Once Dishonored Read online

  “Will his wife mind having a disgraced woman at her table?” Kendra asked warily.

  “Suzanne is the most tolerant of women. She has also had a complicated past and may have some good insights into your situation.”

  “Then I thank you for the invitation.” Kendra exhaled roughly. “I must rest now. Thank you for coming to my rescue at the ball, and for listening to me.”

  Lucas rose. “Between now and tomorrow night, think about everyone who was involved and might have information about what happened to you. Servants. Neighbors. Your husband’s friends.”

  “Do you think that will help?” she asked.

  “I don’t know, but it might be a start.”

  “I hope so.” She drew a deep breath. “Thank you, Lord Foxton. I feel steadier for having talked to you. Step by step, I will move forward as best I can.”

  “That’s all we can ever do.” He smiled. “You should call me Lucas if we’re to be allies. That will balance the fact that I keep wanting to call you Kendra Douglas.”

  She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “I want to be Kendra Douglas again. She was stronger and more clear-sighted than I. Scottish women keep their own names, so I’ll claim that right. I do not want to be Lady Denshire anymore.”

  As they’d talked, she’d become more like the Kendra Douglas he remembered. He was glad because she would need that strength and clarity to fight her way out of the wreckage of her life. “I’ll collect you tomorrow for dinner, Kendra. I hope you sleep well.”

  “Perhaps I actually will,” she said, sounding surprised as she escorted him to the door. “Good night, Lucas.”

  After he left, she climbed the stairs to her room, tired but feeling a cautious hope that there might be sunlight beyond the dark fog of despair that had been suffocating her since her life had shattered.

  Though Denshire had done his best to destroy her, he had failed. Now she was going to fight back. Women had few weapons, but she was better armed than most because she had money and determination. Dear Lord, did she have determination!

  She wondered how far Lucas would go to help her. This was such a sordid business and he had no particular reason to exert himself for a near stranger. He might eventually lose interest and she’d be on her own. But his kindness and belief had already meant a great deal to her.

  After she lit the lamps in her room, she opened her jewelry box and removed the miniature of Christopher, which was more precious than any of her jewels. The picture had been painted the year before. He’d grown since then, but his sunny smile hadn’t changed.

  Or perhaps it had. She hadn’t seen him in months, and his life had been disrupted almost as badly as hers had been. What lies had his father told him about the divorce? Had he told Christopher that his mother was a whore whose name must never be mentioned? Surely not, Christopher was only nine!

  But Denshire was capable of great vileness, so perhaps he had poured the whole ugly set of lies into his son’s ears. Would Christopher believe his father’s stories? She and her son had been very close, while Denshire had been a distant father, not very interested in his son except because he needed an heir for the title.

  She prayed the love between her and her son had not been destroyed.

  Her fingers whitened on the gilt frame of the miniature as the horror of her recurring nightmare swept through. Time and again she dreamed of Christopher being wrenched from her arms. Always he was a helpless, crying infant and she could do nothing to save him, nothing.

  She must get her son back, for both of their sakes.

  CHAPTER 4

  Lucas felt surprisingly invigorated as he walked back to Duval House, where he was living with Simon and Suzanne while they helped him rebuild a life in the society he’d been born to. He owed his family that after all the grief he’d brought them, and it wasn’t as if there was some other place he’d rather be.

  Only now, as he felt himself becoming focused, did he realize how long he’d been drifting. Ever since he was captured by the French, in fact. He’d drifted through the years as a prisoner of war when his life was about survival and a desperate hope that someday he would be free again.

  Then there were the penance years of traveling the Belgian countryside as apprentice and servant to Frère Emmanuel. He had lived the simple life of a Franciscan friar and helped many people in pain, but never felt that he truly belonged where he was. Though he’d been mildly content, he’d neither seen nor wanted a future beyond the life he was living.

  Then Simon had found him. Lucas’s first reaction to their meeting had been a fearful withdrawal into his familiar routine. But in the days that followed, he’d recognized that it was time to return to the life he’d lost.

  His first wary steps had taken him to Brussels. Though he was not a trained surgeon, his bonesetting and bandaging skills had helped save lives among the flood of wounded after Waterloo. He’d set bones and even used the strange, unreliable gift of healing that sometimes flowed through his hands.

  After the battle, he’d accepted Simon’s invitation to come home to England, first to Simon’s Berkshire estate and now to the house on the street ahead of him. Simon owned the comfortable town house, but Lucas had grown up there after he was orphaned and taken in by his aunt and uncle. He’d been raised as Simon’s brother and now occupied the same room he’d had as a boy. They’d been constant companions for years, studying and riding and cheerfully arguing the merits of the army versus the navy.

  He let himself in with his key and collected the quietly burning lamp that had been left for him before he climbed the stairs. His room was at the front of the house, but he saw a crack of light showing under the door of the small sitting room that connected the bedchambers of the master and mistress of the house.

  Thinking Simon might be awake, he tapped lightly on the door, then entered when Simon called permission. The scene that met Lucas’s gaze was so warmly domestic that his whole body eased. Simon was relaxing on the sofa, his crossed legs stretched out toward the fire and his arm around his wife. Suzanne curled against him as she nursed their infant daughter. Mother and child were wrapped in a soft wool shawl so that only the top of the baby’s small dark head was visible.

  Lucas said in a quiet voice, “Suzanne, you and Madeline make the most perfect Madonna and child image I’ve ever seen.”

  “Indeed,” Simon said fondly as he stroked a hand down his wife’s arm. “Since Suzanne is doing the work of feeding Madeline, I thought it only fair that I keep her company. How was your first solo venture to a ball?”

  “It went reasonably well.” Lucas settled in a chair set at right angles to the sofa, careful not to disturb the pile of intertwined fur that was Suzanne’s gray tabby cat, Leo, and Rupert, Simon’s amiable dog of uncertain ancestry. “My status as a prosperous and eligible bachelor protected me from open disdain and cuts direct, and I had several pleasant dances with women I’d met here in your house. Then things became . . . interesting.”

  Suzanne looked at him with a sleepy smile. “How interesting?”

  “In mid-evening, a woman in black swept into the ballroom and everyone drew back as if she were a plague carrier. Outraged whispers pronounced that she was recently divorced and a contemptible slut who was beyond redemption.”

  Simon’s brows arched. “Was that Lady Denshire? I’ve heard of the scandal but don’t know any of the people involved. I’m guessing you didn’t shrink back in horror.”

  Simon knew him well. “No, since we were in similar straits, I asked her to dance and realized that I had met her years ago, just before I joined my first ship. She was Kendra Douglas then and as straightforward a young woman as I’ve ever met.”

  Looking interested, Suzanne said, “Did she tell you her side of the story?”

  “Yes, and I’ve promised to help her.” Succinctly Lucas outlined Kendra’s situation, ending with, “I hope you don’t mind that I invited her to dine here tomorrow night. I thought you might help develop a strategy to win her justice.�
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  Suzanne came awake as Lucas spoke. By the time he finished, she was sitting upright, her green eyes flashing even as she continued nursing her baby. “Do you believe this woman, Lucas?”

  “I do,” he said. “My opinion is based more on intuition than facts, but I do think Kendra Douglas is telling the truth.”

  Suzanne’s gaze turned to her husband. “Then we must help her. Women are too often the victims of predatory men.” Her tone said that the decision had been made and was inarguable. Given her past, Lucas wasn’t surprised to learn that Suzanne would fight for any woman who had been mistreated by a man.

  Simon knew this as well, so he just nodded. “Tomorrow at dinner we can hear her story and discuss what is to be done.”

  A thought struck Lucas as he got to his feet. “Years ago, before I was captured by the French, I left a chest of personal belongings here in the house. Is it still here, or was it discarded after my supposed death?”

  Simon became very still. “Of course I didn’t get rid of the chest. It’s in the back corner of my dressing room. You can collect it now if you like.”

  “Why there and not in the attic?” Lucas asked, surprised.

  “I suppose it was a way of keeping you near,” his cousin said softly. “I never opened it, but I liked knowing it was there.”

  Lucas felt a deep stab of guilt for what his years of self-exile had meant to Simon. “I’m sorry. I didn’t deserve such loyalty.”

  “Of course you did, my almost-brother. Who else did I have to worry about?” Simon grinned with the openness he’d had as a young boy. “I’ve been proved right, haven’t I? You didn’t die.”

  “Not for lack of trying,” Lucas said dryly.

  His cousins laughed, lightening the mood. Suzanne said, “What do you hope to retrieve from your long-abandoned chest? Or shouldn’t I ask?”

  “You shouldn’t ask,” Simon said tartly.

  “I don’t remember everything I left in the chest. Some official papers and books, some small wood carvings, and a Royal Navy dirk, which is what I’m interested in,” Lucas explained. “Thorsay House, where Kendra Douglas is living, has masses of Scottish weapons displayed on the walls, including Highland dirks. I think the design is a little different from the naval version, so I wanted to compare.”

  “Of course,” Suzanne said warmly. “What man wouldn’t be desperate to know which is longer?”

  Lucas laughed. “I suspect you’re implying that no sane woman would care. I’m sure you’re right. Is it all right if I retrieve the chest now, Simon?”

  His cousin waved a hand toward the master’s bedroom. “You know where the dressing room is.”

  Lucas nodded and bid them both good night before he collected his lamp and entered Simon’s bedchamber. It didn’t look much occupied because Simon and Suzanne always shared the bed in the lady’s chamber at the other end of the suite. Lucas envied their unfashionable fondness for each other.

  The chest was where Simon had said, in the back corner of the dressing room with several folded blankets resting on top. He moved the blankets and picked up the chest by the leather handle on one end, leaving one hand free for his lamp. The chest had seemed large when he first took it off to school, but he could lift it easily with one hand now.

  He left the dressing room through the back door, which opened on a corridor. Once in his own room, he set the chest on the bed and examined the scuffs and other signs of wear it had accumulated since his aunt and uncle Duval had given it to him when he first went off to Harrow. Simon had received a similar one, his covered with dark red leather because of his interest in the army, while Lucas’s was navy blue. Their initials were picked out with small brass-headed nails on the lids.

  He ran a fingertip over the initials. Aunt and Uncle Duval had welcomed him warmly after the death of his parents and always treated both boys with scrupulous fairness. He’d been very lucky, but he wondered why he’d thought of the chest on this particular night.

  Because it was a doorway to an earlier life. He hadn’t been ready to look at that life until now. Expression set, he turned the key in the lock and opened the door to his past.

  CHAPTER 5

  Lucas arrived to escort Kendra to dinner a few minutes early so she had less time to wonder whether he’d changed his mind. She headed down the stairs when the housekeeper, Mrs. Brown, said that her guest had arrived. Lucas was in the drawing room gazing at a circle of dirks mounted on the wall.

  Since he hadn’t noticed her entrance, she took the opportunity to study him. He was every inch the London gentleman, well dressed, reserved, difficult to read. She tried to visualize him with tonsured blond hair, wearing the loose brown robe of a Franciscan. She had trouble imagining that, yet years of living a religious life must explain the deep calm she sensed in him. Like her, he was dishonored and he felt that stain, but he accepted that this was his life now. She must emulate him.

  “Good evening, Lucas,” she said.

  He turned and she saw that her peaceful friar was holding a long, wicked-looking dirk similar to those in the wheel of weapons mounted on the wall behind him. “Making comparisons?” she asked with amusement. “To find if your dirk is longer?”

  He laughed. “My cousin Suzanne said much the same thing. Men aren’t always obsessed with size, you know. I was studying the differences. The Highland dirks are more varied in style, as one would expect, and the hilts tend to be flatter.”

  He offered his weapon hilt first. “This is a Royal Navy dirk, which is a badge of office for naval officers. It’s also a very effective weapon for close fighting, such as when you board an enemy ship or they board you.”

  The dirk was sleek and deadly, as long as her forearm, with a finely honed blade and an ivory hilt. “Is this the dirk you carried during your years in the navy?”

  “No, that was lost when I was captured by the French. This one belonged to my father. He captained a frigate and died in action.”

  She handed the dirk back to him. “Was that why you entered the navy yourself?”

  He nodded. “It seemed a worthy occupation. After his death this dirk was returned with the rest of his belongings. My mother gave it to me with stern warnings to keep it sheathed and be very careful because the blade was so sharp.” He regarded the weapon, his gaze distant. “She died not long after and I was sent to live with my aunt and uncle. For months I carried the sheathed dirk all the time. I slept with it every night until my aunt Duval, Simon’s mother, persuaded me to put it away.”

  “Why didn’t you carry it when you became an officer yourself?”

  “My father’s dirk was too precious to risk. I left it in a chest of small treasures at Simon’s house when I went off to war.” He slid the blade into the sheath at his waist and his coat fell over it. “Time we were off. It’s a cold night, but there’s a bright moon and it’s not far to Duval House.”

  “A good night for walking.” As they stepped out on the street, she said, “I wasn’t entirely sure you’d come. I still have trouble believing that a virtual stranger is willing to help a scandalous woman.”

  He offered his arm. “I have to do something to keep myself busy. I don’t like gambling or drinking or prize fights, and I don’t know many people in London, so doing something useful is appealing.”

  She took his arm and they turned onto the street. A scattering of houses had outside lamps, but the full moon provided better light and cast dramatic shadows from iron railings and the occasional tree. No one else was on the street and the night was pleasantly peaceful. Kendra drew a deep breath, enjoying the night and the company. It had been a long time since she’d known simple peace. Lucas was a very relaxing man.

  As they turned the next corner toward his cousins’ house, he said, “Kendra is an unusual name. Scottish?”

  “Possibly. It’s a family name on my mother’s side. The vicar once told me that there was disagreement about whether the name is Anglo-Saxon, Welsh, or Scottish,” she explained. “It’s actua
lly my middle name. I was christened Mary Kendra Douglas.”

  “You didn’t feel like a Mary?” he said with a smile in his voice.

  “By the time I could walk, it was decided that I was not well behaved enough to be a Mary, so I’ve been Kendra ever since,” she said with a laugh. How long had it been since she’d laughed?

  A cloud drifted across the moon, darkening the street. “I wonder how long it will be until gas lighting is available throughout the city,” Lucas remarked.

  “Quite a while, I imagine. Just think of all the pipes that will have to be laid.” Luckily in this neighborhood there were occasional streetlights and the pavement was kept fairly clean, but wise walkers still needed to be careful.

  At the corner ahead, a pair of evergreen trees cast darker shadows across the pavement. She saw something moving in the shadows. A dog, perhaps?

  An instant later, the peace was shattered as two figures, no, three, swaggered from the shadows, their figures dark and menacing. Kendra froze as the tallest man barked, “Give us whatever ya got and no one’ll get hurt!”

  “No,” Lucas said mildly as he stepped between Kendra and the men. “We don’t want trouble, so I suggest you move along.”

  “Can’t say I didn’t warn ya!” the leader said with a coarse laugh as he lunged forward with a cudgel and swung it at Lucas’s head.

  Except Lucas wasn’t there. Kendra saw a dark object go flying—his hat?—as he swiftly dodged the cudgel. In the same smooth movement, he whipped his dirk from its sheath and slashed down his attacker’s hand, wrist, and side. The man bellowed as the cudgel dropped from his damaged hand and blood sprayed blackly from his wound.

  His movements almost too swift to comprehend, Lucas spun to his right and slammed the hilt of his dirk into the temple of the second man. The man gasped with pain and stumbled backward.

  The third man yanked out a dagger and lunged at Lucas. There was a swift exchange of thrusts and shrieking metal as Lucas’s weapon blocked his opponent’s shorter blade. The violence ended when a stab from his dirk disabled the other man and the knife dropped to the street with a clatter.