The Highwayman's Lady (BookStrand Publishing Romance)

by Karen Lingefelt

“Miss Griffin says it’s nonsense,” Jack said as calmly as possible. “Far be it from me to impugn the word of a lady.”

  “She’s not a lady,” the marchioness asserted. “But Renton is a gentleman and you surely wouldn’t dare to impugn the word of a gentleman, now would you, Captain Jordan? He could call you out.”

  It was all Jack could do not to laugh in her face. Yes, of course Renton could call him out. And at this point, Jack might take great pleasure in shooting the cur dead.

  He turned to regard Miss Griffin, but she was no longer there.

  He glanced all around the ballroom, as guests paired up for another dance. He didn’t see her anywhere.

  “So I’m sure you’ll agree,” Lady Saxby prattled on, “that she’s nothing but a—”

  Jack abruptly strode away from her. Now that was also a cut.

  He thought of finding Miss Griffin and apologizing to her—only for what? Putting her and Renton asunder? She hadn’t seemed keen to marry the man to begin with. And while it was a lady’s prerogative to end a betrothal, she was adamant that she’d done no such thing.

  Either way, the fact remained their betrothal had ended…because of the highwayman.

  Because of Jack.

  Chapter Six

  Felicity slipped through the open doorway and out of the ballroom at about the same time Lady Saxby declared that she was no lady. She was about to break into a run for the staircase when she spotted Aunt Cordelia near the foot of it, clutching the newel post as if she might collapse if she didn’t, as she spoke in uncharacteristic undertones to Lord Renton, who looked just as haughty as he had all evening.

  They, or rather Cordelia, had to be talking about Felicity, who saw no way to go up those stairs without being noticed and duly detained for further scolding.

  Yet she didn’t want to return to the ballroom. What was the point in remaining? No one, save Captain Jordan, seemed inclined to speak to her or even look at her except to glower in condemnation. Yet even Captain Jordan’s addresses—not that he’d gone out of his way to pay them—filled her with suspicion. Why was he the only guest not treating her like a pariah?

  Either he knew absolutely nothing about the highwayman, or he knew more than anyone else here. The conundrum threatened to drive her mad—or at least up the staircase. Let Cordelia or Renton try to stop her. She defiantly but blithely swept past them and marched upstairs. With each step she expected to hear Cordelia call her name and demand to know what she was doing, as if it wasn’t obvious that she was going upstairs, of course. She didn’t dare look back until she reached the top of the stairs, only to find her aunt and former betrothed were no longer at the foot, or anywhere in sight.

  Not that she was complaining, but hadn’t they seen her sashay past them? Cordelia, at least, had to have spotted Felicity. The hall was as brightly lit as the ballroom and no one else was in sight, for all the other guests were in the ballroom.

  She shook her head before ducking into the dimly lit guest wing to search for her bedchamber, where she went straight to bed without any supper. Yet she tossed and turned for hours, wondering what she’d done that was so horribly wrong. She knew it had been foolish of her to quit the carriage in pursuit of the highwayman. But was that any reason for everyone to treat her as if she were the criminal?

  As for the notion that she’d jilted Renton—even if she had, wasn’t it a lady’s prerogative to do so? Would it have been less of a scandal if not for the highwayman? Then again, if not for the highwayman, would Renton have decided to end it last night?

  She finally drifted into a fitful slumber. When she woke up early the next morning, she was pleasantly surprised to find she hadn’t been locked in to prevent her from causing any more mischief. She was hungry but didn’t want to wait for a tray. Ladies were supposed to stay abed all morning, but since Felicity was no longer considered a lady, she decided to dress and break her fast downstairs.

  She grabbed her yellow spencer jacket and bonnet and slipped out of her bedchamber. She froze as someone stepped out of a bedchamber several doors down. She knew Cordelia and Lydia had bedchambers along this same gloomy corridor, as did all female guests, but neither would be awake yet, and it was too early for the maidservants to deliver breakfast trays.

  But it was just the right hour for a gentleman to steal out of a lady’s bedchamber.

  His shirt was only partially buttoned and he clutched his shoes in one hand. He stopped short at the sight of her, looking as if he wanted to curse but refrained as that might arouse additional witnesses boasting greater credibility than a scandalous hoyden like Felicity Griffin.

  Though she’d long suspected him of this from his occasional visits to Tyndall Hall, she could scarcely suppress her astonishment at seeing those suspicions confirmed.

  “Good morning, my lord,” she whispered. “And don’t worry—I won’t tell Lady Tyndall or anyone else that I saw you coming out of Lady Lydia’s bedchamber.”

  For a moment Lord Howland looked as if he didn’t know what she was talking about—or at least as if he was trying to look as if he didn’t know what she meant. He quickly composed himself and nodded. “That’s probably for the best, Miss Griffin. Thank you.” He scurried past her down the hallway like a rat fleeing a cat.

  She waited till he was out of sight before heading downstairs to the dining room, wondering what would happen if she told Aunt Cordelia what she’d seen. Her aunt would probably declare it no worse than confronting a highwayman. Nor did Felicity see any point in warning Lydia. The culpable parties, to include Lord Howland himself, would not hesitate to flatly deny anything was amiss. For all his guilty behavior at being spotted by Felicity, she knew it was ultimately his word against hers, which in the wake of recent events was roughly the equivalent of mud and even more useless since it couldn’t be flung at her.

  She warily approached the dining room, hearing men’s voices from within. She paused just out of sight of the doorway to eavesdrop, but to her immense relief, instead of talking about her or the highwayman, they discussed plans for a small archery tournament later in the day, provided it didn’t rain. Someone asked the whereabouts of their host, only to be told he was likely still in bed.

  “The real question,” added the responder, “is with whom?”

  “Surely not with his bride under the same roof?”

  “Ha! Surely not with his bride?”

  Hearty chuckles ensued.

  “What bride is this?” came Renton’s curt voice.

  “Why, Lady Tyndall’s daughter, of course. Which bride did you think I meant? Yours?”

  Felicity’s heart tumbled. This could only lead to talk of her and Renton, though she might learn if he was the one who started the rumor that she jilted him.

  She knew she should flee, but she wanted to hear more. And find a bite to eat, if possible, for her stomach was growling since she’d left the party before supper last night.

  “I’ll thank you not to speak of her in such an unseemly manner,” Renton said icily.

  “Who? Howland’s bride or yours?”

  “Perhaps we should change the subject, gentlemen,” said a voice she recognized as Captain Jordan’s. “I heard a fine bit of drollery on my voyage back to England. A du—”

  “May I help you, Miss?”

  Felicity jumped at the voice of the footman who suddenly appeared at her side, seemingly out of thin air. She wondered why she didn’t see a cloud of magic vapor around him. Or why her skin wasn’t lying in a shriveled heap at her feet.

  “Oh, I—I was just looking to break my fast,” she stammered.

  The footman gestured to the doorway. She might have run for her life at this point, except silence had fallen over the dining room and the men were now looking her way. And she was famished. She made a beeline for the sideboard as they all rose to their feet. Renton, she noted from the corner of her eye, was the last to stand, and he did so as if it terribly pained him to show her even this small courtesy. She set down her bonnet to m
ake a quick sandwich out of the assorted meats and cheese on display. Keeping her eyes on the sandwich, she scurried out of the dining room.

  Behind her she heard the scraping of chairs and thuds of lowered backsides as Captain Jordan resumed his bit of drollery. “A duke, a marquess, and an earl walk into a gentleman’s club…”

  Felicity heard no more as she devoured her breakfast sandwich, occasionally dropping bits and crumbs on her way to the front door. She felt like a savage who no longer belonged in polite society.

  After finishing the sandwich she ventured outdoors, breathing deeply of the cool, fresh air. She’d considered wandering about the verdant grounds, but swollen clouds threatening more rain still hung in the sky. She decided it might be better to just stroll down the straight front drive that opened onto the road leading to the village. No twisting trails in the woods, or winding walks around the flowerbeds today. If it started raining, she would only have to turn and run straight back up the drive.

  Not another human being was in sight. She might have been the only person in the world at this moment. She certainly felt like it, now that she had the chance to contemplate all that had befallen her.

  Lord Renton had abruptly and quite crudely ended their betrothal. She should have been heartbroken, but once in the open air, away from oppressive humanity, she could sense now that the only real blow was to her pride, for she’d never had any feelings for him. And while she was relieved to finally be free of him, that relief was diluted by a flood of bewilderment over what she was supposed to do next.

  Since she’d been betrothed to him from her earliest memory, she’d never been prepared for anything other than marriage to him—and even then, she’d never really been—well, prepared for marriage to him. Being already and always betrothed, she’d never made the acquaintance of any other men outside her family circle, which in recent years had been broken bit by bit.

  First her father, her two older brothers, and then her uncles, two of them the dukes of Halstead and Ainsley, and a third the Earl of Tyndall.

  Her cousin Blake, the newest Duke of Halstead, whose father had been the brother of Aunt Cordelia and Felicity’s own mother, lived in London and would probably not wish to be burdened with a maiden cousin boasting no marriage prospects. Besides, according to Cordelia, the duke had to find a wife of his own—one who would likely be even less tolerant of Felicity’s dismal situation. And the new Duke of Ainsley, her cousin Troy, had just married last month and would be occupied with his new bride.

  There were always her other aunts. Aunt Dolly, however, would be more concerned with finding a bride for Blake. That left the dowager Duchess of Ainsley and Lady Martha Griffin, who were twin sisters. Would they welcome the companionship of a wayward niece related to them only by marriage, when they already had each other? Aunt Martha, in particular, had often said she wanted a daughter, but now she had one in Troy’s new wife Sophie.

  Felicity feared she might have nowhere to go.

  She glanced back at the somber gray manor with its many windows. Still no sign of another person. Did no one miss her? Would they even notice if she never came back?

  She swept her gaze over the surrounding countryside, the village no more than three miles away, if that far. She thought of how nice Lord Renton would look impaled upon the church spire, all his limbs flailing.

  Somewhere, between here and that village, she’d been accosted by the highwayman. Was he in the village now? Or was he hiding out somewhere on the grounds of this estate? As if she thought he might be stalking her—for she suddenly felt as if she were being watched—she turned just in time to see a tall, golden-haired figure in a red coat, black shako hat, and black boots come bounding down the front steps of Howland Hall.

  So it wasn’t the highwayman. It was only Captain Jordan.

  Only Captain Jordan? As if he were of less consequence than that dratted brigand—especially since she hadn’t discarded the notion that he was that dratted brigand.

  Yet she couldn’t help sighing as she felt her heart lifting, as if caught underneath by a sudden gust of fresh air. She was genuinely pleased to see him in spite of their previous bumpy encounters. He was handsome. He was charming. He’d chivalrously stood up for her under Lady Saxby’s denouncements last night. He certainly seemed to like her, even after she’d sprayed whisky all over him, or surely he wouldn’t be approaching her with long, confident strides and a friendly smile.

  Did he truly desire her company, or was he merely heeding their host’s suggestion that he “bring her back into the fold” because of her so-called disgrace—and at his hands?

  “Good morning, Miss Griffin!” He paused about half a dozen paces away from her and bowed. “You forgot your bonnet.” He held it out to her, the streamers fluttering.

  Disappointment stung her. Of course he didn’t come after her because he desired her company, unlike the rest of the house party. “Oh. Thank you.” She took the proffered bonnet and pulled it over her head. “I’m always leaving my bonnet or reticule behind somewhere. How did you know I was out here?”

  “You brought your bonnet downstairs, so I merely assumed you meant to go outdoors.”

  She swore his aquamarine eyes twinkled, despite the dismal day. She scrutinized him as she slowly tied the streamers. “Only how did you know I was walking down the front drive, and not through the garden?”

  He flashed a smile brighter than the twinkle. “You also left a trail of crumbs. But it’s a good thing you did. Do permit me to join you, for you shouldn’t be out walking by yourself.”

  She bristled. “Because of highwaymen? I thought they only came out at night.”

  “Oh, they come out in the daytime, too, especially if they know there are young women out walking unprotected.” He glanced around, as if he might see said highwayman lingering in plain sight, then lowered his voice, as if he didn’t want the lurking highwayman to hear. “’Tis my understanding they are not only in the immediate vicinity, but that you actually encountered one the other night. I’m rather surprised you would leave the safety of the house so soon after such a harrowing experience.”

  Felicity burst into laughter. Why didn’t he just admit it already?

  He knit his brow. “You find that amusing, do you?”

  “You might have been amused, too, had you been there.”

  “How so?” He looked and sounded strangely indignant, as if affronted not by the notion that she’d been waylaid by a highwayman, but that she found it amusing.

  “Don’t tell me you believe the version of events that my Aunt Cordelia has spread among the guests like a smallpox epidemic? And just like the pox, should I manage to survive, I’ll be left with scars so deep and hideous that no one will want to look at me.”

  Oh, dear. Now she felt ready to cry. She quickened her steps down the drive, thankful for the bonnet that hid her face from him.

  He caught up to her. “To tell you the truth, Miss Griffin, I can’t say as I’ve actually sat down to listen to your aunt’s version of events. I’ve only heard little bits and pieces that make me wonder if what accosted you wasn’t a highwayman, but Bonaparte’s entire army—in which case, you are to be admired and commended for facing it down.”

  She paused and turned to face him. “Tell that to Lord Renton.”

  “In point of fact, there are a great many things I’d like to tell him. Not least of which is what I think of him for allowing you ladies to travel alone, without any protection, while—” He abruptly fell silent and stared blankly at her, as if he suddenly realized he’d said too much.

  Felicity stared back, and dash it, there went her mouth again, falling open.

  Captain Jordan smiled. “Shall we go the stables?”

  Felicity snapped her mouth closed for a second, then opened it to say, “It’s odd you should say what you just said about Lord Renton, for that’s exactly what the highwayman said the other night. Perhaps not word for word, but he did say some not very nice things about His Lordship for
not traveling with us, thereby affording us more protection.”

  “Did he?” Captain Jordan chuckled. “That is odd, for I should think the highwayman would’ve been pleased to find you ladies unprotected, since it made his job easier.”

  She continued strolling down the drive. “He was a very strange highwayman, to be sure.”

  He kept pace with her. “So there was only one? There wasn’t this whole army, as I’ve been hearing?”

  “If there were, then don’t you think the other guests might’ve been waylaid? And where would we find this army’s camp? I should think they could scarcely move about this countryside without being noticed, even with the woods. I can see the village from here.”

  “I must say, Miss Griffin, you’ve put more thought into this than the other guests, for they don’t seem to have taken such matters into consideration.” He sounded impressed with her casual observation.

  “Truly, there was no thought to put into it.”

  “Then your experience wasn’t so harrowing after all.”

  “Not to me. But my aunt and cousin always like to make the most of adversity. And they are making all they can out of this.”

  “Weren’t you at all frightened? Didn’t you scream?”

  Doubt nipped at her. Maybe he wasn’t the highwayman, after all. She pondered how much she should tell him. She had screamed, but not because she’d been frightened. She didn’t want him to think she was a missish, milk-and-water ninnyhammer like Lydia, who wouldn’t say boo to a fly, let alone try to trap one with her gaping mouth.

  But she didn’t want Captain Jordan to know that after the highwayman was finished with his dastardly business, she’d gone after him because he was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to her, a folly that had left her ruined, or at least without a fiancé.

  Besides, he probably wouldn’t believe she’d screamed to frighten off the highwayman—and that it had worked. She couldn’t even get her aunt and cousin to believe it. Lord Renton certainly hadn’t.

  She offered him a sly smile. “Do I strike you as the sort who would scream?”