SHK (32 page)

André walked into the private chambers, dressed in a morning coat with tails and striped trousers, a pristine white shirt and a modest stock with only an edging of lace. He bowed formally, though the pomposity of the man behind the ornate desk, dressed in ornamental robes and white wig, left him cold.

Standing at ease, his shoulders squared, he said, “I would like to present the condemning documents without further ado, Your Honor.” He handed the documents over to a lackey, who presented them in turn to the magistrate.

The magistrate perused the documents, then tapped them with a long finger. “These seem to be in order, my Lord. I will dispatch a detachment of soldiers and bring this man to London. Unless he can show just cause for having usurped your aunt’s estate, we will incarcerate him in the Tower until he can make restitution.”

André bowed again. “Your Honor, it is not so much about the property as the crime this man committed. He boasted that he killed my aunt and her solicitor. I believe he deserves to hang.”

The magistrate speared André with cold, dark eyes. “My Lord, it is your word against his, unless you have proof positive or a witness who overheard his boast, there is little we can do.

As I mentioned before, the best we can do is to reinstate your properties to you.”

André felt betrayed. He had set his hopes on the courts of London, but apparently they didn’t see it his way. “I thank you for your time, Your Honor. I believe there is nothing else I can do than what I should have done in the first place. I will call the man out and decide our differences on the field of honor.”

He bowed again, and walked backward out of the room.

Sir George Fitzsimmons stopped his pacing, when he spied André’s thundercloud expression. He had taken it upon himself to accompany him for whatever his companionship might be worth. “I take it that not all went well in there?”

“Bloody hell, the magistrate can’t do anything about the deaths of Aunt Victoria or Squire Masterson. He says I lack evidence of Snowden’s guilt.” His lips compressed with determination. “But given that circumstance, I feel justified to call Sheriff Snowden out.

Someone has to stop him from harming other innocents. Of course, if I call him out the bastard will have the choice of weapons, but I am quite sure that I can best him at any of them.”

“I would be honored to act as your second, old chap. And I wouldn’t mind a short holiday in the country. It’s been a while since I spent time at Greenbriar and I recall the hunting of grouse was always superb.” George beamed his enjoyment.

“There is just one small matter I have to take care of, before we leave, George. Oh, and we will have to ride. I can’t take the time it would consume, if we went by carriage.”

George Fitzsimmons pursed his mouth and nodded. “I quite understand, and I am up to the challenge. When do you want to meet?”

STORMY HEIDE KATROS

141

“Give me until noon today. I’ll meet you at your apartments.”

André walked into the apartment on Grosvenor Square in time to see Stuart close the hasp on his portmanteau. “Are you going somewhere?” It was not so much a question as a statement, since it had taken him by surprise that Stuart would be leaving.

“I packed while I was waiting for your return. I had a missive from Paris. To be honest, I am quite shaken up about it. There was mention of some inheritance from an uncle I had never heard of before. Apparently, I have to make an appearance before the end of the month or I will lose out.” He spread his hands in supplication. “I would never leave you to fend for yourself, if there were a possible way out. Of course, if you do need me, I will stay.”

André rushed forward and clapped Stuart on the shoulder. “No, Stuart that is great news.

I am truly happy for you. The matter with Greenbriar will be settled by the magistrate.” It didn’t constitute a complete lie, since it was close to the truth. Stuart didn’t need to know that he would settle the matter with Snowden himself. He deserved to walk away from André’s problems without feeling guilty.

André felt as if a weight had been taken off his shoulders. He was glad that fate had her own way of working things out and he didn’t have to voice the lie he had composed on his way back from the magistrate. He had imposed upon Stuart’s friendship long enough and he wished him well.

“When are you leaving?”

“The ship for Normandy is leaving within the day. They never give you an exact time. I booked passage right away and was only waiting for your return to say goodbye and bid you God speed. I should be able to return by the end of the month.”

“Stuart, don’t rush. As I said, matters will take care of themselves. When you do get back, I will be installed in Greenbriar and I am looking forward to showing you around. We’ll go hunting without having to look over our shoulders and we won’t have to hunt at night only.”

They laughed, though they knew it was no jest. The months André spent hiding at the hunting lodge, while ferreting out the details about Snowden had been a dangerous time in their lives, but it had also been adventurous.

Mr. Billings entered the room unobtrusively to announce that the hired hack had arrived.

The two friends clasped hands. Their eyes collided briefly in silent understanding, before Stuart picked up his portmanteau and strode out.

André stared at the closed door for a long moment. Not everything had gone to his liking, but at least Stuart was no longer in danger. Of course, his friend would scarcely appreciate that he’d been kept in the dark, and he would be angry, if he ever found out that André would have deliberately sent him away, if the problem in Paris hadn’t cropped up.

Exhaling a relieved breath, he walked to the breakfront and poured himself a liberal snifter of brandy.

André gulped the fiery liquor in one long swallow and then went to his bedchamber to pack for the ride back to Greenbriar. He glimpsed himself in the cheval glass in the corner and unconsciously squared his shoulders. In a couple of days he would either be dead or free of Snowden. Then there would be no stopping him from seeking out Stormy and asking her for her hand.

* * * *

The following week started a round of soirées given in Stormy’s honor, the first one given by her other grandparents, the Earl of Mowbray and the Countess Annabelle.

STORMY HEIDE KATROS

142

Stormy looked forward to the event with some trepidation. She had only met her grandparents for a short half hour the day after they arrived in London and she found them rather staid.

“I will never live up to their expectations, mamma. They are used to all that curtsying and the proper way of snapping your fan open. God help me, but it just seems too much trouble to go through for just that night.”

Annemarie suppressed a grin. “I know you won’t embarrass your father, Stormy. You will answer to your full given name and you can curtsy with the best. And don’t curse, even if it is to say God help me. Just bat your lashes and say “La!” At that they both broke out in gales of laughter and Stormy’s good mood was restored again.

But the night of the soirée she fidgeted while Marry and the chamber maid helped her twine ropes of small pearls through her mass of dark curls. Her dress was a confection of white with pink satin roses and green leaves strewn across the front panel. She resembled a fairy creature and Annemarie and Marry exchanged fond glances.

“She’ll be the belle of the ball,” Marry whispered in an aside. “The young beaux will fall all over themselves in order to dance with her. Keep a close eye on her, Annemarie. This could be her chance to make a splendid match.”

Annemarie said nothing. She knew her daughter too well, and she knew that she was still mourning André’s loss.

The three arrived in Thomas’s borrowed carriage with the Earl’s emblem displayed in full view. “I feel like the poor relation arriving like this.” Stormy felt indeed out of her comfort zone. In Charlestown they were well known and received, the manner among the planters easy.

But here in England there were so many rules to abide by it took the fun out of the occasion.

“Give it a chance, Stormy.” Trevor grinned, though he felt nervous, too. He patted her hand as much for his comfort as hers. “I guess I had better address you as Lady Michaella. And don’t forget for a moment that you are as worthy as anyone you meet.”

His eyes landed on Annemarie and he believed he could read her thoughts. Though Stormy had noble blood in her veins, that wild streak in her certainly had to been inherited from her pirate grandmother. He nodded imperceptibly. Some day soon they would have to enlighten their only child to that fact, but not tonight.

They were introduced by a lavishly uniformed courtier in knee pants and white silk hose, his head bewigged and his hand holding a long staff. He thumped it down three times to gain the attention of the already assembled guests and declared in a booming voice. “Sir Trevor Mowbray, and his lady wife Annemarie, and their daughter Lady Michaella.”

The ladies curtsied and Trevor ushered them ahead of himself to meet and greet his parents.

Stormy felt as if her heart was taking wing. It fluttered in her chest like a caged bird.

Her voice sounded slightly breathless from nerves, when she whispered in an aside to her mother. “I thought a regular soirée would be different. I thought it would be easier, when you see the faces of the people and would not have to guess at their identity.”

Annemarie surreptitiously squeezed her daughter’s hand. “It’s never easy when you are thrust into the midst of strangers and you feel as if they are all looking at you. Once you are introduced to someone, simply ask them about themselves, then just listen. You’ll learn a lot and they will love you, because others usually love to talk about themselves better than hearing about you.”

STORMY HEIDE KATROS

143

Luckily, there would be dancing and her dance card was filled within minutes of her arrival. As Marry predicted the young men swarmed around her like bees to honey. And Stormy forgot her troubles and allowed herself to be swept up into the excitement of the evening.

One young man in particular caught her fancy. Christopher Salisbury, the eldest son of the Duke of Wessex not only paid her attention, but he proved to be witty and a marvelous dancer, until he slipped and showed that he was a true fop.

“I am totally enchanted by your accent, Lady Michaella. And you are so graceful. I would have never expected that much of a colonial. But then you are related to the Earl of Mowbray.” He laughed, thinking himself quite the wag, and quite missed the darkening of Stormy’s expressive eyes.

“And being related to the Earl makes me look all right in your eyes, despite my shortcomings, sir?” She seethed inside. She didn’t need her grandparents for anything, least of all to attract men.

Christopher pursed his lips in a droll way and rolled his eyes to emphasize the veracity of that statement. “It never hurts to be related to the ton, my dear Lady Michaella. It will give you an entrée into society and it will help people to overlook your background.”

Her eyes fairly spit with fury. She drew herself up to her full height and jutted her small chin at him in a mutinous angle. “Why, you pompous donkey. I don’t need any of this. I love my country and the colonials, as you so quaintly describe my countrymen, don’t judge you by your pedigree. I doubt you have ever worked a day in your life. You depend on your parents’

largesse and dawdle your time away doing nonsensical pastimes.” Gathering her skirts she left him standing and stalked off in search of her parents.

“Ohoh.” Annemarie barely dared to breathe and tugged Trevor’s sleeve to get his attention. She could see Stormy march in high dudgeon toward them, and she knew it would not bode anything good.

“I want to go home.” Stormy could barely hold back her tears. Why had they ever come to England? She had experienced nothing but heartache since they arrived.

Annemarie drew her discreetly aside. “Sweeting, we can’t just leave. This soirée is in your honor and your grandparents would not only be hurt, but they would be the laughing stock of their peers, if we left right now.”

Stormy choked back her misery, but despite her effort to conform her bottom lip inched forward into a becoming pout. “I don’t mean go home to grandmamma Marry. I want to go home to Dreamscape. I am homesick. I am tired of being looked down on and called a colonial.”

Before Annemarie could say another word to soothe her daughter, she noticed the handsome young duke bearing down on them. “Stormy, please make me proud and paste on a smile, if you must, but please don’t let on that your feelings have been stepped on.”

Christopher Salisbury approached; a sheepish smile on his handsome face. He bowed to Annemarie. “Madam, may I have a private moment with Lady Michaella?”

With a nod Annemarie picked up her skirts and left them alone.

Stormy’s eyes turned a murky green and she glowered at him with animosity. “I doubt there is anything more we have to discuss, sir.” She looked away to let him know she was not interested.

“Lady Michaella, I am very sorry. I truly did not mean the words the way I spoke them.

I find you charming. The utter absence of pretense on your part is refreshing. Even if you never STORMY HEIDE KATROS

144

speak another word to me, and I would not blame you, I do beg your forgiveness for my boorishness.”

Stormy tilted her head to have another look at him. Playing with her fan, she swayed slightly to the background music. “I am not sure, if I can forgive you, Lord Salisbury. You hurt me deeply.”

Christopher took heart. He still couldn’t believe that he had made such a terrible faux pas by alluding to her American heritage in such a crude manner. She certainly looked comely and rumor had it that she came with a large dowry. What more could a man hope for in a marriage?