A gust of wind loosened several brightly colored leaves from the tree and they floated down, one settling gently on Felicia’s head. “It is the same color as your hair,” he commented with a laugh as he reached out to remove it. Instead, he stroked her hair, his eyes intent on her face.
He is going to kiss me, she thought breathlessly.
“Look at all the flowers I have gathered!” Dorothy exclaimed, arriving with her arms full of the beautiful blue plants. “We shall have enough to fill half a dozen vases.”
Rowland and Felicia, startled from their enchantment, turned rather guiltily to her and Rowland said exasperatedly, “How are we to get them to the court? They are bound to wilt quickly in this heat.”
“Not if we go directly there,” Dorothy returned gaily. “I can have them in water in half an hour.”
With a slight shrug of his shoulders and a crooked grin at Felicia, Rowland handed the two ladies onto their horses before he ungraciously wrapped the cornflowers in his handkerchief and swung himself onto his mount. “Hardly out long enough to exercise the horses,” he grumbled.
* * * *
Intent as they were on returning speedily to the court, the riders were not aware of the man they passed, hidden in the shrubbery alongside the road. This was not the first time he had followed them, but he was now satisfied with the information he had gathered and decided to return to his employer.
Francis Tackar was a very persistent and a very conceited man. He refused to believe that Alicia was not attracted to him, but he conceded that it might be difficult for her to assume the role he had outlined, when she had a young daughter whom she wished to see creditably established one day. It had become incumbent upon him to force the issue in his own way. Having no principles to obstruct him, he immediately began to devise a plan of action when he left Tetterton. He was not impatient and the length of time his machinations took to come to fruition merely added spice to his appetite.
His valet, Martin, arrived at Tackar’s estate when his employer was seated after dinner thoughtfully sipping at his brandy. Since he considered his news to be of value, he slipped into the room and coughed discreetly. Tackar turned his cold eyes in the direction of the sound, and a gleam of interest appeared in them. “You have discovered something?”
“Indeed, sir. I thought you would wish to be apprised of certain findings I have made.” The small man remained standing by the door, inconspicuous in the shadows away from the candlelight.
“Well, come over here, fool. I have no intention of breaking my neck to see you.”
“Certainly, sir.” Martin advanced to a respectful distance from the table. “As you know, Lady Coombs serves in the shop regularly, so I thought it wisest to concentrate on the young lady.”
“I am not interested in what you thought. Tell me what you have found out,” Tackar snapped.
“Miss Coombs rides regularly with the Clintons, a niece and nephew of the Marquis of Stronbert, who are staying at the Court. There appears to be an affection between the young man and Miss Coombs.”
Tackar’s brows lifted cynically. “You don’t say. That could be useful.”
“There is to be a ball at Tosley Hall, Sir John Wickham’s place, on Monday. The Coombs ladies are not invited.”
“She had no chance to retain her place in society when she took a shop. Better for her to have accepted my carte blanche in the first place, without all this shilly-shallying and coyness,” Tackar mused, his irritation evident.
The valet coughed again, more discreetly than before.
“There is more?”
“Yes, sir. All of the others appear to be invited, and from the conversation I overheard between Miss Clinton and another young lady, it is likely that the day of the ball will be spent in preparations for it. Miss Coombs is unlikely to ride with them that day, as she normally would.”
His employer nodded and sat staring vacantly at the epergne in the center of the table. Abruptly he asked, “Is it likely that Miss Coombs has ever seen Mr. Clinton’s handwriting?”
“I should think it most improbable. They meet daily, and any necessity for correspondence would more properly be conducted through the sister.”
“What of Lady Coombs’s maid?”
“Her name is Mavis Carter and she lives with them, but her family is in Beverley.” Martin allowed himself a wintry smile. “Unfortunately Miss Carter’s mother is prone to attacks of asthma, and on such occasions Mavis is summoned to nurse her.”
“Most unfortunate,” Tackar agreed. “I think, Martin, that Lady Coombs is about to give up shopkeeping. I don’t suppose you have found an appropriate spot.”
“Now, there, sir, I was lucky. When I followed the young people today, it was necessary for me to leave the lane because Miss Coombs happened to catch sight of me riding behind them.”
Tackar eyed him sharply. “She saw you? What did she do?”
“Nothing. I assure you she thought nothing of it, but I had no wish to be seen hanging about or observed when they returned toward town. They left the lane shortly after I did to wander about a meadow. Where I was hidden in the shrubbery I found an abandoned shed.”
“Can it be secured?”
“With very little effort.”
“I will come with you tomorrow to see it.”
“Very good, sir.”
“Where does the girl get a horse? From the Feather and Flask?”
“Yes, she hires one particular mare there.”
“Excellent. You have done well, Martin.” Tackar dismissed him with a wave of his hand and remained seated at the table, languidly caressing his brandy glass, a satisfied smile on his lips.
* * * *
The afternoon of the ball found her mother in the shop and Felicia working needlepoint seat covers in the cottage. She was feeling blue-deviled, much as she was determined to keep herself busy and cheerful. Mavis answered a summons at the front door and came into the drawing room to hand Felicia a note. “There is a man waiting out front for your response, miss.”
Felicia tore open the note and read: “Dear Felicia, I knew you would miss your ride today, so I have sent your favorite mare from the inn. If you will ride on the lane north of town you will find an old oak a half mile farther on from the Tooker farm. I have left you a surprise there which I hope will cheer you. Rowland.”
Felicia grinned. How thoughtful of him! She was too excited to pay any particular attention to the nicely dressed man standing out front with the mare but directed him to tie the horse to the fence as she would have to change into riding dress. Then she whisked upstairs and changed so quickly that it was but a matter of minutes before she was downstairs again to inform Mavis that she was going for a ride.
The day was cold but there was no rain in the air. A gallop brought color to Felicia’s cheeks and she eventually let the mare slow to a trot as they passed the Tooker farm. After a while she began to scan the side of the lane for an oak, her excitement rising. Then she saw it, an old gnarled tree with a yellow ribbon tied about it. She smiled in anticipation and reined in the mare. Since she could see nothing from her perch, she jumped down and tied the reins to a nearby sapling.
As she approached the tree, a dark figure loomed out from behind it, and she thought for one astonished moment that Rowland had met her there. She was speedily disillusioned, though, for in the next instant she recognized Tackar’s features and her reflex was to run. He grasped her wrist before she could turn, and she struck him with her other hand. An uttered oath succeeded her strike and she opened her mouth to scream, but his hand was immediately across it. When she bit him he smashed her to the ground and sat on her back with one hand pushing her face into the fallen leaves until she thought she would not be able to breathe.
With his other hand he drew a rag from his pocket and slid it down under her face; then he used both hands to pull it into her mouth along with some leaves. She lay there choking until he rolled her over and turned the cloth so that the leaves fell out. B
ut the grit which remained in her mouth was painful to swallow and her fear was overwhelming. He had her hands pinned down at her sides, and her struggles were to no avail. Taking both her hands in one of his, he drew a rope from his pocket and wound it around her wrists, at length using both hands to tie it securely. Then he stood over her menacingly and growled, “I want no more nonsense from you, girl.”
Tackar lifted her to her feet and shoved her in front of him. “Just walk past those bushes.” Felicia made one last attempt to run, darting around him in the faint hope of reaching her mare. She felt a searing sting across her back and turned in astonishment to see that he had picked up her riding crop and lashed her with it. Even while she stood frozen he grasped her bound wrists and dragged her after him, half walking, half crawling to the shed behind the bushes. He shoved her in so that she sprawled on the floor, her skirts in disarray about her thighs.
The late afternoon light streamed through the door and he stood panting, his eyes fastened on the firm white thighs. He reached in his pocket yet again and drew out another length of rope and grasped her ankles. After he had bound them, he ran his hands up her legs while her eyes dilated with terror and her cries were muffled by the cloth in her mouth. His eyes were attracted by her heaving breasts and he grasped them so tightly that she winced. He seemed to come to his senses then and laughed. “Later. Now I have plans for your mother. Strange I did not think of the benefits of this particular plan before.” Felicia closed her eyes to block out the evil light in his, as he stuffed her bonnet into his pocket.
“I shall return,” he promised her smugly, “and then you will learn something new.” He reached down and felt between her legs. He nodded, satisfied. “Yes, something new.” Before Felicia could control the shuddering aversion of her body, he was out the door and she heard him slam the bar to. She huddled up into a ball and wept. How could she ever have thought it might be pleasant, when she was married, to have a man touch her! And her mother! He was going now to force himself on her mother. The bitter tears would not cease.
Tackar strode confidently to where he had left his horse and swung into the saddle. He then ripped the yellow ribbon from the oak and grasped the reins of Felicia’s mare as he passed it and led it behind him. As he passed the Tooker farm he noted that someone was coming out onto the lane and he turned his head aside and urged his mount into a canter, the little mare following suit. The other rider paused at the entrance to the lane and did not issue forth, but Tackar kept up a steady pace for some time before cutting across the fields so that he would not have to ride through town to reach Alicia’s house.
It was more than an hour after Felicia left for her ride that Mavis answered another summons to the door. It was a different man, but he was leading the mare Felicia had left on. Mavis exclaimed in her alarm, “Do not say anything has happened to Miss Coombs!”
“No, no,” Tackar soothed her. “Miss Coombs was passing the inn when a message came for you. You are Mavis Carter, are you not?”
“Yes,” Mavis answered suspiciously.
“From over Beverley way?”
“Yes,” more curiously now.
“Miss Coombs was informed by the messenger that you were needed at home. Your mother is ill. Miss Coombs had met some friends with a mount for her, so she asked that I bring you this horse for your journey.”
“My mother,” Mavis said, alarmed. “And Miss Coombs wished me to go to her?”
“She was most emphatic about it,” Tackar assured her smoothly. “She would have come herself, but I told her I should not mind bringing the mare, and her friends were eager to be on their way.”
“Why, I do thank you, sir. I’ll just run over to the shop to tell Lady Coombs that I must be off, and get the key to lock up.”
“I think you should start immediately if you want to reach your home before night falls,” he urged her. “I am acquainted with Lady Coombs and will inform her when you are on your way. Just run along and get your wrap while I hold the horse.” He managed to inflect a slight note of superior impatience into his voice, and Mavis’s years of training in genteel households prompted her to obey him. When she had passed out of sight down the lane, he beckoned to his valet who was seated uncomfortably behind a hedgerow down the lane awaiting this signal.
“Follow her. Do not let her stop anywhere. I cannot think she is suspicious, but one can never be sure. Use force if need be,” Tackar instructed coldly.
“Yes, sir,” the valet murmured respectfully. He had spent years with Tackar and was paid well for obedience and punished severely for any insubordination. When he too had disappeared from sight, Tackar casually entered the house to await Alicia.
Chapter Ten
It appealed to Tackar’s sense of humor to check in the kitchen for what the maid had been preparing for dinner. The soup had been left simmering and the partridge appeared nearly finished on the spit. There was an apple pie sitting near the window ledge. Adequate, he thought.
Tackar then made a tour of the house. He knew that it would be an hour yet before Alicia returned. The neater of the two bedrooms he determined to be hers. He rested a proprietorial hand on the bed. She would do better to accept his offer, he thought scornfully as he surveyed the shabby furniture. Then he went through the house to make sure that all the draperies were closed and finally settled comfortably in a chair in the drawing room to wait. His glance at the clock told him that he still had some time, but there was a noise at the door and he sprang to his feet, alert.
“Felicia? Mavis?” he heard Alicia call.
Tackar stepped into the hall and faced her. “There is no one here but me.”
“What are you doing in my house? Get out!” Alicia cried.
“I cannot think that would be wise, Alicia,” he said insinuatingly. “If I were to leave, how would you learn where to find Felicia?”
Alicia’s face drained of blood. “What have you done with her? Where is she?”
“She is safe. I will tell you where she is when we have spent the evening together.” He reached out a hand to grasp her wrist but she leaped away from him. “Alicia,” he said softly, “if you do not cooperate, your daughter will not be returned to you a maiden.”
Alicia cast a pleading look at him. “You would not, could not do that. Please. She is but a child.”
“And you are not. Cooperate, Alicia, and you shall have her back intact.”
Alicia shuddered and shrugged helplessly. “As you wish. The bedroom is upstairs.” She moved reluctantly toward the stairs.
“There is no hurry,” Tackar purred. “Mavis has left supper in the kitchen and I am feeling a trifle sharp set from my afternoon’s activities.”
“Where is Mavis?” Alicia asked bluntly.
“She seems to have taken the notion in her head that her mother is ill and has gone home to nurse her.”
Alicia felt completely demoralized by this knowledge. Not that Mavis’s presence would have helped her, but that Tackar had planned the whole so carefully.
“Please, it cannot matter to you. Let us get it over with now.”
“It does matter to me,” he assured her, his eyes wandering slowly over her body. “I will come with you to the kitchen and you will serve our meal in the dining parlor. Then you will understand how it could be with us, my dear.”
Alicia shivered but went directly to the kitchen and began to serve the food into the waiting dishes. Tackar lounged against the door, occasionally putting an arm around her and rubbing her breasts through her dress. Alicia stiffened at his touch but continued with her task without a murmur. When they were seated at the table opposite one another he said softly, “Take off your bodice.”
Alicia gazed at him in horror and sat rigid.
“I said, take your bodice off,” he reiterated slowly. When she continued to sit unmoving he rose and walked to the hall. He returned to toss Felicia’s bonnet in the center of the table. Alicia slowly and awkwardly removed her bodice. “To the skin,” he instructed. Sh
e undid the drawstring of the chemise and lifted it off over her head. Her eyes were fixed on her plate.
“Excellent. You have further improved my appetite,” he remarked smoothly. His eyes caressed her breasts as he lifted each bite of food to his mouth and dabbed at his lips with a napkin. “You are not eating.”
“I am not hungry.”
“Nonetheless, I should like to see you eat.” He touched the bonnet with a languid finger.
Alicia picked up a fork and awkwardly lifted a bit of partridge to her mouth. She was horridly aware of her naked body. The bonnet in the center of the table hypnotized her. Chew as she might, she could not swallow the bite. Eventually she put her napkin to her mouth and inconspicuously removed the food. Tackar seemed satisfied with her one attempt. He continued to work his way through his meal, his eyes seldom straying from her breasts. Eventually he put his fork down and rose from his seat; Alicia did likewise. “No, sit there,” he ordered and came round the table to stand behind her. He reached a hand around her and gripped a breast firmly, flicking the nipple. Slowly he did the same with the other. “Now,” he said, “we will proceed to your bedroom.”
Alicia stooped to gather up her clothes and press them against her naked chest. He wrested them from her. “Don’t be absurd, Alicia,” he laughed.
Alicia’s limbs felt as though they would not support her, but she knew he would carry her if she did not ascend by herself, so she made a supreme effort. It was growing dark now and Tackar lit a branch of candles to carry with him. Alicia put a trembling hand on the doorknob and opened the door carefully. She then walked into the room and stood by the bed, her mind frozen, her body shivering.
Alicia Page 11
