Heart's Debt (Lost Lords Book 5) (31 page)

She dashed through the foyer and had proceeded to the stairs when the butler approached.

“Miss Sophia?” he said.

“Yes?”

“You were asking about Miss Georgina.”

“Has she been located?”

“No, but a footman just returned from the village. He spent the night there with his parents or I might have heard this sooner.”

Her pulse raced. “What is it?”

“Miss Georgina left.”

“For where?”

“I don’t know. He drove her into the village yesterday afternoon so she could catch the mail coach.”

Sophia frowned. “The mail coach? What on earth for?”

“I have no idea. She had her portmanteau with her so evidently she’d packed her clothes, which is why we couldn’t find them.”

“Was there any mention of where she was headed?”

“No, and he didn’t feel it was appropriate to inquire.”

“How did she appear? Was she upset? Was she sad?”

“She seemed very, very happy.”

“Who asked him to take her?”

The butler stoically glared as if conveying an important message he was anxious for her to receive. “I’m told it was your mother.”

“My mother…” Sophia repeated.

Of course it would have been Augusta. Over the past few hours, Sophia had pestered her a dozen times as to whether she’d seen Georgina. Her mother had insisted she hadn’t, but clearly she’d been lying.

Sophia spun and ran up the stairs. What could have happened? Her mother loathed Georgina so the myriad of possibilities was terrifying.

She arrived at her mother’s door and burst in without knocking. To her consternation, Portia was present. She and Augusta were seated by the hearth and drinking a glass of wine. They looked sly and triumphant, as if they were celebrating.

“We were about to come down, Sophia,” her mother said. “There was no need to fetch us.”

“Harold and his mother are down there! How could you invite them?”

“They’re our neighbors. Why wouldn’t I have?”

Her mother seemed genuinely perplexed, and Sophia bristled with rage. She’d always detested her mother’s autocratic ways, and apparently she’d reached the limit of what she could tolerate.

“He jilted me!” She was nearly shouting. “Have you conveniently forgotten?”

Her mother waved away the comment. “It was a misunderstanding. Now that Miles’s business dealings are settled, I’m sure Harold will be eager to renew your engagement. I’ve already talked to his mother about it.”

“You think I’d have him back?”

“Why wouldn’t you? You’re much too immature, Sophia, so you require his steadying influence. I’ve explained this over and over. He’ll be the perfect husband for you.”

She thought of handsome, dashing Kit Roxbury who wanted her so desperately. She thought of how he gazed at her, how he smiled at her as if she was the most extraordinary female in the kingdom.

“I would rather slit my wrists than marry Harold Bean, and if he and Mother Bean stay, I will not attend the ceremony!”

“Honestly, Sophia,” Portia said, “you’re being appallingly melodramatic.”

“Shut up, Portia. I’m speaking to my mother. Not you.”

“Don’t take that attitude with me.” Portia sounded like an elderly matron. “I’m about to be mistress here. Your continued residence in the manor will be at my pleasure. I suggest you treat me accordingly, or you’ll be begging Harold to have you.”

“You’d better be careful, Portia. If you stick your nose any higher into the air, you’ll float off into the sky.”

“You little witch! You will not behave so disdainfully to me!”

“Girls! Girls!” Augusta chided.

Sophia whipped her irate focus to her mother. “Where is Georgina? Where has she gone?”

There was the slightest pause, the quickest furtive glance between Portia and her mother, and it told Sophia what she needed to know. They’d done something awful to her.

“Where has Georgina…
gone
?” Augusta struggled to appear confused by the question. “I wasn’t aware that she’d left.”

“Don’t lie to me!” Sophia was next to a decorative table and she banged her fist on it, sending the knickknacks smashing to the floor.

“Sophia!” Portia scolded. “Look at the mess you made!”

“This is none of your affair, Portia!” Sophia bellowed. “Be silent!”

“Return to the front parlor, Sophia,” her mother ordered. “I won’t put up with you when you’re in such a volatile condition. Your tantrum underscores the necessity for you to marry a man of Harold’s temperament.”

“You always hated Georgina,” Sophia fumed.

Augusta considered the charge, then nodded. “I suppose that’s a valid assessment.”

“What did she ever do to you?”

“She did nothing. I simply never liked her, and it was wrong of your father to burden me with raising her.”

“Really, Mother? Is that your story?”

“Yes.”

“Have you ever heard the servants’ gossip about it?”

“I don’t listen to servants’ gossip and neither should you.”

“They say you were in love with Georgina’s father. They say you wanted to elope with him yourself, but Georgina’s mother snagged him first, and you’ve always been hideously jealous because of it.”

A muscle ticked in Augusta’s cheek. “Don’t be ridiculous. I was betrothed to your father when Sergeant Fogarty came to town.”

“I bet you’d have tossed Father over swiftly enough if Fogarty had noticed you. Rumor has it that Georgina’s mother was very pretty. Is that why you hate her? You look at her, see her mother, and remember how Sergeant Fogarty preferred her to you?”

“I can’t abide your slurs, Sophia. You need to go downstairs. Now!”

Sophia banged the table again. It tipped over with a loud crash. “Where is Georgina! I swear, if you don’t tell me, I will rip this room apart.”

“She went to live with her father’s relatives,” Portia blandly stated.

“She…what?” Sophia stammered.

“She went to live with her other family.”

“Why would she? This is her home, and we have no information about them.”

“Your mother has always known where they are,” Portia said.

Portia was so cool and composed, Sophia yearned to walk over and slap her silly.

“Why did she have to leave?” Sophia demanded of her mother, but Portia answered.

“She disgraced herself with Mr. Drummond.”

“Portia!” Augusta admonished. “Let’s not get into the details. They’re not fit for Sophia’s ears.”

Sophia advanced on Portia. She was seated in her chair so Sophia towered over her, and for a moment alarm flashed in Portia’s eyes. Was she afraid Sophia might attack her? Good! In her current mood, she might enjoy a brawl.

“What was Georgina’s conduct with Mr. Drummond that you found so shocking?” Sophia asked.

Portia smirked. “I have to agree with your mother. As you are still unwed, it’s simply not appropriate for you to be apprised.”

“She had an affair with him after all,” Sophia murmured.

Portia shrugged but didn’t reply.

“You sent her away because of it?” Sophia asked.

“Your mother and I deemed it for the best,” Portia said.

“
You
and mother decided?”

“Of course. I keep telling you, Sophia. I’m about to be mistress of Kirkwood. It’s my choice who stays and who goes. I will not have that…that…harlot residing under the same roof as me.”

“Portia!” Augusta sharply said. “That’s enough.”

“I’ve barely started, Augusta,” Portia retorted.

“You sent Georgina away,” Sophia murmured again. She couldn’t believe it. “You had the gall, the audacity!”

“Yes,” Portia bragged, “and I’d do it again too.”

Sophia glared at her mother. “You let her! You were complicit!”

“Georgina was eager to depart, Sophia,” her mother claimed. “I mentioned the idea and she was happy to have the chance.”

Sophia studied them, feeling sick to her stomach. She reflected on all the years she’d listened to her mother, obeyed her mother, watched her harass kind, wonderful Georgina. Why had she? What had been the point of all of it?

Her mother was a bitter, malicious person, and Portia was no better. They deserved each other.

In light of their perfidy toward Georgina, she was so upset she couldn’t breathe. After this ignominy, how could she remain at Kirkwood?
Why
would she remain? She loathed her brother, detested her mother, and absolutely abhorred Portia, and with a sudden spark of brilliant insight she realized she had a perfect alternative.

“So…Georgina is a harlot,” she said, “and she had to be kicked out.”

“Exactly right,” Portia smugly responded.

“Then I guess I have to be kicked out as well.”

Her mother scowled. “What do you mean?”

“I
mean,
Mother, that I’ve disgraced myself with Kit Roxbury.”

Her mother gasped. “You what?”

“I’ve lain with him as a man lies with his wife.” It wasn’t precisely true, but it was sufficient to push them into a dither.

“You haven’t!” her mother wailed.

“I have.” Sophia grinned. “I liked it too.”

“Sophia!” Portia groused. “Don’t say so!”

“Guess what else?”

“What?” both women said together.

“He’s asked me to marry him, and I’ve decided I will. I’d much rather be his bride than spend another day in this insane asylum.”

She stomped out as her mother shouted, “Sophia!”

She didn’t stop, and Augusta shouted again, “Sophia! What are you planning?”

“I’m off to pack a bag, then I’ll be at the coaching inn in the village. I’ll wait there for Kit so he can take me away from here.”

“You will not embarrass me by staying at an inn!” her mother said.

“Then let’s hope he returns very soon so I won’t be there long.”

“Mr. Roxbury won’t be back,” Portia snidely insisted. “Miles swore he won’t. He and Mr. Drummond are gone for good.”

“If that’s what you assume, Portia,” Sophia replied, “then you’re as stupid as I always imagined.”

Sophia started out again, and when her mother called to her a final time, she ignored her and continued on.

T
here’s no reason to
stay another minute.”

Damian gazed at Anne, and she nodded in agreement.

Their dream had come true.

As he’d vowed he would, he’d grown wealthy in the gold fields, but not from honest endeavor. He’d been a highwayman, robbing the greedy dolts who carted their gold to the coast so it could be shipped to more stable locales.

Because they were idiots and misers, they never hired sufficient guards, and Damian had taken full advantage of their stupid practices, being too smart and too daring to ever be thwarted or caught. And of course, he’d covered his tracks so it seemed his fortune had been built through diligent work in the mines. No one had questioned his rise in stature or prosperity.

His sentence was completed, and the authorities believed he was a model case: a boy who’d been educated, forced to pray, toiled at hard labor, and tortured by a maniac, and thus altered into an exemplary citizen.

When he reflected on how he’d fooled them all, he laughed with derision.

He was rich now, richer than any man had a right to be, and it was interesting how that affluence could purchase whatever a fellow required. First and foremost, it had purchased a pardon for Anne. With Lt. Butler having sailed off in disgrace, the new administrator had been only too happy to show her some mercy.

She’d been a submissive prisoner and ran a thriving business. Numerous people had supplied statements of stellar character, but Damian’s donation to an important charity had sealed the deal.

They could both go whenever they were ready.

“He’s in India,” Anne murmured in her husky, painful way.

“Butler?” Damian asked.

“Yes.”

“We should pay him a visit on the trip to England.”

My thoughts exactly.

Butler had ceaselessly tormented them, but many others too. He’d bullied and abused scores of convicts who were smaller and weaker than he was. He’d reveled in his power, had wielded it in a cruel and arbitrary manner.

Then—in an action that was typical of the Crown—he’d been promoted and sent to inflict himself on British citizens living at an outpost outside Bombay. But he wouldn’t continue for much longer. He owed a large debt to Damian, and Damian intended to extract every farthing of vengeance that had accrued.

“I’ve sold your saloon,” he told her.

I’m glad,
she mouthed.

It had originally belonged to Kit, but he’d signed it over to Damian once Damian’s sentence was served and he could own property. It had been Kit’s last act prior to his sailing for England years earlier.

He hadn’t seen Kit before he’d departed, but he’d provided a forwarding address at a boarding house in London. The moment Damian arrived, he would locate his old friend, would shower him with a portion of his fortune that Kit had definitely earned.

“It’s time to go,” he said.

Good.

“We’ll head to England to kill our enemies. Then—hopefully—we’ll finally find some peace.”

Yes. But…Bombay?

“Oh, yes, we’ll stop in Bombay and give our regards to Lt. Butler.” He stood and pointed to the stairs where she still kept an apartment on the second floor. “Now pack your bags and don’t forget anything. We won’t be back.”

We’re done with this
foul place forever?

“Yes, Anne. The tide turns at dawn, and we’re scheduled to sail on the first ship leaving the harbor.”

I
now pronounce you
man and wife.”

As the vicar spoke the final sentence of the ceremony, he smiled at Miles, looking magnanimous, as if he’d graced Miles with a huge favor. His superior attitude made Miles gnash his teeth. The old sot charged a fortune to perform a marriage service, and Miles could barely afford to pay him a farthing.

It dawned on him that he probably shouldn’t have let his mother send Georgina away quite so fast. Georgina would have known how to scrape together whatever money Miles required. She’d been good at that, but when his mother had broached the subject of evicting her, she’d been adamant. He’d agreed rather than fight over it.

Normally the vicar would have stayed for breakfast, but he had to officiate at a funeral so—to Miles’s great relief—he hustled out, which meant they wouldn’t have to put up with his sanctimonious bloviating while they were eating.

For a fleeting instant, he wondered if he should kiss his bride, but Portia wasn’t a demonstrative person, and his mother wouldn’t have approved. Instead he shook hands all around, but with the small number of people gathered it was a quick trip. The group was paltry and boring: Harold and Mother Bean, his own mother, Portia, and her parents.

Sophia had pitched a tantrum and left the manor, and Georgina had been thrown out. They were the only two he truly wished had attended, and the thought of dining with the assembled guests was irritating. He couldn’t stand any of them, not even his bride really, and he intended to depart for London just as soon as he could escape.

Georgina was gone though so he had to hire someone to manage Kirkwood for him while he was away. Dare he leave the task to his mother or Portia? No. Already Georgina’s exodus was vexing him. Clearly he had to be sterner with his mother and wife and tamp down any future nonsense.

Harold came over, and Miles hid his distaste. The man was getting so fat. Had he no pride in his appearance?

“Congratulations,” Harold said.

“Thank you.”

“I’ve always heard weddings are contagious.”

“I’ve heard that too.”

“I’ll likely be having my own before too long.”

“Have you found a new fiancée?”

“No. Mother and I talked it over, and we’ve decided I’m willing to have Sophia after all.”

The butler had been passing out glasses of champagne, and Miles had just downed a large gulp. At Harold’s comment, he swallowed wrong, and he coughed and pounded on his chest.

When Harold had jilted her, Miles had never seen Sophia so angry. She’d castrate the stupid oaf rather than wed him, but Harold was too stupid to realize it.

“You’re planning to marry Sophia?” Miles asked when he could speak again.

“Yes. With your difficulties solved, we’re glad matters have calmed at Kirkwood.” Harold patted Miles on the back. “Good show with ridding yourself of Drummond.”

“Yes, it was brilliant, wasn’t it?”

“Imagine such a dastardly criminal roaming the countryside. Mother has been in an absolute dither.”

“My mother was the same. After I learned Drummond’s true situation, I simply had to act.”

“The entire neighborhood is grateful.”

“As they should be. Who can predict what mischief the felonious villain might have brought to the area? I’m sure I’ve saved us all a tremendous amount of trouble.”

His mother interrupted their conversation. “The butler informs me that breakfast is ready.”

“We haven’t had time for a single toast,” Miles complained.

“We can have them during the meal.”

“I suppose,” he grumbled.

He was feeling terribly neglected. There simply wasn’t enough fawning and flattering, but with such a dreary crowd, what could he expect?

Augusta clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention. “Breakfast is served. We’ll let the happy couple lead us in.”

“Here, here!”

Harold and Portia’s father hurrahed, and people lifted their glasses.

Miles nodded imperiously, accepting their accolades, then he went to Portia and she took his arm. She was grinning like the cat that had got in the cream, and he liked that she recognized the significance of being his wife.

“Shall we go in, Mrs. Marshall?” he asked.

“By all means, Mr. Marshall,” she replied.

They laughed and started out. The dining room was down the hall so they were able to have a nice procession, adding a bit of importance to the occasion.

“I hope the cook prepared all my favorites,” he murmured to her. “I’d hate to have to eat any awful dishes on my wedding day.”

“I picked the menu, and I only chose what you like.”

“I’m glad to have you in charge of the household so quickly.”

Portia preened at the compliment. “I was raised to this role.”

They arrived at the door, the butler there and gesturing for them to enter. Miles stepped across the threshold, but suddenly Portia was pushed away, and Miles was yanked inside, the door slammed shut behind him.

He staggered, then regained his balance, to discover Damian Drummond sitting at the table. He’d helped himself to Miles’s breakfast.

“Hello, Miles.” Drummond casually held up a fork, indicating a slice of roast beef he was about to shove into his mouth. “The food in this house isn’t very good. I believe I’ll have to fire the cook.”

Out in the hall, Portia was shouting, “Miles! Miles! What’s wrong? Let me in!”

His mother and the others were shouting too. He gaped at Drummond, completely perplexed as to how he could have reappeared. And so soon too! He felt as if he was seeing a ghost. Damian Drummond could not be back! It wasn’t possible!

“Drummond!” Miles snapped. “What are you doing here?”

“What does it look like? I’m eating.”

“You can’t be here! You can’t!”

“Why can’t I? It’s my property. It occurs to me that you’re trespassing. Why is it so difficult for you to realize that you are?”

“You bastard!” was all Miles managed. “I’ll show you! I’ll…I’ll…”

He was walloped with a heavy club, the blow so fierce that he was knocked unconscious. In his last cogent memory, he grasped that he was collapsing but was too discombobulated to prevent his descent.

When he awakened, his head was throbbing, his wrists and ankles tied with ropes. His entire body was encircled too so his arms were pinned to his sides. He was on the floor of a carriage and more uncomfortable than he’d ever been in his life.

The horses were galloping at a high rate of speed, the driver not even trying to make the ride less unpleasant. Each bump jostled him so he was tossed into the air, only to land very hard. Then he’d be tossed up again.

He struggled to take stock of his situation. He could see a man’s boots and legs, and as he focused in, Damian Drummond was there on the seat.

“Drummond!” Miles croaked.

Seeming bored, Drummond glanced down. “You’re finally awake. For a while there, I thought you’d died on me.”

“Where are we? What’s happening?”

“We’re on our way to London.”

“Why?”

“I’m having you arrested for kidnapping and attempted murder.”

“What? You can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“It’s my wedding day,” he absurdly pointed out.

“Yes, well, your bride will have to spend her wedding
night
without you. I’m betting she won’t miss you very much.”

“Who are you claiming I attempted to murder?”

“Me, you dolt.”

“I didn’t do anything to you.”

“No, you simply hired the men who did. We have all their confessions. They’ve admitted how you planned to have them slay me in the woods before we reached town.”

“I never planned that!”

Drummond shrugged. “As I mentioned, we have their confessions. Are you aware that a rich man can buy any ending he desires? And I’m very, very rich.”

“You’re a criminal.”

“I was. Once. You shouldn’t have tried to harm me.”

“You deserved it.”

Someone was sitting on the other seat. He kicked Miles, and Miles yelped in agony.

“Shut up!” the violent oaf said. “I’m weary of listening to you.”

Miles peeked up to see that it was the dark-haired stranger who’d been with Kit Roxbury.

“If you do that again,” Miles blustered, “you’ll regret it.”

Miles was kicked even harder, and he cried out in pain.

“You’re deranged!” he protested as he panted to catch his breath.

“Yes, I always have been.” The brute sounded proud of it.

“Who are you anyway?”

“Don’t you know? I’m Michael Scott—although I use the name Michael Blair now. I’m certain you’ve heard of me.”

“Michael Scott of…of…Scotts gambling club?”

“The very one.”

Miles moaned with alarm. Michael Scott was London’s most notorious fiend. He was obscenely wealthy from owning a club that every man in London yearned to join, but he was so bloody selective. Miles had never gotten past the initial application for membership, and even if he had, he’d never have been able to afford the dues.

What was
he
doing with Drummond?

“I don’t want to go to London,” he wailed, terrified he was about to blubber like a baby.

“It’s not up to you,” Michael Scott said.

“Why are you taking me there?” he asked Drummond.

“I told you: You’re being arrested for several felonies. Then I’ll give you a choice.”

“What choice?”

“I should have killed you.”

“Killed!” Miles shrieked.

“We still can,” Michael Scott urged. “This is a deserted stretch of road. Who’s to know what happens to him?”

“I promised Kit I wouldn’t.” Drummond stared down at Miles. “My friend, Kit, saved your sorry hide.”

“I’ll be sure to thank him next time I see him,” Miles sarcastically sneered.

“You won’t ever see him again,” Drummond vowed. “Not where you’re going.”

“What do you mean?”

“We’re escorting you to Newgate Prison.”

“You are not,” Miles huffed. “I refuse to let you!”

Drummond continued as if Miles hadn’t spoken. “You’ll be incarcerated there while your case makes its way through the courts.”

“What case?” Miles wildly asked. “What are you talking about?”

Michael Scott kicked him yet again. “Pay attention! We’re having you arrested for kidnapping and attempted murder.”

“I am the victim”—Drummond grinned an evil grin—“so I will be allowed to request the punishment I seek. This is where your choice comes in.”

“Just spit it out!” Miles begged. “Don’t keep me in suspense.”

“You can either be hanged from the neck until dead.”

“Dead!”

“Or you can be transported to the penal colonies in Australia for the rest of your miserable life.”

“Hanging or transportation? That’s not a choice!”

“It’s more than you gave to me when I was ten.”

“I can’t be transported! I can’t be hanged! It’s my wedding day,” he repeated for no apparent reason, and he started to weep. “I’ll tell my mother. She won’t permit it.”

“Your mother will never know what became of you,” Drummond said. “Haven’t you realized, Miles? You’ve vanished off the face of the Earth.”

“Oh! Oh!” Miles howled. “You can’t do this! You can’t! I’ll hire a lawyer. I’ll sue! I’ll be released, and I’ll get even!”

Drummond and Scott laughed at the threat, and Drummond asked, “You’ll hire a lawyer? With what money?”

“I’ll find some!” Miles insisted. “I will!”

He went on in that vein for a while, pleading and cursing and swearing vengeance. Above him, Michael Scott said to Drummond, “Must we listen to this?”

“No.”

“Good.”

Scott punched Miles and ordered, “Be silent.”

But Miles couldn’t quiet down. Had any man in all of history ever been so horridly abused? Had any man ever been so mistreated? Damian Drummond and Michael Scott were criminals, but Miles was the one being carted off to prison. It was an outrage!

He was Miles Marshall, son and heir of Edward Marshall. He was the golden boy, the favored child. No one could tell him what to do. Everyone knew that. He was invincible. How had it come to this?

“Mother!” he bleated like a toddler having a nightmare. “Mother, where are you? I need you!”

“Oh, for pity’s sake,” Michael Scott grumbled.

He hit Miles with the club again. Miles gasped for breath, and Scott bent down and stuffed a sock in Miles’s mouth.

The last remark he heard before falling unconscious again was Michael Scott saying to Drummond, “There! That’s better. Now we can finish our journey in peace.”

Sophia was sitting in
the front parlor at the coaching inn and watching riders pass by out on the road. There was a market in the next town, which generated a lot of traffic. But she was looking for one horse and one rider in particular, that being Kit Roxbury.

She’d been at the inn for several hours, and for a few minutes, it had been debatable whether the proprietor, Mr. Turner, would let her reserve a room, but she’d won the fight.

While she typically viewed herself as being meek and polite, she actually possessed quite a bit of temper and disdain. She’d fiercely asserted herself, and after she’d put him in his place he’d told her she could stay as long as she liked.