The Stranger She Married (6 page)

"Challenge? Hopeless, if you ask me."

"I'm a very determined woman."

"Utterly ruthless,” he agreed.

Though he refused to look at her, he knew Aunt Livy watched him as they strolled down the hallway toward the ballroom. “It was kind of you to dance with Miss Palmer, Cole."

Instead of his usual quip, Cole found himself asking, “What do you know of her family?"

She glanced at him. “The present-day Palmers or the former gentleman and his lady?"

"Either. Both."

"The former were lovely people, respectable. She was French and had a sort of gentleness about her. Very beautiful. After their deaths, his younger brother inherited the estate.” She tsked. “Willard Palmer is not the gentleman his brother was. Gambler, drinker. He's made terribly risky business ventures. His debts are mountainous, and he might be forced to sell the family estate soon or risk having it seized. Unless he can arrange a good match for his niece."

Cole glanced at her. “Oh?"

"The family is counting upon her to marry well in the hopes that her husband will rescue the family from their straits. I believe her uncle is exerting considerable pressure upon her."

The thought of that pure, unspoiled girl at the mercy of unscrupulous old men like Mr. Braxton rekindled his anger. It also explained why she needed to marry a wealthy man without fitting the profile of a true fortune-hunter. Her uncle was the fortune-hunter, using his niece to solve problems of his own making.

"She has refused to wed any of them so far,” Aunt Livy added.

"Smart girl."

"Sooner or later, Willard Palmer will force her to accept one of them, he's getting that desperate. Such a shame. She's a delightful young lady, not the great beauty her mother was, but still pleasing, nonetheless. Well-mannered and sweet. Such a tragedy to endure so young. She took their deaths very hard. Understandable. First her parents and then her twin brother, all in a matter of months."

Cole blanched. Armand Palmer was
dead
?

He opened his mouth but nothing came out. Standing rooted in the hallway, he pressed the heel of his hands over his eyes. Had he...?

No, it couldn't be. He had not killed Armand Palmer. He'd only shot him in the arm. A few days later, guilt had driven him to visit the town home the Palmers had let for the Season. The servants had assured him that his former dueling opponent had only suffered very minor injuries.

Then what the devil happened to Armand? A slow, sinking dread crept over him.

Aunt Livy took his arm and drew him into the ballroom. “Stop being theatrical, Cole, and come meet her. She's lovely. I promise this would be the last girl tonight. Ah, there she is."

Cole fought to gather his scattered wits. Armand Palmer could have died from anything. A hunting accident. Disease. Anything.

He drew a steadying breath and painted on a smile as Aunt Livy introduced him to a blond debutante dressed appropriately in white. The girl offered a blatantly hopeful smile which somehow restored order to his world. Cole caught himself before he rolled his eyes. If he survived this night, he would have to forge a stronger resistance against his aunt and her machinations.

Perhaps he should return to piracy. It was less hazardous.

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"Did you meet anyone interesting at the Sinclair's ball last night?” Uncle Willard asked as he entered the parlor.

Alicia realized she'd only been staring at the book in her hands instead of reading it. “I danced a set. And I have decided that I will never marry Mr. Braxton. He was horrible."

She shivered as she remembered the repulsive feeling of his hands upon her body, his foul mouth on hers, the way he trapped her, and made her feel so dirty. She pulled her sleeves lower over her wrists to cover the bruises and wished for a way to feel clean again.

He frowned. “He'd be willing to pay all my debts if you please him."

"No, Uncle. Nothing you say will make me marry him."

He stared at her in surprise.

"Surely you can't expect me to marry a man who will make me miserable. I can't believe you are forcing this upon me."

"If you don't marry soon, I will lose everything."

Alicia knew he only spoke the truth. She bowed her head. “I need a little more time."

"One of my creditors has given me until the end of the month or he will seize the estate."

Alicia pressed a hand over her eyes. She knew that threat truly existed. Someone in the line had forgotten to renew the entailment which protected the property from just such a situation. By the time the lapse was discovered, it was too late to remedy it.

"And another creditor threatened to throw me in debtor's prison. I have five weeks to repay the loan in full before he acts. If you fail to find a husband before then we will all go to debtor's prison.” He looked ill. “I hear the guards have special treatment for young ladies. You and Hannah would be at their mercy."

Alicia turned cold at the thought of Hannah being subjected to the same treatment she'd nearly suffered from Mr. Braxton.

"Choose a husband. We are counting on you to marry before the month's end."

Alicia closed her eyes and prayed for a miracle.

Cole Amesbury took careful aim and squeezed the trigger. A fat, healthy pheasant dropped without a twitch.

"Nice shooting, Nephew,” Uncle Andrew praised from behind him. “I see a life of ease and lechery hasn't softened you yet."

Cole grinned. He had earned his reputation as a dead shot in his youth and still took pride in his skill.

"The population is so large that it's hardly sporting,” Uncle Andrew added. “Don't have to step two paces before we find game now."

Cole shouldered his gun and watched the dog run out to retrieve the bird. “Oh? Was hunting less than ideal before?"

"Poachers nearly decimated the game. Ten years ago, we'd hunt a whole day and see nothing worth shooting.” Andrew patted his dog's head and handed the kill to a waiting servant.

"What happened? Caught them and sent them to Newgate?"

Andrew chuckled. “No, of course not. I found out my worst poacher was the twelve-year-old son of one of my tenants, a widow with five children. I took him two dozen chickens and offered him a reward to keep the poachers off my property.” He winked at Cole.

Cole laughed. “You're a soft touch, Uncle."

Uncle Andrew shook his head. “No, lad, not really. Putting that boy in gaol would not have helped the matter. Giving them chickens provided them with needed food, and I won not only his undying loyalty, but that of all the tenants.” He winked again. “Word spreads."

Cole remembered aloud an old proverb his childhood nurse used to say; “Give a man a fish and you've fed him for a day; teach a man to fish..."

"Exactly. They raise the chickens, sell some, sell the eggs they don't eat, and eat the chickens too old to lay. That boy has a family of his own now. He still watches out for my land. And he's the first to pay his rents. Nary a poacher has stepped foot onto my land since. I may have a hunting party to keep them under control. The deer are becoming pests. The gardener complains that they trample the gardens."

Cole walked in companionable silence next to his uncle, who limped with an old wound. Cole's favorite horse, a white Lipizzaner stallion named André, grazed near Uncle Andrew's roan in a stand of trees where they left them. At Cole's whistle, the stallion came to him. It had taken a great deal of time and trouble to acquire the beast, but Cole's determination, some creativity, not to mention a considerable expense, had won him this beautiful animal. Cole stroked André's neck, admiring the horse's graceful lines before mounting.

Andrew glanced sideways at him. “Want to go swimming?"

Cole returned the grin. “Not going to let me forget that, are you?"

The waters of the pond lapped at the edges, bringing memories of childish games and dares with his brothers and sisters. Cole's family had visited this estate every few years for as long as he could remember. He and Jared, his younger brother by fourteen months, had combined more mischief than Cole cared to admit. His sisters had no use for younger brothers. Grant had always been a solitary creature. Christian usually had a sketchbook or an easel in hand or was torturing the pianoforte. That left Cole and Jared to terrorize the country. He was always surprised when Aunt Livy and Uncle Andrew invited them back.

He loved the country, and this tiny town in the Midlands provided a welcome reprieve from his travels. On the surface, his life seemed complete. Yet, a wistful whisper suggested his life lacked ... what? Purpose? Meaning?

Inexplicably, Alicia Palmer's face crept into Cole's thoughts. He cursed his stupidity. Calling out that Palmer boy over a woman who later proved unworthy of the trouble had been one of his more brainless acts. But tempers had flared and Cole had seen himself as the lady's defender. Later, when they met to duel, Cole had nearly called it off. He'd been wrong to challenge a mere boy who lacked his skill with arms. And as an officer in the Royal Navy during the war, and his subsequent acts as a pirate with his brother Jared, he'd developed a definite dislike for bloodshed, which eventually overshadowed even his insatiable need for danger. But Vivian had demanded he defend her honor, and foolishly, he had obliged. He later realized how wrong he'd been about her.

He had absolutely no doubt Alicia Palmer would be worth any risk. He wondered again what had happened to her brother Armand. He knew the answer to that question mattered a great deal.

Lost in thought, their arrival in front of the stables surprised Cole. After overseeing André's care, Cole parted with his uncle and strode into the house, stripping off his riding gloves. He handed them along with his hat and coat to a servant.

"Is that you, Cole?” His aunt's voice echoed through the foyer. “In here, dear."

Normally, she preferred to sit in her parlor, a room that made him feel like a clumsy oaf among her frills and dainty furniture, but today her voice led him upstairs to the drawing room.

He found her frowning in concentration over her needlepoint. Cole liked this room. It was full of light and filled with sturdy furniture. He poured himself a port before he took a seat beside her. Stretching out his legs, he sipped absently at the drink, staring at the squares of light on the floor cast by the window panes.

"Good day hunting, Cole?” she asked after several minutes of silence.

"Landed a pair of pheasants.” He closed his eyes and rested his head against the chair.

"What is it, dear? You've been so quiet today. You hardly said a word at breakfast. And now ... it's not like you."

This threatened to grow too serious. He preferred their usual banter. He dredged up a grin. “You often tell me I need to be more sober. I'm accommodating you for a change."

"I only want you to sober enough to find a wife. Not lose your good nature."

"Now my nature is bad?” he quipped.

She refused to take his bait. “You are not yourself. Are you troubled about something?"

He sighed. “No, just facing one of my many demons."

"Anything I can help you with?"

For a moment, he wished for his childhood days when he could tell her anything. But that was no longer possible. If she truly knew him now, she'd be shocked and disappointed.

He shook his head in reply to her question. “What did you do this afternoon, Aunt?"

"I called upon Miss Palmer.” Aunt Livy's face clouded.

Cole glanced at her, pleased at the unexpected opportunity. He'd been tempted to ply her for information, but he knew the moment he brought up any girl, Aunt Livy would never quit until she saw him happily wed to the poor chit. Now he could satisfy his curiosity without Aunt Livy being aware of his interest.

With the correct amount of polite boredom, he asked. “Have a pleasant visit?"

"Their situation is most desperate. Some of their servants have had to take other posts. She seemed subdued today. Perhaps her grief still weighs upon her."

"You mentioned her parents died recently?"

Aunt Livy leaned in as if to divulge a great secret, and Cole suppressed a smile. Even if the servants hovered nearby, he doubted she knew something they didn't; servants had their own web of gossip. Often, if he needed information, his valet, Stephens, knew all Cole required.

"They were in a carriage accident. Only the girl survived. Even the coachman perished."

"All in a single accident?"

"Tragic, isn't it?"

"Odd."

"Their youngest daughter, Hannah, had remained home due to an illness, so she was spared the accident, thankfully. I called upon Alicia Palmer once she had mended enough from her injuries to receive visitors, but she was so wrapped up in her own grief that I failed to provide any consolation. I believe she blames herself for surviving the accident that claimed her parents."

Cole nodded pensively as a kinship for the young lady awakened. It prodded an uncharacteristic surge of protectiveness. Strange, he couldn't seem to rid himself of that annoying flaw with regard to that girl.

But at least now he knew how Armand had died. He paused. Armand
had
been in the carriage accident, had he not? Aunt Livy had not mentioned his name.

He opened his mouth to ask about Armand's death, but Aunt Livy cut in. “Would you care to spend more time with the very available Miss Palmer, Cole?"

Cole frowned and almost waved farewell to the opportunity to learn more. “I humored you the other night at the ball. Give me a reprieve, Aunt."

She snorted in a decidedly un-ladylike manner and grinned. Finally. “Since when do I take advice from you? Perhaps if you weren't so wicked, I'd stop pestering you."

Wicked? If she only knew half of his sins. “Perhaps if you'd stop pestering me, I'd stop being so wicked."

She patted his hand. “Yes, yes, and if I didn't care, I wouldn't pester."

"Then I shall endeavor to remove myself from your good graces."

"Cole.” A rare look of tenderness crept into her eye and she banished the momentary lightheartedness. “You survived the war. Does marriage seem that much more terrifying?"