Debt of Honor (2 page)

Chapter Three

Percy arrived at the church half an hour before the ceremony. Having done this before, he felt no particular anxiety about going through the required motions. There was only the sense of doom uncomfortably lodged in his chest since Stanville’s visit to Bromsholme a week earlier. Percy’s life’s goal was now achieved, but at a cost he had never anticipated. The deep satisfaction that his old home would be his in a matter of minutes was marred by the impediment of a bride—the bride he would have never chosen if he had had the choice. True, Lady Letitia seemed pretty enough, perched yesterday on that rock at the top of the outcropping bordering Wycombe Oaks’ park. But he hadn’t missed the hauteur when she practically questioned his reason for climbing up there. And if half the gossip circulating about her in London was true, that had been only a preview of the spoiled heiress’s willful ways.

His gaze wandered to the altar and a couple of small flower arrangements placed there for the occasion. How different from his first wedding in London when the church had resembled a hothouse and the pews had overflowed with guests. Then he could hardly contain his happiness, and the wait at the altar had seemed interminable. He remembered Sarah walking down the aisle on her father’s arm, and his adoration for her, love bursting in his heart when she smiled shyly at him. Ah, Sarah…

He shifted his gaze to a nondescript spot on the wall and his thoughts to the present moment. He was about to enter a marriage of convenience from which there was nothing to be expected. And yet, nothingness was this marriage’s most attractive promise. He did not need or want another woman in his life.

The sounds at the door resonating through the empty church interrupted his thoughts. His bride must have arrived.

Percy turned. She stood next to her father, a slim girl with hair the color of ripe wheat, arranged high on her head and adorned with some lace and dainty, white flowers. She wore a simple, white dress and held a bouquet of white roses.

She gazed at him then, and he saw a sudden flicker of recognition in her eyes. Her lips compressed with displeasure. No wonder. He should have introduced himself yesterday.

With visible impatience, the Earl of Stanville offered his daughter an arm and started walking down the aisle rather too quickly for the occasion. Apparently, he too could not wait for this to be over. Lady Letitia Parker had hardly time to lift the hem of her dress before stepping on it.

They reached the altar in record time, and after responding to Percy’s perfunctory bow with a mere jerk of his head, Stanville motioned the parson to proceed.

Percy said his vows as prompted and listened with indifference to his bride’s recitation of her part. When a moment later he bent down to place a disinterested peck near the corner of her mouth, her large green eyes seared him with a pointed accusation.

Stanville was already walking away from the table where the register had been placed for their convenience. He reached them as soon as they turned away from the altar.

“My best wishes for your happiness,” he mumbled, examining his pocket watch. “I must be off, if you will excuse me.”

And without so much as one look at his daughter and son-in-law, he turned and hastily left the church. The sounds of his departing carriage echoed between the old walls as Percy led his bride toward the table with the register. Stanville’s lack of paternal love barely intruded upon his mind. His heart already beat with the expectation of the coming night. The moment he had dreamed of for years was only hours away.

Letitia glanced at the elegant man next to her as the carriage set in motion. He had a good profile too, but that meant nothing to her now. She was driving away with a stranger who had just become her closest family for the rest of her life. It was a very depressing realization. Only the knowledge that Josepha must have already reached their new home brought a measure of comfort and consolation.

“You knew yesterday who I was, but you deliberately misled me,” she said, breaking the silence eclipsed only by the sounds of a moving carriage.

Sir Percival turned toward her. His eyes, inscrutable and as dark as she remembered them, measured her face with slow interest. He leaned back against the seat cushions.

“And you were deliberately rude, ma’am.”

“I was not the one trespassing. And you looked like a highwayman escaping the noose in that horrible coat of yours.”

His set features relaxed for the first time since she’d seen him standing at the altar. “I beg your pardon for giving you such a fright,” he replied with a hint of laughter. “As it happens, I am attached to that garment.”

“Why did you not introduce yourself?”

“Neither did you,” he pointed out.

When it became apparent he was not going to say anything more, she said, “I assume my father paid you well.”

“Your father gave me what I wanted.”

Fear gripped her by the throat. Doubtless, his appetite did not differ much from that of the others.

“What about the plantations?” She tried to keep the anxiety from her question.

He seemed surprised by it. “What do you mean?”

“Did my father give them to you? As my dowry?”

“No.”

She bit her lip to hide the involuntary smile of relief, then glanced at her husband to see if he’d noticed her reaction. He regarded her with some curiosity.

“I’m relieved to see you do not seem distressed by your father’s decision,” he remarked. “I would find it impossible to accept them, even if he wished to include them in your dowry. Forgive me for saying this, but slavery is a repugnant way of obtaining wealth.”

Then he shifted to face her better. “Since we have another mile or so before we reach my home at Bromsholme, let us use it to discuss the subject of our impending coexistence and try to settle the affairs between us as much as possible at this stage. In a marriage of convenience, we ought to make our covenant clear from the start.”

“Covenant? Whatever you mean by that, sir, I am sure I do not know.” She peered at him, but his face betrayed nothing. Weariness crept into her heart. Whatever tiny hope she had nurtured that perhaps, just perhaps, he might be a little different from her father seemed to be dissipating under his pronouncement.

“In such cases as ours, it is advantageous, I believe, to state clearly the expectations each party has of the other,” he explained. “I will tell you, then, what I expect of you as my wife, and you can do the same. I trust we can resolve our differences expeditiously.”

“Frankly, sir, if I could have my way, I would not be here.”

“For my part,” he said, ignoring her comment, “I expect you to take over the duties of running the household, fulfill our social obligations in the neighborhood and behave as a lady should.”

“Behave as a lady? How dare you! You know nothing about me.”

“Very true. We are complete strangers. I know only what your father chose to tell me and what I was able to confirm when in town last week.”

“You went to London to inquire after my conduct?” she asked incredulously.

“No. I went to purchase the special license we used so successfully half an hour ago. However, my curiosity was easily satisfied. You are still the talk of town, even though, I suspect, most of what I heard must be pure imagination.”

“Indeed, sir, it is all one big lie!”

“My point exactly,” he agreed. “You will keep from fueling circulation of such lies, as my wife and in this neighborhood.”

“Is this all?” she asked.

“Yes,” he replied. “Now, perhaps you can tell me what you expect of me.”

Letitia darted an assessing glance at him. “How many children do you have, and what are their ages?” she asked.

He blinked as if she’d taken him by surprise, and pressed his lips together in a tight line, without responding immediately. After a few seconds, she began to worry that he had trouble counting them all or remembering their ages.

“None,” he said at last.

Well, that at least was a relief.

“You haven’t told me yet about your expectations,” he reminded her when she said nothing more.

“I have none.”

“Not quite. You were about to marry Viscount Darnley. You must have thought about your future together and what it would mean for you. Surely you had some expectations.”

“Whatever my expectations were before, they do not apply to you, sir. I do not hope for the same degree of happiness with you as I had hoped to have with—”

“Lord Ogilby?” he supplied. “No, you certainly cannot.”

Her heart hammered with indignation. So the lies spread about her were still in circulation. Besides, she had meant Sir Walter Hasting, not the poor Lord Ogilby. Luckily, she’d held her tongue just in time. Yet Sir Percival’s calm, if not cynical, reply pierced at last the bubble of restraint and provoked an outburst.

“Have you ever loved someone?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at him. “
Really
loved? So much you were ready to do anything for that person? So much that the disappointment they dealt you was worse than death? You think me ridiculous, don’t you? You acquired me like a-a piece of livestock, along with all that land my father didn’t even care for. All you know about me is the gossip you heard in London and whatever my father chose to tell you. Very well, sir, I can count your silver and your linen, and converse prettily with your guests, but you do not own my heart and my soul, even though the Church just blessed your ownership of my person.”

“I have not married you for your heart or your soul, ma’am.” His face had changed as she spoke. Raw pain distorted his features, and anger crept into his voice. He turned away sharply before adding in an icy tone, “And I do not ask for them either. They are yours to keep.”

Letitia fell silent, stunned by his revealing reaction, stung by the blatant acknowledgment of his indifference. Deep inside offended by the implied unimportance of her person, now that he had whatever he had wanted from her father.

Her father’s malicious chuckle echoed in her ears, together with the question he’d thrown in her mother’s face so many times:
“And what are you going to do about this,
Lady Stanville
, huh?”
Her mother had never done anything beyond trying to hide the tears of humiliation caused by his nonchalant disrespect for her as his countess. For years, Letitia could only watch in helpless fury.

Now, she sucked in a deep breath and swerved away from Sir Percival. She could not let him see how much his words cut her to the quick. He’d just confirmed what she had known ever since that afternoon Walter had boasted to his brother about their understanding. She was not a person in her own right, but the means of access to her father’s wealth.

Suddenly, strong yet gentle fingers closed around her clenched fist. Letitia blinked in surprise when Sir Percival lifted her hand to his lips.

“Forgive me,” he murmured. “I did not mean to hurt your feelings.” With a movement of his head, he indicated the view to the left of the carriage. “Welcome to my home. It is yours now too.”

Chapter Four

Letitia turned abruptly to follow Sir Percival’s gaze. Behind the trees lining the driveway sat a pretty Palladian house. Much smaller than the sprawling ruin of Wycombe Oaks, it seemed to be its opposite in every way. The pale-pink stucco contrasted pleasantly with the old gray of the stone columns supporting an elegant portico. Shrubs in tubs graced the front. A wide path branched off the driveway, circled the house on one side and disappeared behind the hedges demarcating the flower gardens. A few old trees on the other side of the house waved their tops to the sun with the serenity of wizened old women. A dozen or so servants of both sexes stood in a line on the driveway.

Letitia slowly pulled her hand free from Sir Percival’s. The horses changed pace, and the carriage came to a stop.

Sir Percival stepped down without waiting for a footman to open the door on his side. He was already waiting by her door when the butler himself swung it open. All remote politeness now, he bowed slightly and extended his hand to her.

She took it, stepped down and smiled at the servants.

To her great relief, once the introductions were over, Mrs. Waters, the housekeeper, led her inside. The entrance hall was awash with sunlight from the dome above it. Full-length portraits of Hanbury ancestors in all their armored finery flanked an ornate Boulle chest on each side, and a marble staircase graced the back of the hall. Lush Oriental carpets lent softness to the stone walls. Well proportioned, affluent yet not overbearing, the house seemed to be in tune with its owner’s elegance of this morning, not with his highwayman’s outfit from the day before.

Tucking this observation away, Letitia followed the housekeeper upstairs to her new bedchamber. She was anxious to see Josepha, whose safe arrival at Bromsholme was immediately confirmed by the already unpacked familiar objects. A change of clothes was laid out on the bed and Letitia’s things arranged on the dressing table and the escritoire.

A moment later, Josepha herself walked into the room, carrying an evening dress freshly pressed downstairs. Her honey-colored face broke into a grin that accentuated the almond shape of her gorgeous golden eyes.

Letitia returned a wan smile. “It is done, Josie,” she sighed. “Father already left for London. We are alone in this place.”

Josepha hung the dress over the back of an armchair, next to a delicate chemise, then walked up to Letitia. Gentle, long fingers touched Letitia’s cheek in a soothing motion.

“And so it is, my dove.”

Letitia closed her eyes and let her cheek sink into the safety of Josepha’s warm palm. The familiar feeling of comfort that never failed to follow this token of Josie’s unconditional love since she was three and Josie ten spread in her chest.

“How is your room?” she asked. “You do not have to share, do you? Because if you do, I’ll speak with Mrs. Waters immediately.”

“No, no.” Josepha tucked a loose strand of hair behind Letitia’s ear. “I have my own room, with a fireplace. Come later to see it.” Then a mischievous smile split her face. “Sir Percival is a handsome devil. Didn’t I tell you not to worry so much? You will be pleased, you will see.”

“Pleased, Josie? Surely you’re jesting now.”

“Not at all. Take my advice and try to make him happy. Your husband is a good man. He won’t abuse you.”

“How do you know that?” Letitia walked to the window. At least the view was lovely. She could like this place.

“It’s written on his face. He is sad inside. Something bothers him. Maybe he’s been without a woman for too long. A wife can fix that easily. But he respects people. He will respect you.”

Letitia bit her lip at this insight into the soul of Sir Percival Horrible. It brought forth the subject she had successfully kept at bay all day, but both Josepha’s words and her present surroundings made it impossible to avoid thinking about tonight any longer.

“You know this marriage is nothing more than a business transaction, Josie,” she said. “I am only an attachment to what my father gave him in order to get rid of me. And you know why I agreed to this scheme. I owe my husband nothing.”

“That may be so,” Josepha agreed. “But you have to live with him for the rest of your days. Think about that. Now, let me have that dress you’ve been wearing since the morning. And rest before I come back to help you dress and fix your hair.”

Letitia and Percy faced each other across the shortened dinner table they were going to share for years to come. Letitia watched her wedded husband of a few hours whenever he was not looking at her. Josepha’s comments were, unfortunately, on target. Sir Percival was a handsome man, though in dark ways. Maybe this was what had captivated her painter’s eye at the outcropping yesterday. In her imagination, she’d kept returning to that brooding expression and the tall, strong silhouette, wondering if she would ever meet him again. Ironically, the image of her future husband as an old man had entrenched itself so firmly in her head that not for a moment had she suspected she had been talking to him. And that coat! But unlike yesterday, today he was dressed with impeccable elegance.

He seemed preoccupied, to Letitia’s relief. Her mind was stuck, with a considerable dose of discomfort, on the first vow she had made earlier in the day—to
obey
him. And then the next one—to
serve
him. It did not escape her attention that all other vows gave precedence to those two, the ones to which her mother had adhered with the tenacity not worthy of the cause. In her experience, these were the only vows men ever wanted to see fulfilled, conveniently forgetting about the rest of them—and their own. The memory of Walter’s demands that she prove her feelings for him, followed by hard kisses bruising her lips and gropes making her squirm with discomfort, now caused a shudder.

“Is anything wrong with your fish?”

She raised her head sharply.

Sir Percival regarded her with interest.

“I beg your pardon? Fish? No. No, it’s excellent.”

“I’m glad,” he said. “The cook would be inconsolable if she failed to impress you tonight.”

Letitia forced herself to smile. “I’ll make sure to tell her tomorrow how good everything was.”

He returned her smile with a quick quirk of the corner of his mouth and returned to eating. But that small gesture relaxed for the briefest of moments his somber thoughtfulness, giving his features unexpected warmth, its tiny spark extinguished before it became the promise of a flame.

Slater, the butler, stood at attention a few feet away, reminding her of a kind, old hawk waiting to swoop down on the empty dishes. She finished the fish, since offending the cook was not a good idea, but refused the partridges. The vows to obey and serve the man she didn’t even know seemed to have shrunk her stomach. But a second glass of claret, though mixed with water, filled her with pleasant warmth.

“I trust your maid had enough time to make preparations for the night,” Sir Percival said, maneuvering her toward the stairs once they were out of the dining room.

“My maid knows her duties well, sir,” she replied, feeling a little shaky inside.
Obey and serve.
Clearly, he had no intention of wasting time on chatting with her in the drawing room.

“She has certainly captivated everyone’s attention,” Sir Percival remarked while they started up the stairs.

Letitia forgot about the vows. “Are you objecting to her complexion? I warn you, sir, tell your staff to treat her with all the respect due a companion.”

“A companion?” He seemed both surprised and amused. “Not your maid? I assumed your father brought a number of slaves to work in his household.”

The tone of his voice held nothing but indifference. And he had said he would not have taken the plantations, even if her father had offered them. But she would never take Josie’s safety for granted.

“
Miss Josepha Fourier
is more than a maid. I had planned to talk to you about it tomorrow, but since you brought up the subject, let me explain. Firstly, she is a free woman,” Letitia said firmly. “She shall be treated with proper respect.”

“Certainly.”

The casual dismissal made her turn sharply in his direction. “Need I remind you, sir, that as
my
companion, Josepha is under
your
protection?”

He frowned. “You need not, ma’am. Your companion’s safety is part of my obligations. So is not favoring some of my employees above others.”

“She is not an employee to me. I am not asking for special favors,” she replied, still watching him. “Merely for a proper acknowledgment of her rank and position.”

“Let me put you at ease, then. Miss Fourier will not suffer any depravation in this household on account of her skin co—”

She should have paid attention to where she was going, instead of focusing on Sir Percival. Her foot became tangled in the hem of her dress, and Letitia nearly tripped over the last riser. But a strong arm snaked around her waist and pulled her up just when her nose came perilously close to making contact with the marble floor. Then a large hand pressed against her other side, helping her regain balance. The waves of pounding heartbeats and watered-down claret swooshed in her head.
Nice show.

Sir Percival’s face loomed in front of hers. He stood one step below her.

“Are you hurt?” His eyes bore into her face.

Her big toe throbbed madly inside the slipper. “Not at all,” she said. “Thank you.”

His intense gaze slid to her mouth. Heat, apprehension and more swooshing, together with a flock of butterflies in her belly, amounted to a very uncomfortable reaction. She tried to move away, but his arm and hand still trapped her. Her attempt did not go unnoticed.

Sir Percival shook his head, and his gaze refocused, with the customary polite indifference, on her eyes. The hand holding her side slid down, brushing lightly against her dress. The arm that prevented her downfall dropped away.

“Good,” he said in a tone that might apply this sentiment to a large number of unimportant things. Then he offered her his arm as if nothing happened.

Letitia took it and let him lead her to the door of her bedchamber. The strange butterflies gave way to a growing dread. It reached her throat by the time they stopped in front of the door.

Sir Percival pressed down on the handle. “I believe you want to get ready for the night. It has been an eventful day.”

“Indeed,” she murmured, trying to decide whether pleading a headache might procure a delay in fulfilling her vows.

Meanwhile, he pushed the door open and indicated the room to her. “Allow me to wish you a very good night, then.” With a bow, he removed the arm on which her hand was resting.

What?
Letitia dropped her hand when her fingers curled around empty air. “You…wish to forego your marital rights tonight?” she asked, certain her hearing was at fault.

“A marriage of convenience does not require consummation, ma’am,” Sir Percival informed her without one blink of an eye. “Tonight or any other night. You may sleep peacefully. I shall not interrupt your rest.”

He bowed, turned and walked farther down the hall to another door, leaving Letitia with her mouth open, gaping at his departing back.

Just before he turned to see her standing there like a pillar of salt, she hastily walked into her room and leaned with her back against the door once she shut it. Could he read her mind? Well, at least they were in agreement about the nature of their relationship. Maybe Josepha was correct. Maybe he wasn’t made of exactly the same stuff as her father. His unexpected acquiescence to her unspoken plea was a great relief. But not the fashion in which he did it, the politeness of his words bordering on mockery, the thinly veiled condescension in his countenance.

Josepha walked into the room, carrying the new nightgown generously decorated with lace and tiny ribbons. Her eyes danced with merriment.

“Get ready before that handsome devil comes in here and finds you still in your dress. Although,” she grinned, “he might not object to undressing you himself.”

“He is not going to do either, Josie.” The words came out on a tremulous note while Letitia swallowed unexpected tears. Walter’s merry laughter rang in her head again. “He is not coming here tonight or ever.”

“Why not?” Josepha’s tone lost its teasing edge. “What did he tell you?”

“That a marriage of convenience does not require consummation.”

“His lordship really said that?” Josepha blinked with disbelief.

“He really did.”

“And what did I tell you?” Josepha’s disbelief melted into another smile. “He is a good man. I never heard of a husband who would do such a thing on the wedding night. Or at any other time when he wished to claim his rights.”

“A paragon of goodness, Josie,” Letitia muttered sarcastically.

Josepha had it all wrong. Sir Percival Hanbury had married not her but the Earl of Stanville’s money.

“Bring me my old nightgown, please. I am tired, and I want to sleep.”

As soon as Josepha left, Letitia tiptoed to the door separating her room from her husband’s. The door seemed heavy and solid, yet she could hear muffled conversation on the other side. Apparently, Sir Percival was talking to his valet.

Then she heard another door open and close. The conversation stopped, but someone was still walking around the room. And then he left too.

She moved to the door to the hallway in time to hear light footsteps running down the stairs and the front door being open and shut.

He left.

He
left
?

She flew to the windows, but they looked out on the gardens. Her heart drumming, Letitia turned away from them. Her gaze slid around the room—the neatly turned bed, the flower arrangement in the cavity of a cold fireplace. The emptiness of her new life.

She let out a shaky breath. Josepha tried to see something good in everyone. But how wrong she was this time. Sir Percival just showed the entire household how little he cared about his new baronetess.

Outwardly, he was not old, ugly, fat or ill-mannered, as she had fully expected. Quite the opposite. Had she met him in London at some entertainment, she would have been immediately drawn to him, to the handsome features and thoughtful expression of his gaze. He did not make the impression of a man who could be bribed into marriage.