“I’m not returning to India.”
Dorothea’s eyes widened, and she rushed off the sofa. “You’re not planning to visit Somerset Hall!”
“If you must know,” William said, irritated that that seemed to be her main worry, “I joined the effort to defend Britain at home. They are building a fort in Lyngate.”
“That’s not far from Somerset Hall.”
“Perhaps.” William’s skin flushed. “I don’t know.” Of course he knew. Lyngate lay on the tip of the Sussex coast, right by the South Downs, practically bordering Somerset Hall.
He avoided Dorothea’s assessing eye. “I want to help guard the defense.”
“How noble.”
William nodded. The cause was noble. There was nothing—well, almost nothing—he would rather do. He wasn’t against the idea of going back overseas, but he would be most useful closer to home. When one of his fellow officers had mentioned the need to build a Martello tower in Lyngate to secure the region, he had leapt at the opportunity.
Since meeting Sebastian again, his heart soared and plummeted, discovering that life contained more emotions than he ever thought possible. In his darker moments, he had worried he simply did not possess the emotions others did, worried if the absence of emotional entanglement made men appeal to him. Were men like Reynolds simply better men, capable of loving a good woman?
In the past weeks, he had latched on to Sebastian’s innocence, his trustfulness, like a drowning man seizing a buoy. Now that Sebastian had chosen a more honorable life—for what, after all, did buoys have to do with the weight of a depraved man—he could at least serve his country. He could at least aspire to the nobleness Sebastian did, with his dreams of bettering his estate and devoting himself to his family.
“I suppose you will go soon?” Dorothea settled back into her armchair, picking up her embroidery again.
“Yes.” There was no point prolonging the stay.
A few hours later, William sat at the front of a brightly painted stagecoach called The Sapphire. Two teams of horses dragged him and a dozen passengers from the lure of London. A guard rode at the back. The crowded experience was hardly worthy of being linked with a precious jewel, though he appreciated the attempt.
The wind brushed against his face as the coach jostled along. The portly coachman was regaling the man next to William, a merchant who had seized the seat next to the driver, likely for the sheer purpose of being entertained. The two men burst into laughter from time to time.
William would not miss London. He longed to immerse himself in a new life, this time on the south coast. Perhaps he approached being in the army all wrong, concentrating on the injustices and indignities of war and the pomp and splendor off the battlefield rather than the noble cause of war itself. How had he fallen so quickly from the ecstasy of being with Sebastian? William sighed. His head ached, exhausted from lack of sleep.
William had thought he would talk everything over with Sebastian later. They had shared something special. At least he found the experience special. Now he struggled to understand what Sebastian thought.
The man had simply vanished. Likely Dorothea found it immensely pleasurable she knew where Sebastian was before he did.
Soft snores from passengers lulled William. Warmth overcame him, his mind soothed by the effects of ale and the distraction of the coach’s regular halts as the driver changed horses and hurried everyone to the coaching inn. The two teams of horses trotted over the gravel road, swaying the coach through the increasingly pastoral countryside.
The grass lengthened and the hedges spilled into the road. A flurry of clouds marched across the sky. A younger William may have searched for shapes in them. Now he accepted never finding a meaning in them, content to watch the colors shift. Blue gaps infiltrated the ashen sky, finally overwhelming it. Pink and orange flecks then sprinkled the heavens until darkness conquered.
The coach passed the village of Hensley and William wondered where Sebastian’s manor house was located. He looked around the village, half expecting to see Sebastian pop out. Every shadow, every tree, every corner was Sebastian. His heart ached at the need to see the other man’s blond hair and blue eyes.
“The people here retire early,” the merchant said, laughing. And indeed, the cottages were dark, not a tallow candle in sight.
“Aye, it’s been practically abandoned.” The coachman leaned conspiratorially toward the merchant, “Some people say a vengeful spirit is haunting this place.”
The man laughed. “Old wives’ tales no doubt. Good for keeping naughty children in check.”
“Perhaps,” the coachman said. “But there are some that reckon they’ve seen him.”
William frowned, his mind on the abandoned village. “Surely they couldn’t all be frightened of a spirit.”
The others frowned at him. Perhaps disbelieving the coachman’s story was not the best way to start a conversation.
“I only know more people used to be here a year ago,” the coachman said.
“Do you believe the spirit harmed them?” The merchant’s eyes widened, and he leaned closer to the coachman.
The coachman shrugged. “It is something mysterious. That is all I can say.”
William shivered. He did not believe in ghosts. Yet the silvery gleam of the birch trees under the moonlight, the rustle of the leaves and of the animals moving about, evoked an eerie atmosphere. A knot tightened in his chest, and he berated himself for failing to convince Sebastian to stay where it was safe.
The coach rambled out of Hensley and headed toward Lyngate.
The lane narrowed until the branches of the trees on either side touched. Likely the area was very pretty in the daylight. The horses panted, straining to pull the heavy stagecoach and the passengers.
“One more stop before Lyngate,” the coachman said.
“The Sapphire‘s never stopped in Lyngate before,” the merchant observed.
“It’s to accommodate those types.” The coachman jerked his thumb at William. “They’re bringing in the military to fortify the region.”
The wheels of the coach creaked. An animal shrieked, interrupted by sounds of hooting. William jumped.
The coaching inn was nowhere to be seen. William pulled his coat more tightly around him. This secluded area would be a perfect place for nefarious activities. His hand reached for his pistol. The passengers were all silent, perhaps listening for sounds of highwaymen.
“Damned owl,” the coachman muttered. “Must have jumped on its prey.”
The merchant laughed weakly.
The coach rounded a corner, and the horses neighed, arching their backs and stamping their feet. The coachman pulled on the reins, his amiable expression vanishing at the horses’ skittishness.
A horse and rider stood in the center of the road. Behind them, a fallen tree blockaded the path. The horses could not reverse. The coach had nowhere to go. They were trapped.
William’s chest tightened and ached, as if the rider had already attacked. Did I survive India for this?
He reached for his weapon, heartened when the coachman’s hand wandered to his.
The highwayman approached the stagecoach, brandishing a pistol. “You’re surrounded.”
The words were said gleefully.
Twigs cracked, the earth pounded, and soon two other horses broke through the trees, their riders pointing pistols.
A shot fired.
The passengers froze, and then, in the stillness, a woman screamed, piercing the quiet.
Just what William did not need to have happen. The scream was futile. In the desolate countryside, the only people to hear her were already there. At this time, late at night, no farmers would be out to rescue them, pitchforks in hand.
All the scream accomplished was irritating the highwaymen. And the horses. Especially the horses.
In a panic, the horses veered, jerking the coach. William slid off the stagecoach, his hand clasped on his pistol. Was this the end? Perhaps hi
s fears over the south coast had not been premonitions of Sebastian’s fate, but of his own. He had no desire to end his life here, in this manner, with these strangers, his sister always angered by him, Sebastian always spurning him.
The robber’s eyes flashed, and he headed for the woman who screamed. “We’ll start with you.”
“Please . . .” the woman begged, and the robber fired a shot in the ground.
This time no one dared scream.
William’s blood surged.
“Maybe you can tell the driver that this ain’t no place for a coach. You can give me your valuables.” The robber flexed his fingers. “Pay me for the trouble of having tell you.”
The guard was not visible. William hoped the earlier shot had not been directed at him.
William’s heart pounded. He would distract the highwaymen. If the guard was alive, he would then be able to protect the coach. He resolved not to think about what would happen otherwise.
He leaped out of the coach. The ground moved toward him, but he righted himself before he smashed into the moist soil.
The highwaymen crowded round.
“Oy, we’ve got a runner,” one of the men exclaimed through the scarf covering his mouth.
“You trying to fight your way out?” One of the highwaymen rode his horse closer to William; the burly beast neighed, snorting and stomping in an inelegant manner befitting a criminal’s transport.
“Wouldn’t dream of it. I fell.” He winked at the highwaymen and jutted out his chest, hoping the guard would catch them unaware.
“That’s a bit fancy language for us here, ain’t it boys?” The other men laughed, drawing closer to him, the same way a pack of wolves might inspect its prey.
William examined them. If they neared him, perhaps he could identify them later on.
If he survived the evening. William read enough articles in newspapers about highwaymen to know that his safety was not guaranteed.
The men seemed to be about his age. One had dark curly hair, another had ginger hair—that was good, perhaps he could be tracked down later, while the other man . . . the other man backed away, avoiding William’s eye.
How strange. Of course the whole incident was strange. Still, he would have thought the man would have wanted to hold his ground a bit more. He looked down at the man’s hands. No weapon. In a second, William was upon him, pushing him into a hedge. The branches tore at William’s uniform, cutting into his neck and hands. William reached for the highwayman, wrestling him to the ground.
The other man yelped. He seemed familiar.
William relaxed his grip, staring at his dark eyes. “Have we met before?”
The man paled.
“I’m sure I know you,” William repeated.
The other two riders looked nervously at the third highwayman. One of them asked, “Is that true?”
The man shook his head in a furious motion, and the other highwaymen laughed.
“I don’t suppose he likes consorting with the likes of us,” the ginger haired man said.
Something glimmered out of the corner of his eye. The guard. Thank goodness. He crept out and slid against the side of the stagecoach.
William hoped the other passengers would remain silent. Thankfully they were appropriately deferential to the dangers of highwaymen.
“Halt!” The guard cried, firing at the men. William pushed the highwayman off him and drew out his pistol.
The men looked startled. The redhead asked, “Where did he come from?”
“Doesn’t matter. We’re going,” the dark-haired men said. They leapt onto their horses, galloping away. The guard returned to his station at the back of the stagecoach, and William returned his pistol to its place. “I expected more violence.”
“Count your blessings, don’t inquire.” The coachman pointed to William. “Lucky this man helped.”
“We can thank the guard.” William’s heart raced, still not quite believing what he had witnessed.
“Well, he seemed to take his time helping,” the coachman grumbled. “I’m thankful to you, sir. You didn’t really know him, did you?”
“I’m not sure,” William said. The man had seemed familiar. “Had you seen him before?”
“Never. Though this is a new addition to the route. Some of the local gentry complained about us adding it. They don’t know what’s good for them. Should have had a stop at Lyngate a long time ago.”
The stagecoach pulled into a coaching inn. William sighed. Highwaymen. He couldn’t believe Sebastian had moved to this region.
*
Sebastian retired to his room, making his way up the creaking stairs to his bedroom, still unaccustomed to his new home. He shivered and his teeth chattered.
One of the windows must have been left open. He crossed the room and leaned over to shut the window.
Stars lit the inky sky. A dark figure approached on horseback.
His heart leapt. Perhaps William is arriving.
He stood by the window, watching the rider dismount and tie the horse to the rail by the entrance. The man strode to the front door. It was William. He was certain.
He broke out in a sweat, and his knees weakened, unsure what he would say to him. Nothing had after all changed.
But then—to see him again. His chest swelled, and memories of William filled him. Maybe emotions were not meant to be rational.
He hoped William would forgive him.
A loud banging on the front door echoed across the wall, and he shut the window, slamming the panes, and hurried out of his room into the corridor.
The sound of steps followed him.
“Sebastian!”
He turned.
Penelope rushed behind, a silk robe pulled over her nightgown. Her hair flowed down her back. “Did you see who it is?”
He shrugged, a smile forming on his face.
“Perhaps the ghost has come to call!” She winked.
Sebastian smiled. The muscular figure had not seemed to be ghostlike. They scurried down the stairs. Sebastian would apologize for leaving so abruptly. He hoped William might forgive him, imagining their reunion.
He opened the door, his heart pounding.
Not William.
Lord Reynolds stood before them.
“Darling!” Penelope squealed, throwing her arms around her husband.
“Good evening.” Sebastian stiffened, hoping his guest could not read the disappointment on his face. “You gave us a dramatic entrance.”
“I try,” Reynolds said. “Now, my horse . . .”
“Did you ride all the way from London?”
“I did indeed.”
“My hero.” Penelope gazed at her husband in rapt admiration, her long raven eyelashes fluttering.
Sebastian realized that while Reynolds had definite rake-like qualities, he did have a wife who adored him. He even seemed to adore her as well.
The horse neighed, stomping its feet against the gravel.
“My groom will feed your horse and put him in the stable.” Sebastian hated making his staff work late at night. Still, he would strive to be a good host. “Would you care for a drink?”
“You must be exhausted,” Penelope said.
“I would appreciate a brandy.” Reynolds smiled as Penelope tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. “Let us go into the library.”
Reynolds led the way. Sebastian forgot Reynolds knew the house better than he did. He sighed, annoyed the man had arrived.
“I thought you might be Captain Carlisle,” Penelope said.
“Why ever would you have thought that?” Reynolds poured himself a brandy, offering Sebastian one. “Did you think I could be separated from you for long?
“Besides,” Reynolds said, “Were you not aware? Captain Carlisle went to work with General Hawtrey in Lyngate.” Sebastian drew in a sharp breath. So William did not have anything against being in Sussex after all. William just had something against him.
“You cannot be serious?�
� Penelope said. “Dorothea would have said something to me. I am certain. Why, she has been writing Sebastian ever such long letters. Did she mention anything, Sebastian?”
Sebastian shook his head. Dorothea’s letters seemed composed solely with the intent of finalizing wedding preparations. She had never mentioned William, and Sebastian could not bring himself to ask his fiancée for any information on him.
“I imagine he did not consult with her,” Reynolds said.
“Dorothea always did complain William kept things from her,” Penelope said. “I had no idea it could be something so grave. Whatever would General Hawtrey want to do in Lyngate? It is just a county town. Practically a village. The place does not even contain a decent church.”
“I believe they are looking to build Martello towers along the Kent and Sussex coast. They are searching for good spots.”
“So the threat of war is real, then?”
“I am afraid so, Penelope. This is no safe region for a lady to be in. So I had to come to protect you.” Reynolds grabbed Penelope by her waist, twirling her about the room, the chestnut strands of her hair flying.
Sebastian ignored Reynolds’s romantic effusions to his wife. “So William will be on the front lines?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Reynolds said, setting down his wife, who looked at him in awe.
“But he is injured!”
“He volunteered,” Reynolds said. “And Sussex is not currently under attack, though the frogs may come at anytime. Apparently you can see France from Dover on a clear day.”
“How reassuring.” Sebastian feigned a yawn. “I fear I must retire. Please do accept my apologies.”
He ascended the steps to his bedroom, ignoring the unsteady beating of his own heart. He clenched his fists, attempting to stop his hands from shaking.
William was here. In Sussex. In the next town over.
Sebastian undressed and laid down on his large canopied bed. He had been so foolish. William was continuing on with his military career as if nothing had happened between them at all.
Chapter Fourteen
William wandered the seafront of Lyngate, pleased to return to work, his steps lighter than in London. Seagulls darted above him, their wings flapping, their shrill cries carried on the breeze.
The Duke in Denial (Scandal in Sussex Book 1) Page 15
