Wild Conquest. Hannah Howell

do you intend to marry?”

      “John Leonard Martin.”

      Surprise overwhelmed her relief, but was quickly followed by anger. John Martin had been their father’s original choice, but Letitia had repeatedly demanded the right to choose her own husband. Several of the young men courting her had eventually tired of her fickleness and had ventured toward Pleasance, only to have Letitia immediately regain interest and pull them back to her. In every case their parents had sided with Letitia, ordering Pleasance to give her sister precedence.

      Letitia had claimed to feel both love and passion for Tearlach O’Duine, but only a few weeks after Pleasance had given him up, the fickle girl had lost interest in him.

      “I see,” Pleasance murmured. “John—the man whom only a month ago you swore you did not want. The very man Papa wished you to marry from the start.”

      “Well, aye, but I had to see his worth on my own.”

      “Of course. And those torrid, impassioned love letters were not written to the most worthy John.”

      “Nay, of course not, or why should I wish them back?”

      “Why, indeed. Letitia, if you felt strongly enough to write such letters to a man, why do you wish them back at all? Why, in fact, choose to wed another man?”

      “Because I finally see that John is worthy,” Letitia replied, staring up at the ceiling of Pleasance’s tiny room.

      “And this other man is not?”

      “Not in the ways that matter. I had to gain the maturity to see beyond fine looks and pretty words, and at last I have.”

      “See beyond them to what?”

      “To the future. To security and the manner of life I am most comfortable with. As I said, John is more worthy.”

      And John is so worthily wealthy too, Pleasance thought, then sharply scolded herself. Letitia was spoiled and vain, but the girl had never been otherwise. The results of all the pampering Letitia had received since birth could not be allowed to annoy Pleasance now. As always she had stepped aside for her sister. She could not fully blame Letitia if her own life was not to her liking.

      “Well, who has these letters then?” Pleasance asked.

      “Tearlach O’Duine.”

      Pleasance was not at all surprised, but she was dismayed. After she had turned Tearlach away, there had seemed to be something between Letitia and Master O’Duine. Pleasance hated to think that that something had gone beyond warm looks and pretty words. She also hated the idea of stealing from the man or, far worse, being caught as she attempted it.

      “Have you tried asking him for the letters?”

      “Aye,” muttered Letitia. “Fool that I was. That cruel man laughed at me. He told me it might do me some good to fret a little.”

      That it might, Pleasance mused, but far worse than a few hours of worry for Letitia could result from those letters. Pleasance dreaded to think of the possible scandal. Letitia lacked the wisdom and foresight to temper her outpourings. When caught up in some fancied passion, she had even less sense than usual. If the letters became public, marriage with John would become utterly impossible.

      Pleasance studied Letitia for a moment. She was probably not in love with John; Letitia was incapable of loving anyone but herself. With John, however, Letitia would have the society she craved and the wealth to become a leader within it. John would never trouble her to be any more than she was. Their father had clearly chosen the perfect match for her. Pleasance supposed it was a good thing that her sister had finally reached the same conclusion. The marriage might allow her to find her own happiness at last.

      Pleasance quickly suppressed the unwelcome thought that she had lost her own chance for happiness when she had rebuffed Tearlach.

      “You cannot expect Master O’Duine to be kind to you after you flirted so shamelessly with him only to toss him aside,” Pleasance said, frowning. “Just what do you consider wrong with the man? I know of no great lack in him morally and he is not without an adequate income.”

      “He lives in the backwoods, far west of the Massachusetts colony, Pleasance, out on the fringes of civilization where there are only a few cabins and farms, mayhaps a small village.”

      “You intended to change his mind about where to live, if I recall.”

      “He is too stubborn. He insists that his home lies out there, and he wants no other. I am certain there are still wild, savage Indians there.”

      “I believe the recent war between us and the French with their Indian allies ended what Indian problem there was. And I would be much more wary of the French myself.”

      Letitia gave Pleasance a cross look. “He also has a sister. Did you know that?”

      “Aye. A girl of but twelve or so, I believe. What matter?”

      “He expected me to care for her.”

      “That is hardly unreasonable of him.” Pleasance realized that Letitia’s main complaint about Tearlach O’Duine was that she had been unable to get the man to do exactly what she wanted.

      “Pleasance, the girl is part savage. She is the spawn of the rape of her mother by some heathen,” Letitia whispered. “The woman survived the attack and kept herself alive until the babe was born. Why, I cannot say. Better to die and escape the shame than to live and bear the fruit of it. And Tearlach still keeps the creature, intends to raise her amongst civilized people. That man is not quite right in the head.”

      “The girl is his sister,” Pleasance said. “They share a mother’s blood.”

      Pleasance sighed and wondered why she even tried to explain such sentiments to Letitia. Her sister lacked the compassion to understand. Nevertheless, she felt a need to defend Tearlach. Before any further discussion could ensue, however—a discussion she knew would severely try her already waning patience—Pleasance forced her thoughts back to the matter at hand. She idly tugged on her full bottom lip as she tried to think of a less drastic, less criminal solution to Letitia’s problems.

      “Perhaps if I speak to Master O’Duine,” she finally said.

      “That will do no good. No good at all.” Letitia got to her feet and began to pace the cramped quarters. “He is angry—with all of us. There is something else as well.” She glanced nervously at Pleasance.

      Unease rippled through Pleasance. “What?”

      “I gave him a gift and that too must be returned.”

      “What sort of gift?” Since Letitia received only a small stipend from their parents, the gift could not have been too expensive or improper.

      “A lovely silver tankard.”

      Pleasance gasped, astonished by the extravagance and the impropriety of such a present. “Wherever did you get such a thing?”

      “From John. It was an heirloom of his family’s.”

      For a moment Pleasance was too stunned to speak. Letitia was prone to doing things without thought, but this seemed too reckless and stupid even for her. It also presented a far greater problem than some ill-advised love letters.

      “How could you have been so stupid?”

      “It did not seem so stupid at the time. Tearlach much admired the tankard,” Letitia said, outrage tinting her voice.

      “So you gave it to him and then thought of John. How is it that John has not yet noticed it is gone?”

      “Well, I have had to make an excuse or two. I cannot keep doing that for much longer.” She fell to her knees before Pleasance, grasping her sister’s hands. “Please, you must get it back for me. If John should ever discover what I have done, all shall be lost.”

      Staring into her sister’s tear-drenched