The Highwayman's Lady (BookStrand Publishing Romance)

by Karen Lingefelt

  “You mean, if he was allowed to go on his way without anyone confronting him. Why, I can’t think of anything more foolish than that. You did the right thing, Cordelia. Not everyone would’ve exhibited your good sense.”

  “Are neither of you aware that I’m standing here, listening to every word?” asked Felicity. “Aunt Cordelia should be, especially since the only reason she’s in this room in the first place was to speak to me. But if you have something to say about this matter, my lady, then why don’t you say it directly to me?”

  Not surprisingly, Aunt Cordelia abruptly changed the subject back to the ring in Lady Howland’s hand. “Well, we won’t fret about the heirloom, my dear. Where did your son acquire this ring? Rundell and Bridges?”

  “It was given to me by my niece, Lady Celia, the daughter of my brother, the Earl of Nordwell. You’ll recall that a number of years ago she was engaged to the former Mr. Troy Griffin, who is now the Duke of Ainsley. At the time he had no prospects of ever becoming the duke, since his uncle and cousin were ahead of him in the line of succession. He gave Lady Celia the ring belonging to his widowed mother, Lady Martha Griffin.”

  “The wife of my father’s brother,” Felicity said in astonishment. “That ring belongs to the wife of my father’s brother!”

  “And then he jilted Lady Celia for no reason whatsoever! But because he was the one who cried off, she was well within her rights to keep his mother’s ring and do as she pleased with it, and she did!”

  “I remember that,” Felicity remarked. “My Aunt Martha was heartbroken about it.”

  Lady Howland continued as if Felicity hadn’t said a word—or for that matter, as if Felicity didn’t even exist. “But now that Lady Celia is betrothed to Lord Bryant, she has no need for the ring her previous fiancé gave to her, so she gave it to me.”

  “She should’ve given it back to Lady Martha!” Felicity exclaimed. “That, I believe, would’ve been the kind and decent thing to do.”

  “’Tis a fine ring, and it will look lovely on the hand of your son’s bride,” Cordelia said without even looking at her niece.

  Lady Howland closed her fist over the ring. “But you know that cannot happen, Cordelia, until certain matters are settled.”

  “Rest assured they will be settled before teatime, my dear. Do you know if there’s a stage leaving the village between now and then?”

  “I don’t know, but we have plenty of carts and drays out in the stable. One of our servants can drive as far as the next posting house.”

  Carts? Drays? Didn’t Howland keep a tumbrel, or was that already being used for the highwayman?

  Felicity might have been a fool, based on some of the very foolish things she’d said and done in the past few days, but she was hardly featherbrained enough not to realize what her aunt and the viscountess were talking about. And as if she wasn’t even standing here!

  Sometime today, she was going to be driven out of here in a vehicle fit for little more than hauling fruits and vegetables to the market, and then she was going to be left at a posting house—alone? Surely her aunt didn’t mean to let Felicity travel with no one but strangers for company?

  “I’ll send word to the carriage house to have them hitch up,” said Lady Howland. “The sooner we can sweep all of this dirt under the rug and out of sight, the better for everyone.” Her hand still closed in a tight fist around the diamond ring, she turned on her heel and stalked out of the room. She didn’t bother to close the door behind her.

  Nor did Felicity bother to wait until their hostess was out of earshot. “Do I have the right of it, Aunt Cordelia? I’m to be taken away from here like a traitor on a hurdle, and then abandoned at a posting house somewhere?”

  “Felicity, you know why you can’t remain here.”

  “Well, at least you’re talking to me again. You couldn’t even bring yourself to do so in front of Lady Howland. Both of you just stood there talking as if I were invisible. Even now you can’t even look me straight in the eye. You’ve always told me how rude it is not to look directly at people when they’re talking to you. And I’m talking to you now. Why do you persist in looking everywhere but at me?”

  “Start packing your things,” Cordelia said icily. “You should be ready to leave as soon as the horses are hitched up.”

  “I did nothing wrong!”

  “You know what you did.”

  “And it wasn’t wrong! It may have been foolish, but it wasn’t wrong!”

  “I won’t hear another word from you, Felicity. Nor will I speak another to you.” Cordelia turned her back on her niece and headed out the door. “Except to say good-bye.”

  * * * *

  “She said I ruined her?” Jack burst out, as he stood before the fireplace in Howland’s book room. Surely she hadn’t told anyone about the kiss he stole from her this morning.

  “She said the highwayman ruined her,” Howland clarified.

  “What difference does it make?” Rollo said with a snicker. “By all accounts, she’s a wanton who asked for it.”

  Jack had had enough of Rollo’s scurrilous asides and slurs upon the character of what he alone knew to be a totally innocent young woman. Without a word of warning he drew his fist back and with all his strength he slammed it into Rollo’s jaw, knocking the oaf off his feet and straight back to the floor.

  “Not by my account,” Jack snarled. “And mine is the only one that should matter.” He rubbed his knuckles as Rollo lay sprawled between them, groaning and mumbling curses.

  “Jack, we’ve always had one rule about our pranks,” Howland said. “They are never to result in the ruination of an innocent.”

  “Then why didn’t any of us think of that before you conjured up this wild scheme to hold up Lady Tyndall’s carriage?”

  Howland threw his arms outward. “How were any of us to know that Miss Griffin would leave the carriage and come after you?”

  “I’m just thankful I’m not the one who was chosen for this,” muttered Rollo, as he slowly sat up, rubbing his jaw. “I’d hate to be the one who ruined that hoyden.”

  Fresh rage spiked through Jack, and with his booted foot he pushed Rollo back to the floor, when what he really longed to do was kick him in the groin with one foot and in the arse with his other.

  “You shouldn’t kick a man when he’s down!” Rollo protested.

  “And you shouldn’t be insulting the honor of an innocent young woman,” Jack fired back, planting his fists on his hips. “I’m sorely tempted to call you out.”

  “The Brothers Pitt are already threatening to do that,” said Howland. “They’re waiting for you in the drawing room, Rollo.”

  Rollo struggled to his feet and staggered out the door. “At least my mother will like her. Miss Pitt has a dowry and allowed herself to be compromised by a lord instead of a highwayman.”

  Jack charged after him, but just in time Howland slammed the door shut behind Rollo. “Let him go, Jack. He’s always been a fool, and it’s about bloody time he was hoist by his own petard. And don’t forget, you’ll be a lord someday—a greater lord than Rollo, who’s only the second son. You’ll be inheriting your title straight from your uncle.”

  “That doesn’t make me feel any better about what’s happened.” Indeed, the only thing that did make him feel better was the memory of Felicity’s lips and her body against his. He berated himself for assuming she’d welcome his embrace. He truly hadn’t kissed her for the reasons she’d thought.

  Then why had he kissed her?

  Howland stalked over to the credenza and poured brandy into two snifters. “Jack, I’ve known you since childhood. If you say nothing happened between you and Miss Griffin, then I believe you. Nonetheless, everyone presently outside this room believes the worst, and my mother has been compelled to act accordingly.”

  “What do you mean?” Jack glared at his host without taking the proffered brandy.

  Howland continued holding out the snifter. “I mean Miss Griffin has been force
d to leave.”

  “And go where?”

  “I’ve heard her cousin, the Duke of Halstead, has a farm up in Northumberland with a rundown cottage that should perfectly suit a wayward female relation. But it’s either that or find a husband for her posthaste, and unless you’re willing to step forward and do the honorable thing, I’m afraid there’s no hope of her ever marrying at this point.”

  Jack was almost too stunned to even budge, let alone close his gaping mouth.

  Of course he wanted to marry someday. Now that the war was over, he’d been thinking more often of how much he wanted a family of his own. Aside from his arrogant prig of an uncle, his aunt and two female cousins, his sister Samantha was all the family he had—and she’d just married. She probably wouldn’t have time for him now.

  Upon receiving her letter the other day, he’d thought immediately of going down to Devonshire, because he still had another uncle there, the one who’d raised Samantha since Uncle Crispin hadn’t wanted to bother with her after their parents’ deaths, since he already had two daughters. But she and her new husband Gabriel, the Earl of Ellsworth, were returning to London and had extended an invitation to Jack to join them.

  Perhaps the time had come to accept that invitation.

  He finally managed to thaw out of his frozen shock. “I’m afraid I’ve abused your hospitality long enough, Howland. It’s time I went to London to be reunited with my family.”

  Howland finally set down the snifter Jack had neglected to accept. “You’re not leaving now? I’m going to present Lady Lydia with her betrothal ring tomorrow evening. It used to belong to my cousin, Lady Celia. Remember her?”

  “The one who was betrothed to the Duke of Ainsley’s nephew, who was sent to India in disgrace? Troy Griffin, was that his name? I suppose he’s still out there.”

  “No, he returned only a couple of months ago, because he is now the Duke of Ainsley. His uncle’s heir and Miss Griffin’s cousin, Gerard, was killed by highwaymen near Thorndale Abbey in Hampshire.”

  A wave of nausea washed through Jack. Gerard had died so young, and on what was otherwise a peaceful country road in England, while Jack seemed to have easily survived every imaginable horror on the Peninsula. That Gerard had been killed by highwaymen—real highwaymen, and not foolish young toffs only pretending for a lark—made what Jack had done the other night all the more sordid. Miss Griffin might not be dead, but he knew enough about the vagaries of so-called polite society to realize her ruin was such that she might as well be as dead as her cousin. Jack had caused her social demise as surely as if he’d been the highwayman to pull the trigger on Gerard.

  “I must go, Howland. Give my regrets to your mother.” He headed for the doorway, hoping he might collide with Miss Griffin again, but she was nowhere in sight. He asked a passing manservant for directions to her bedchamber, but when he reached it, he found only a maid removing the linens from the bed.

  The woman he’d ruined had already been banished.

  He had to find her before she vanished.

  Chapter Nine

  In the end, it wasn’t a hurdle that dragged her away, though it might as well have been. Felicity seethed as the cart jerked and jolted with every turn of the wheels, every plodding step of the single nag who pulled it. Her teeth clacked endlessly inside her head as she kept a tight grip on the edge of her seat just to keep from being tossed out and into one of the many puddles that pocked the narrow back road—the very road she’d asked Captain Jordan about this morning, the same route she thought the highwayman might have used the other night.

  That highwayman! He was the sole reason she was now stuck in this cart on the road to certain perdition. If only he hadn’t…but she knew with foundering heart that if only she hadn’t…only she never would have if he hadn’t waylaid their carriage in the first place! And speaking of carriages, she knew there were plenty in the carriage house because of the house party. Yet this ancient, badly sprung trap was apparently all that could be spared to remove her from the sacrosanct premises of Howland Hall. No doubt that was why she was being driven on this route instead of the wider, smoother one stretching from the front of the manor. She was no longer fit to travel down that drive, or be seen by anyone who was. In what other little ways was she being insulted?

  She couldn’t have been in a fouler mood by the time they reached the posting house, where she was surprised and infuriated to see none other than Captain Jordan sitting on a bench in the common room. He promptly rose to his feet, looking straight back at her.

  Her pulse quickened, while her knees wobbled and that burning sensation returned to her lips, spreading to her cheeks and down her throat as one thought possessed her mind—the memory of that kiss. Her first kiss. And because of him, it would likely be the only kiss she ever knew.

  If she didn’t know any better, she might have thought he was waiting for her. She couldn’t think of anything to say except, “What are you doing here?” Then, because she hadn’t lost all sense of decorum, she thought to add, “Sir?”

  “I’m waiting to take the stage to London,” he replied, as if that should have been obvious—and perhaps it was. Why else would he be here? But surely it was just a coincidence that he, of all people, was leaving Howland Hall for London at the same time she was? His being here couldn’t possibly have anything to do with her? She blinked as if doing so might conjure the answer to that.

  The blinking worked, for he continued, “I’ve stayed at Howland Hall long enough—perhaps too long—and it’s high time I returned to my family in London. What about you?”

  Then he wasn’t here because of her! He thought he could leave Howland Hall—and her—and after all he’d done—which she strongly suspected included the theft of her garnet ring. Ire flamed within her. “I think you know why I’m here. And now that I have my reticule at hand, I should cosh you over the head with it! What made you think I wanted you to kiss me this morning? Why did you take the same liberties you think the highwayman did?”

  “I thought you wanted to be kissed, but not because the highwayman did it, if only because the highwayman didn’t do it.”

  He answered so promptly, she had to wonder if he’d been expecting her to come after him and confront him, just as she’d gone after and confronted the highwayman. Oh, but Captain Jordan seemed to know her too well not to be that masked rogue. How else could he have known the highwayman didn’t do it, when all the gossip suggested—no, asserted otherwise?

  “Aha!” She jabbed her gloved index finger into his cloaked chest. He reared his head back, his eyes widening as something close to panic gripped his expression, all but freezing it that way.

  Good. Felicity resolved to keep him in a constant state of uncertainty and panic for as long as possible, or at least until her relatives found horses wild enough to drag her to the remotest corner of Britain.

  “Aha, what?” he asked with a poor attempt at feigning innocence.

  Aha, I think you’re the highwayman. “Then you must’ve kissed me for some other reason, and I think you owe me an explanation of why.”

  His expression relaxed, and she barely heard him sigh—in relief, no doubt—before he said, “You looked as if you wanted to be kissed. So I kissed you.”

  “I thought I looked as if I was trying to catch flies in my mouth.”

  He had the audacity to tease her with a grin. “You looked like that, too, but I knew you couldn’t really be trying to catch flies. You really did look as if you wanted me to kiss you.” His expression, along with his tone, turned solemn. “Obviously, I made a wrong assumption for which I must apologize.”

  Confusion swamped Felicity as she stared back at him, but this time she kept her lips pressed firmly together, lest there be any misunderstanding about a hoped-for kiss or even a not-so-hoped-for fly.

  She finally sat on the bench, in the very spot where he’d just been sitting. She could still feel the warmth his body left behind, and catch the faintest whiff of spicy sandalwood. She
gazed up at him, unable to discern his expression. His face was as much of a mask as the one worn by that highwayman.

  She toyed with the ribbons of her reticule. “I’ll accept your apology. In the meantime, my aunt has already sent an express to my cousin, the Duke of Halstead, apprising him of what she thinks happened between me and the highwayman. I should be lucky if His Grace lets me spend a single night in his townhouse before putting me on the fastest mail coach north.”

  “Won’t he understand if you explain to him?”

  “I, Felicity Griffin, be permitted to explain anything? Ha! Not that my side of the story could be any less incriminating than whatever Aunt Cordelia must’ve penned. My version simply comes with twenty-three fewer highwaymen and my honor intact. I only hope the duke doesn’t read it as soon as he receives it.”

  “Why wouldn’t he? An express is supposed to be urgent.”

  “You have the right of it, Captain Jordan—it’s supposed to be. But Aunt Cordelia thinks everything she says to her nephew is urgent. Little does she realize the duke has been known to let her expresses pile up on his desk for days before he finally deigns to read them, if at all. But I can’t take that chance. The express is certain to arrive this evening, when he’s just as certain to be out. And if I can reach London in time, while he’s still out, I might be able to intercept it and destroy it.”

  “Only how will you explain to him why you came to London by yourself—or do you have a chaperone waiting outside?”

  She frowned. “Apparently a soiled dove has no need for a chaperone. Spilled milk, stolen horses, and all that.”

  He nodded, his expression grim. “Again, you’ve been left unprotected. Should you encounter another highwayman, he might well do what everyone thinks yo—that is, the one from the other night must’ve done.”

  “Then you don’t think he did anything other than steal my ring?”

  Now he shrugged. “If you say he didn’t, then why should I believe otherwise?”