At least, she thought as she began to pack one small bag to take with her, she could now dispense with the dreary black. She was entirely sick of it. She knew she should now only wear half-mourning clothes of gray and lavender, but if she were to become a new woman, did it really matter? She decided to pack one of each color in case they were needed in social circumstances in the near future, in addition to her favorite dresses, which she hadn’t worn in so long now they were likely out of fashion.
No matter, she thought with a shrug and dragged the now heavy bag down the stairs.
“Are you certain you don’t want to take one of the maids as a companion, my lady?” The groom questioned her for the third time since she had told him of the travel plans yesterday, and Rosalind tried not to show her exasperation.
“Yes, James,” she said, as he helped her with the bag. “I will be fine.”
“And this is all you are taking?”
“It is,” she said with a nod, and he finally seemed resigned. The Breckenridge estate was less than a day’s journey, and Rosalind told James he would be able to stay the night and then return the next day.
For an estate that was apparently destitute, the carriage seemed ostentatious, thought Rosalind. But that was just like the Branson family — as long as others thought them to be wealthy, that was all that really mattered.
She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the squabs as they trundled down the lane. One last carriage ride in luxury, she thought, so she might as well enjoy it. She wished she could take out a book and pass the journey in the blessed company of a story to take her mind off her own life, but alas, the motion of the carriage always made her stomach tangle in knots, and reading made it all the worse. Instead, she would have to sit here with her own thoughts.
Her mind went back to her short marriage with Harold. She had known, the moment she stood on that altar, that she should not have been marrying him. Yet she was so averse to conflict, to causing a scene, that she went along with it. How stupid, to ruin your entire life’s happiness because you didn’t want people to see you in a bad light, she thought to herself, her face tightening in shame. And yet, that was who she had always been — Rosalind the peacemaker, doing what everyone else wanted, what everyone thought best — except herself.
She pressed cool fingers to her eyes, thinking back over the last year and a half of her life. For the first month of her marriage, Harold had been the man he always had been — not particularly warm, no, but kind enough, allowing her to do as she wished. Then, slowly, he had changed. She couldn’t say there was a moment when he had become someone else, but rather it had happened gradually. One day he might forbid her from accepting an invitation to visit a friend, another night he would make a cutting remark that purposely hurt her.
By her second month of marriage, Rosalind was well and truly miserable, and she had not known what to do. She had made arrangements to go to the country while he was in London, but he wouldn’t hear of it and forbade the servants from helping her make any arrangements to leave. So she had tried her best to stay out of his way, hurrying out of a room when he came in, keeping their time together to the short dinner hour.
At least he hadn’t been physically abusive, but his words and actions hurt all the same. He had visited her bed a couple of times in their first weeks together but called her a “cold fish,” apparently much preferring to frequent his brothels.
And then he was dead. Rosalind thought back to the funeral and Bart’s words to her. Never again would she be trapped like that, she vowed. She had wept with frustration following it all, and she was still mortified, a year later, that William Elliot had found her. Out of everyone present, why did it have to be him? Rosalind had always thought him rather wonderful. In addition to his looks, he always had a light to his eyes and a good word to say about everyone. She should have married someone like him. But of course, he had never noticed her, preferring Olivia. Not that her friend realized it, but it was obvious to everyone else who was around the two of them.
Her musings were interrupted by the rocking of the carriage, her stomach lurching in response. They had hardly begun their journey and already she wanted to ask James to stop and let her out of this beast. But no, she would have to bear with it; otherwise they would be traveling for the entire day. Best to just get it over with.
So instead, she closed her eyes and willed herself to sleep.
4
Rosalind’s eyes flew open as she was rocked forward in her seat, the carriage coming to a halt. She groaned as she felt her stomach heave, and she scrambled for the door handle, letting herself out just in time to be sick on the side of the road. She paused for a moment, doubled over as she gathered herself, taking deep breaths. As she opened her eyes, she nearly jumped at the pair of boots just inches away from her face.
She looked up slowly, taking in the male form in front of her. The man was dressed in buckskin breeches, with simply a waistcoat over his shirt. All thoughts on his attire fled, however, when her eyes came to his face and she gasped, for it was completely covered in fabric.
“Well, that is simply disgusting,” came the voice from behind the material, causing Rosalind’s rationality to override her panic for a moment. Why was a highwayman speaking in such cultured tones? She forgot the thought, however, as he reached out to tightly grip her arm and bring her to a standing position.
“Had I not just seen that display, I would have thought you lovely,” he said before forcing her back up against the carriage. Rosalind darted her head back and forth until she saw poor James, rope tied around his hands and feet where he was bound to a nearby tree.
“Who else is with you?”
“N-no one,” she stammered out, her heart pounding so loudly she thought they must be able to hear it, as she realized now how stupid she had been to think she could travel for hours without incident. She was exactly what men like this were waiting for.
As the highwayman leaned into the carriage to assure himself she spoke the truth, Rosalind inched away from him as she began looking for means of escape. She saw a pair of horses by the side of the road, their reins looped around a tree branch. Perhaps — but no. A pair of horses meant that—
“Thinking of going somewhere, sweetheart?”
The second man, similarly dressed to the first, came from around the other side of the carriage, and Rosalind’s heart sank. She could have possibly escaped one man, but two would be difficult. And she could never leave poor James behind.
She shook her head, and the two men stood and looked at her. Rosalind swallowed and tried not to show how frightened she was, clenching her fists at her side to keep them from shaking.
“I — I do not have anything you might want,” she said. “All that is in my bag is a few dresses, a journal, and some books. I have nothing of value.”
“Ah, come now, you in a fancy carriage like this, I’m sure there must be some pretty trinkets on your person, or some coins in a reticule stashed away, are there not?” The first man asked, coming to stand in front of her once more.
Rosalind ripped off her glove then worked her simple wedding band off her finger.
“Here, you can have this,” she said, not caring at all if she never saw Harold’s ring again. “That is the only jewelry I own.”
Well, that was not quite true. She had her grandmother’s necklace, in which a small ruby was inlaid, but it would have little value. Rosalind treasured it not for what price it could fetch but for the reminder of the woman she had loved very much.
The first man stepped toward her, taking the ring. He roughly took her fingers, stretching her hands out in front of her as he searched her for any other valuables. Rosalind noted, however, that he did take care to be as respectful as possible despite his actions, as if he had been raised to handle a lady with care. It slightly calmed her, and again, she wondered at the man’s identity.
“Ah, what do we have here?” he asked, fingering the chain around her neck.
&n
bsp; “N-nothing,” she said. “Just an old family heirloom of no worth, I promise you. It will fetch hardly a pound were you to sell it, but it was my grandmother’s you see, and I—”
Her words were choked off as he snapped the chain, inspecting the necklace before stuffing it into his pocket.
“Why would you take it?” Her words came out almost in a whisper, in disbelief at the man’s cruelty.
“Why would you hide it, is the better question?” he asked her. “Watch her,” he said to the second man before entering the carriage, where he must have been looking through the rest of her things before re-emerging, apparently frustrated in the fact that she was actually telling the truth regarding her lack of any valuables.
He walked down the path, kicking at stones and muttering to himself as he seemed unable to decide what to do next. The man with Rosalind said nothing, but frowned after him, looking back and forth between the two of them.
“Can you not see that there is nothing left for you?” Rosalind asked him. “I think it would be best for you to let us be on our way, is it not? We will say nothing to anyone, I promise, and you can continue on. Let James and me go.”
The man shook his head, and as the time stretched on, Rosalind found panic creeping in once more. If they weren’t going to let her go, what else was there to do? They wouldn’t … get rid of her, would they? Oh God, she prayed silently. Please help us out of this.
The first man finally returned and strode toward them.
“We must leave,” he said to his companion, and Rosalind felt her hopes soar, sending a prayer of thankfulness upward now. “But we will take the girl.”
“What?” she gasped. “But why?”
“Clearly you are of a family of some means. If we request a ransom for you, someone is sure to pay it.”
Rosalind let out a hoarse laugh. “Unfortunately, that is where you are sadly mistaken. You see, there is no one who cares enough to pay anything for me. My husband is dead, and my parents have no great feeling toward me. You would be better to leave me be.”
“Your husband’s estate, who owns it now?”
“His cousin, and he could care less about me.”
The man stared at her, his dark blue eyes glinting above the fabric that covered his face. There was something … familiar about them, she thought, but she couldn’t quite place where she might know them from.
“We shall see about that. Come.”
Rosalind’s heart beat fast as the other man pushed her toward the horses, pulling a knife out of his pocket and flashing it toward her, telling her that if she were to try to run, there would be consequences. If they sent word to Bart, she would be back to where she started — worse, even, for it would mean that she had no chance of escape, but would be beholden to him. She had to find her way out of this, she thought, as the man forced her onto the horse. But how?
William strode down the hill next to his country manor, Friday at his heels, as the two of them searched for the groundskeeper. The estate grounds hadn’t been well maintained while his father was in care of them, a fact his mother lamented. William himself liked them as they were, with the natural beauty of the grasses and the woodland beyond. With an upcoming house party, however, they could do with a bit of maintenance, and he would have to have a discussion with Creighton, the lazy oaf.
I should sack him, thought William of his groundskeeper, though he knew he would never have the heart to do so. The man had been with their family the whole of his life, and as inefficient as he was, to get rid of him now would be cruel.
Ah, well, he thought. It didn’t matter much in the grand scheme of things, particularly when he had issues such as his brother to worry about it. He hadn’t seen him in a couple of days now, and he hoped Alfred had not found himself embroiled in another scheme to cover up his first.
His attention was taken by a pounding of hooves coming up the drive, and he held a hand over his eyes to see who was coming. It was his brother’s friend, Richard Abbotsford. William detested the man, although he realized he would likely feel the same about his brother if he wasn’t his own kin.
“Southam!” the man said, panting as he slid off his horse. “You are required immediately.”
“Is something the matter?” William asked, suddenly concerned that something had happened to Alfred. They had never been on the best of terms, true, but he was still his family. “Is my brother injured? Has there been an accident?”
“No, no, nothing like that,” the man got out. “But he — that is, we have found ourselves in a spot of trouble.”
William closed his eyes for a moment, as he dug deep to find patience with the two idiots who seemed to constantly be trying his patience.
“And what, pray tell, type of trouble would this be?”
The man shifted his weight back and forth between his feet, unwilling to meet William’s gaze. “I think it would be best that Alfred tells you himself. Or … perhaps shows you.”
Resigned, William turned back toward the house, making his way back up the hill to saddle his horse. With Friday running beside him, he followed Richard down the road, away from the estate. He was surprised when the man took him through his own lands, deeper into the woods. They were in hunting territory now, where William had planned to lead his house party this weekend. He was quite looking forward to having guests, although for the moment he cleared his mind from anything but whatever it was his brother had gotten himself into.
They came upon a clearing leading to one of the hunting cabins in the woods. It had been the home of the gamekeeper at one point but had been long neglected as the man currently holding the position lived in the nearby town with his family.
“What is going on, Richard?” William asked through tight lips, his impatience growing by the moment. Richard’s face had gone pale, and his gaze was now affixed to the cottage, where Alfred stepped out of the door.
“William,” he said with a nod, although he did not seem pleased to see him, despite the fact he had asked him to come out here. “I’ve got myself in a situation.”
“So it seems,” William said, dismounting and crossing his arms over his chest in impatience. “Would you suppose to tell me what that particular situation is?”
“Well you see, I, ah, when you would not loan me the money I needed, I became rather desperate.”
“Go on.”
“So, for the past week or so, Richard and I …. well, that is…”
“You will have to tell me sooner or later, Alfred, so it might as well be now, before you waste any more of my time.”
“We’ve been robbing coaches.”
“What?” William asked, looking at his brother in shock. As the words registered, he exploded, rocking forward toward his brother, pushing him back against the wood of the cottage. “What’s wrong with you, man? You are the son of a viscount! My God, Alfred….”
He released his brother, raising a hand to his head as it began to throb with the familiar ache brought on by Alfred. William began to pace in the dirt as his brother continued talking.
“What else was I to do?” Alfred asked, holding his hands out in front of him. “I asked you for help, and you refused.”
“For good reason!” William cried. “Do not make this my fault, Alfred. This is of your own stupidity. Now, what happened? Did someone find you out?”
“Not exactly….”
“Then what?”
“Well, we came upon a carriage, a very well-to-do carriage, mind you, and inside was a woman — alone. We tied up her driver, searched her and her belongings, and found almost nothing.”
“Please tell me you released her unharmed.”
Alfred tensed. “Well, a woman like that, we thought surely someone would be willing to pay to have her returned, so we … we took her.”
William prayed he had heard the words wrong. He stopped walking back and forth and turned to his brother, his gaze intent upon him. “What do you mean you took her?”
“I mean, we took h
er at knifepoint, brought her … here … to the cottage, and then we looked for her relatives. Unfortunately, it was as she said. Her husband is dead, and his cousin now has the title, but upon asking around, it seems the estate has been left with nothing. She did not even receive a stipend from which to live off.”
“Allow me to guess the next part of this plot, Alfred. The woman is now in the hunting cottage, has seen your face, and you do not know what to do with her. You do not — thank God — have the stomach to kill her, and yet you also do not want to release her. And so you summoned me.”
“That’s about the way of it, yes,” Alfred said, looking relieved as though he thought this meant that William was now going to take care of it.
“I have news for you, Alfred,” William said. “This is not my problem, and I am not going to do anything about it.”
“What do you mean?” Alfred looked shocked. “What am I supposed to do?”
“I don’t know! Not rob coaches? Not make irresponsible bets or investments? Find yourself a regular living? Live as a man of your station should? Whatever you do, I told you before, Alfred, and I will tell you again, it is none of my concern anymore.”
William turned to walk away when he heard banging on the door.
“Help!” came a female voice from inside. “Please, whoever is out there, let me go!”
He stopped with a sigh and turned back around to face his brother.
“How long has she been here?”
“How long?”
“Yes, you fool, how long?”
“A couple of days.”
“A couple of days? Have you been feeding her?”
“Of course!” Alfred had the audacity to look indignant. “What do you take me for?”
William could not bring himself to answer the question, but, sighing in resolution at his own softheartedness, he strode toward the hunting cottage and pulled open the door.
And found himself staring, in shock, into a pair of very familiar green eyes inside a small, pretty face.
Loved by the Viscount_A Historical Regency Romance Page 3
