lock her in her room. Augusta has already started the work of spreading the word about Portsmouth that you have run away to elope with Drake. No matter what you do now, you have lost your sea captain and all those around him.”

“That is how little you know about the real nature of love and honor, Lady MacDougall. Those who love me will never believe the lies you spread. The revelation of the truth, though it may be long in coming, will undo any damage your scheming and gossip create.”

“Take her out of my room this instant! I cannot abide the sight of her.”

A little frightened by Aunt Hedwig’s rage, Drake grasped Julia’s hand and dragged her into the hallway.

“You can still make things right, Drake,” Julia panted as she ran to keep pace with his long strides. “Take me back to Portsmouth. Own up to everything that has been done. Help put it all to rights. You can redeem your honor, though your mother and aunt have done their best to bring you down with them.”

“Honor? What is honor when I face debtor’s prison? When the note on Marchwood will be foreclosed this week? When I face losing everything dearest to me? Have you no sense of honor, of pride in your family name?” He thrust Julia into her bedroom, not wanting to listen to her anymore; her words made everything murky.

Julia stumbled a few steps into the room before whirling to look at him, incredulity nearly dripping from her full lips. “My family name?
My
family name? I have more pride than you can imagine in the
Witherington
name, which is why I refuse to despoil it by marrying you.”

Drake grabbed the key from the inside of the door, slammed it, and locked it from the outside. He curled his fist around the key until the metal bit into his palm. How dare she? Despoil the Witherington name by marrying him?

He punched the door frame—and immediately regretted it when pain shot up his arm.

She pounded the door. “You cannot keep me locked in here forever. William will come for me as soon as he learns I have not returned to Portsmouth.”

“You can stay in there until you rot—or until you learn what’s best for you.”

“Drake, is this really what you want? Do you really want to wed someone who must be locked up and forced to agree?” A tinge of panic laced Julia’s voice. “I always thought you a gentleman, a man who would hold honor high. I will help you—help you find a way, a legal way, of retrenching so you can repay your debts.”

“Stop.” He pressed his fists to his ears. “I will hear no more of your woman’s wiles. And none of the servants will help you either, so don’t bother asking. There will be a guard stationed below your window, so you need not try to escape.”

“Drake—”

“No. No more.” He ran down the hall, away from her confusing words. In the dining room, he grabbed the first decanter he came to. Without bothering to find a glass, he tossed the stopper across the room and drank long and deep.

The gables of Marchwood loomed closer. William prayed Julia was still here—that her aunt had not absconded with her to Scotland already. The innkeeper in Bishop’s Waltham had given a good enough description of Sir Drake Pembroke to assure William the baronet was also here.

Finally, William pulled back on the reins and slowed the horse, coming to a full stop at the front of the stone manor. He dismounted and, with Collin beside him, climbed the steps. Both removed their hats and shook off as much water as they could.

Just as he was about to knock, the front door flung open, and something blue and mahogany slammed into his chest, shouting and flailing.

“Madam, please control—” Recognition set in. He grabbed her arms. “Julia! Are you all right?”

She stilled, though confusion still clouded her eyes. “William?” She reached up a shaking hand to touch him as if he were an apparition. “Oh, William!” She flung her arms around his neck.

He hugged her tightly, lifting her from the ground, never wanting to let her go again.

“I cannot believe you came. They told me—the gossip and lies they were going to spread.”

“Shush.” He stroked her silken hair. “You can give me a full report on our way back to Portsmouth.”

“We must go, quickly I picked the lock—they do not know I’ve escaped.”

Though Julia tried to release herself, William did not let go. “No, we must end this, now. They cannot—”

Something hard touched the back of William’s head. “Sir, I ask that you put the lady down and step away.”

William released Julia and slowly turned. The barrel of a pistol hovered mere inches from his nose. He forced Julia behind him. “And just who, may I ask, are you to be making such a request?”

“I’m Constable of Bishop’s Waltham. I was told yesterday by these good folk that they are hiding this lady away from an unwanted suitor who beat her. They said you might come and try to take her back.” The man looked down at Julia, then turned back to William. “Thought you would just grab her and drag her back to Portsmouth, did you?”