The Duchess and the Highwayman

by Beverley Oakley

  Hugh had tended to her medical needs with gentle care but her injuries had been nothing compared with his. Hugh’s eyes were black and his face cut and scratched. Yet he treated her as if she were the only one to have suffered injury—and the most precious creature in all the world.

  Hugh traced the outline of her lips and smiled.“Mrs Plumb’s Salon of Sin, where you were deceived and kidnapped, yielded two unexpected allies—including Lord Coulson, in an indirect manner. I was prepared to do whatever it took to save you.”

  “Lord Coulson? But you both believed me guilty.” She said it without rancour. “You thought I was guilty because I didn’t deny the fact my hand held the weapon,” she went on. “That’s what the judge determined, and that’s why you were so disappointed when we last met. I truly thought I’d never see you again.” She frowned at the ceiling, trying to keep the tears at bay, then returned her gaze to Hugh. “You wanted so badly to believe I was nothing like I’d been painted but everything you heard in court bore up the fact that I was a murderess.” She gulped. “And then I proved it to you in front of your very eyes.”

  “Dear God, Phoebe, you were magnificent!” Hugh rose up onto one elbow and smiled down at her. “You did what I was patently failing to do. You struck Wentworth the mortal blow and in so doing you saved my life.”

  “You were about to lose yours while saving mine,” Phoebe pointed out, happy that he was so ready to grasp the distinction between murder and self preservation. She drew in a deep breath. “But come, let’s watch the dawn rise over the water. It’s the first day of a new beginning for me.”

  “For us,” Hugh corrected her, wrapping the blankets around them both as they stood in the window embrasure.

  After some minutes of silence, Hugh admitted softly, “It’s true I was dismayed to discover you’d deceived me for the three weeks we’d been together.” His laugh was sheepish. “And more than dismayed to discover you were the woman whom the gossips painted as a callous husband killer. I will not lie and say the shock of seeing you in the stand in the courtroom meant my head refused to obey what I knew to be true in my heart: that you are the truest, kindest, most blameless woman I know.”

  He put his arm about her shoulders and pulled her to him, tucking away a strand of hair behind her ear.

  Phoebe shuddered at the gentleness. To have such truth and transparency in a relationship was as liberating as it was exciting. He knew the worst of her.

  “But the judge declared me guilty and sentenced me to death. How did you persuade him to abet my escape, Hugh?” She shuddered, and Hugh kissed her nose.

  Putting his forehead to hers, he whispered, “When I went to the salon where you sought Wentworth’s wife, I learned from someone there where I might find Lord Coulson.” He chuckled. “He was at Madame Plumb’s with a pretty male friend.”

  Phoebe drew in her breath sharply, and Hugh curled his arm around the back of her neck to stroke her cheek. “You’re cold. We should go back to bed and have this discussion while doing something pleasurable.”

  “Before you return?” Phoebe turned her head away. She shouldn’t inject sadness into proceedings, inevitable as a parting was.

  “Oh, I’m not going anywhere, my precious.”

  Confused, Phoebe clung to him. “You know I can never return to England!” She searched his face. “And you cannot sacrifice your future for me. I must forever be on the run with a death sentence hanging above my head. You have assets and a fine future ahead of you in the country from which I must be forever exiled.”

  His reply was soft and measured. “I shall go wherever you go, Phoebe, my love. The time we spent apart made me realize how dangerous a companion I am when suffering your absence. Just ask Ada.”

  “But Hugh, you cannot be associated with me. It will be known that you kidnapped me from justice.”

  “That wasn’t justice, and Coulson acknowledged it, too.” Hugh grinned. “Lord Coulson had no choice but to give you the sentence he did, but when by pure chance I stumbled upon the means to expose him to the world for his own hang-worthy crime, he was willing to negotiate.” He changed the subject, quickly. “You’re a widow, aren’t you?”

  Phoebe was taken aback by his matter-of-fact tone, then outraged when he added, “I mean, you haven’t some other secret husband tucked away? You didn’t wed during the week before your trial?”

  He laughed at her rosy-faced indignation, then swooped to kiss her lips before explaining, “I merely ask so that I might be sure you’re in a position to accept me if I made you an offer of marriage.” He became suddenly solemn. “I realize you’d be marrying beneath you, which of course is what has made me reluctant to do the honorable thing these past weeks we’ve been together.” He grinned at his poor joke and she swotted his shoulder, her laugh a mixture of joy and disbelief.

  “Now, before you say anything, first listen to my complete proposition.”

  Nervously, she waited. Let him speak first before she revealed the news she wasn’t sure was a blessing or a bane.

  “Are you attending, my sweet?”

  She nodded and he clasped both her hands. A tentative morning sun was gently bathing the room in light, like the light that was filtering through her heart.

  Hugh squeezed her hands. “With Wentworth dead, I believe an appeal would go in your favour. The servants were terrified of him but now they can speak the truth.”

  “The servants had no respect for me.” Phoebe hung her head.

  “Remember, Phoebe, that they could declare allegiance to only one person if their positions were to remain safe—and that person wasn’t you.” Hugh spoke reasonably and Phoebe felt a spark of hope. Some of the servants, she believed, had felt sorry for her. They knew Ulrick was an unkind husband and Wentworth a scheming bully.

  “It’s a risk,” Phoebe said, slowly. She sighed and looked up at him. “Perhaps too great a risk when I could just disappear and live the rest of my life in exile. But—” She bit her lip, unsure how to express herself. “Perhaps I’m brave enough to do it if it would benefit…the child I will bear within the next eight months.”

  She watched the transformation of his features from concern at her response to the marriage proposal he’d not quite put into words, and her shock announcement. Then with a whoop, he swept her into his embrace.

  “A marriage and a baby!” he cried. “Why, I must be the happiest man alive!”

  Phoebe reached up to stroke his face. “I haven’t actually received the marriage proposal, yet, my darling,” she reminded him.

  When she next looked, Hugh was down on the floor, on one knee, and miraculously, there in the palm of his hand was a glittering diamond ring, larger and more beautiful than anything she’d ever seen, much less owned.

  But its material value was the least of her considerations.

  She put her hands on his shoulders and stooped to kiss him on the mouth as her blankets fell away to reveal her nakedness. Then before she had time to feel the cold, he whisked her into his arms where she curled against him, fusing her mouth to his in a kiss of sweet, pure passion.

  After some moments, he finally broke away and asked, breathlessly, “I take it that’s a yes?”

  She exhaled on a soft sigh. “Indeed, it is.”

  Epilogue

  Eighteen months later

  Phoebe cast a critical eye over the arrangement of the furniture in the blue saloon where the guests would gather prior to the christening dinner. With so many people coming from London and even further afield—many of whom she’d never met from the upper echelons of high society—it needed to be just perfect.

  She rearranged a red rose that hung its head amidst an abundant floral arrangement on a side table, turning with a smile of pleasure as the door opened. She’d expected it to be her beloved husband of only two months but it was one of the servants.

  “Put the tea over by the window, please, Mrs Withins,” she directed. “And ask Mr Withins to keep a watch from the tower for the first of the
guests. He’s less likely than the footman to be distracted.”

  “As you wish, Your Grace. Your husband said as he’d be here in two minutes,” the servant added with a respectful curtsy.

  Despite the circumstances, Phoebe had never detected a hint of disrespect in the attitude of her former nemesis. Naturally there had been shock on both sides when Mrs Withins had been hired by Phoebe’s housekeeper to supplement the dwindling staff of the household. Many of the servants—though not James, unfortunately—had deserted Wentworth after he’d taken up residence at Blinley Manor. Phoebe had made sure James was the first to leave under her tenure.

  So while Mrs Withins had initially displayed confusion and horror when she’d first been introduced to the dowager duchess, the woman obviously considered that a position as parlour maid at Blinley Manor was a great leap up from working for the miller. Besides, the dowager duchess had been fully exonerated during a sensational appeal some months beforehand and now Mrs Withins was the first to sing the praises of her new mistress.

  Mrs Withins knew what was good for her, Phoebe thought, approvingly.

  As for Phoebe, her motto was to keep one’s enemies close. Or dead.

  She thought of Wentworth with a shudder, then returned to examining the room.

  The saloon was brighter and more light-filled since the days Ulrick had requested the curtains be drawn to ease his sensitive eyes and when Wentworth had filled it with the noxious smoke from the cheroots of which he was so fond.

  “My darling Phoebe, you look radiant! I hope you’re not nervous.” Hugh swept into the room, putting his arm lightly round her waist and kissing her on the cheek before releasing her. “My sister and her husband are just driving up the avenue as we speak and, I’m afraid, Sir Roderick is right behind.”

  Phoebe smiled. “With you by my side I can manage even Sir Roderick.”

  “And what creative measures have you employed to manage him this time, dear heart?”

  Phoebe put her head on one side and said happily, “The seating arrangement, darling. It was, in fact, Mrs Withins who suggested it. Sir Roderick will spend the evening between Lady Brindle and Miss Smiggle, both of whom—I have on good authority—are as deaf as posts. Which is why I’ve supplied him with a horn to use when I request that he entertain the ladies, in the drawing room, afterwards.”

  “Very good.” Hugh nodded approvingly, his face lighting up at the sound of an infant’s wail. “Ah, and here comes little Lord Cavanaugh, the very reason for this illustrious occasion. Thank you, Mollie,” he added, taking his son from the arms of the nursemaid whom Phoebe dismissed so that—for now, at least—it could be just the three of them.

  Standing in the window embrasure looking out, they watched as Ada and her husband were helped out of the carriage, before the spider-legged Sir Roderick emerged from his. But Phoebe no longer felt fear and repulsion. She had what she needed to forge ahead with hope and happiness: the wonderful man by her side and an unsullied reputation.

  Phoebe turned to watch Hugh making faces at the infant whose wails had turned to gurgles of pleasure. “Are you sure you don’t mind, my darling?” she whispered, waving her arm vaguely about the room. It wasn’t often these days that doubt clutched at her heartstrings.

  Hugh’s expression, as ever, was unclouded. He glanced up, smiling. “Darling, we’ve gone over this a thousand times. Why should I mind? Miraculously, I’ve fathered the future Duke of Blinley. And whereas, some months ago, I was prepared to sacrifice my future prospects to have you by my side when you were the despised murderess, is this not an altogether preferable situation? You have, in fact, elevated me. Not only am I now married to the most beautiful woman in all of England, I’m married to one who is famed for having retained her poise and dignity having been shockingly ill-used by the now-discredited male members of her family who tried to frame her for a foul murder.” His expression softened. “And now we have young John.”

  Exactly nine months after Ulrick’s death, Phoebe had given birth to a son who was legally Ulrick’s heir. The fact that the child was undersized—as it would be at a little more than seven months—had not been remarked upon. Not publicly, at least.

  In the few months prior to John’s birth, Phoebe and Hugh had been careful to be discreet. The child’s future and Phoebe’s reputation needed to be protected. And although Hugh had desperately wanted to be with Phoebe during her pregnancy, she’d insisted on a separation of some months. She knew how little it took for tongues to wag.

  When baby John had been two months old, she’d gone to Bath to take the waters and there had supposedly met the man who would become her new husband.

  What a rapturous reunion that had been. After a whirlwind courtship, Hugh and Phoebe had married in a small and joyous ceremony in the village church and although Hugh was just a mere gentleman, he was well respected in the local district—as Phoebe supposed anyone who wasn’t Wentworth, or Ulrick, would be. Increasingly, he was respected on his own merits.

  “Mr and Mrs Xavier.” Mrs Withins bobbed a curtsey as she introduced the newcomers, and Phoebe crossed the room with outstretched arms to greet her sister-in-law.

  “I believe congratulations are in order, Ada,” she said merrily, with a meaningful look at the girl’s belly. “I’m so glad you were prepared to negotiate the bumps and ruts on that terrible road.”

  “Nothing was going to keep me away, even though Robert tried,” Ada replied, with a fond look at her husband. “Besides, what were a few hours of discomfort in order to celebrate this happy moment? I knew Hugh—and you, I hope—would want us here today.”

  “You’re very right,” Phoebe said, warmly.

  Ada had been a surprising comfort to Phoebe during Phoebe’s separation from Hugh. She’d been ingenious in devising ways in which Phoebe and her brother could meet without the two of them ever formally being connected in any way.

  Hugh had, at one time, remarked wryly, that he didn’t wish to plumb too deeply into how his sister had developed her frighteningly impressive ability for subterfuge. Phoebe had replied that, sadly, subterfuge was the only recourse for women at the mercy of controlling men.

  Ah, but Hugh hadn’t liked that until she’d cajoled him into more than just forgiveness.

  Phoebe turned as two more guests were announced.

  “Sir Roderick, a pleasure to see you again,” she said with a small inclination of her head and no smile. “You’ve arrived at the very same moment as your greatest admirer, Miss Smiggle.”

  It was indeed auspicious timing that Miss Smiggle was just behind him. The elderly woman’s eyes lit up when she saw Sir Roderick. It was well known that she never let an opportunity pass to hound him on his civic responsibilities.

  Phoebe lowered her voice as she told Sir Roderick, “Miss Smiggle is keen to let you know her ideas on animal suffrage. She’s very fond of her dairy cow, you know. I believe it sleeps in the parlour these days. Miss Smiggle—” Phoebe indicated a cluster of chairs to which she directed Sir Roderick—“do take a seat and entertain our eminent magistrate. Thank you Sir Roderick.” She feigned gratitude. “You were always such a gentleman.”

  Phoebe didn’t care that he saw the ironic smile she shared with her new husband. She took Hugh’s hand and squeezed it, cradling their baby at the same time and lowering her voice to murmur, “What a joy it will be to watch baby John grow into a man of honour and kindness. A duke, yes, but a real gentleman of whom I can be proud. Just like his father.”

  As the room filled with guests wishing to bestow gifts and good wishes upon the baby duke, Phoebe’s heart swelled with pride. All greeted her with respect and even warmth. With her handsome, generous and honourable husband by her side, Phoebe could manage any number of men like Sir Roderick. Hugh offered her protection and loyalty like Ulrick never had.

  And a love that was strong and unquestioning.

  “To the mother of the new duke,” Hugh whispered in a special toast to Phoebe as he passed her chair to reach his own
when the company proceeded from the drawing room to the dining room. He paused to place a kiss upon the top of her head.

  “And his father,” Phoebe responded, not caring who heard, and not caring who saw the warmth of Hugh’s colluding smile as he squeezed her hand.

  Because, regardless of right or wrong, the law in this matter was on her side.

  THE END

  About the Author

  Beverley was seventeen when she bundled up her first 500+ page romance and sent it to a publisher. Rejection followed swiftly. Drowning one’s heroine on the last page, she was informed, was not in line with the expectations of romance readers.

  So Beverley became a journalist.

  After a whirlwind romance with a handsome Norwegian bush pilot she met in Botswana's beautiful Okavango Delta, Beverley discovered what real romance was all about, saved her heroine from a watery grave in her next manuscript and published her first romance in 2009.

  Since then, she’s written more than fifteen sizzling historical romances laced with mystery and intrigue under the name Beverley Oakley.

  She also writes psychological historical mysteries, and Colonial-Africa-set romantic suspense, as Beverley Eikli.

  With an inspiring view of a Gothic nineteenth-century insane asylum across the road, Beverley lives north of Melbourne with her gorgeous husband, two lovely daughters and a rambunctious Rhodesian Ridgeback called Mombo, named after the safari lodge where she and her husband met.

  You can read more at www.beverleyoakley.com

  www.beverleyoakley.com

  beverley.oakley@gmail.com

  Also by Beverley Oakley

  The Daughters of Sin

  The Daughter of sin series is a Regency-set ‘Dynasty’ that follows the intertwining lives and sibling rivalry of Lord Partington’s two nobly born - and two illegitimate - daughters as they compete for love during several London Seasons.