by Janet Woods
The moon sailed high outside the window. The voice of the breeze had quieted to a sigh that rustled and whispered through the shrubs. Honeysuckle climbed the trellis outside Charlotte’s window and scratched at the solid red bricks of her home. It sent out a delicate perfume to tease her senses.
Thoughts of her father’s imaginary highwayman came to tease her. He had dark hair and storm filled eyes of smoky grey. Engraved silver boot buckles shone in the moonlight and his pistols were made from solid silver. On the little finger of one hand he wore a large emerald, on the other, a glittering ruby.
The black horse he straddled, pranced about, and gave impatient little squeals and grunts as he tested his master’s firm hand. Ebony, Adam had named the creature. Smoke spurted from its nostrils and its eyes glowed red in the dark night. Only the highwayman could manage the mettlesome creature - beside herself, the girl he loved above all others.
The stories had been woven about her rocking horse, which was still stabled in the nursery. It was minus half its tail after Adam had discovered a pair of scissors the nursery maid had left lying about.
There was a whinny, and the horse reared up at the end of the bed, tail still intact and perked into a proud arc. Its forelegs slashed at the air.
‘Easy Ebony,’ she murmured, even knowing it was a dream.
The highwayman’s eyes glittered as he gazed down at her, his silver pistol cocked and steady in his hand. ‘Stand and deliver, my lady, a kiss in return for your life,’ he growled, and it was Adam’s voice she heard.
‘Go away,’ she said crossly, and turned her back on him before he saw her smile.
When she woke it was to find that Josephine had gone.
Charlotte’s throat was still sore, as though it was coated in a mixture of rust, fish scales and slime. She could barely croak a greeting to the maid who’d brought her some breakfast. ‘What time is it Mercy?’
‘Eleven.’ Concern filled the maid’s eyes as she handed Charlotte a cup of tea. If you don’t mind me saying so, Miss Featherby, you don’t look at all well.’
The tea tasted like nectar, but it didn’t wash the soreness away. She also had a headache, and felt hot. As soon as she threw the covers off cold attacked her, and her teeth began to chatter. ‘I think I might have a fever.’
Her stepmother came up to see her, looking agitated. ‘Mercy told me you appear to be unwell. I hope Josephine doesn’t catch it. Let me look at you.’ A hand was laid against her forehead, and then her throat was inspected. ‘It does look quite red. For your own good you must stay in bed, Charlotte. In the meantime I’ll send a manservant for the doctor.’ She shuddered. ‘Poor girl . . . you’ve probably caught a chill from being subjected to the night air after your immersion in the lake. I’ll make you some lemon squash with honey in it to help to soothe your throat.’
‘Thank you, mamma.’ She subsided back into her pillows, and the tickle in her throat became a cough as she tried to clear it.
A little later she heard the doctor’s carriage arrive. He hummed and harred, and inspected her in much the same way as her stepmother had. He also came up with the same verdict. ‘Your throat is infected and you’re running a fever.’ He turned to her stepmother. ‘Miss Featherby can have a powder every morning and before she goes to bed, and she should drink plenty of liquid. It will help to bring the fever down. We must keep a good eye on her in case that cough moves to her lungs and settles there. That will teach you to go swimming in the lake young lady. You should leave that particular sport to the men.’
Did the whole world know of the incident? ‘I assure you, doctor, it was entirely accidental, and I sank rather than swam.’ A pity that the men hadn’t sank with them. But then, if they had, they would all be drowned, and her father would be mourning her. She began to shake with cold.
Her father visited. ‘Do you feel able to tell me what happened last night, Charlotte? I would like to have the facts at hand before the viscount visits. I don’t want to tire you, so don’t embroider it with any melodrama, just relate the basic facts.’
She nodded. ‘I was with the squire, and we’d danced the polka together. He was getting a little too personal, and I was thirsty and had drunk a little too much punch. Adam intervened. He was overbearing. He sent the squire packing, and then gave me a lecture on what was becoming female behavior and what was not . . . as if he’s ever been a female,’ she scorned. ‘He took it upon himself to warn me that the squire had ulterior motives, and advised me that too much punch would weaken my wits and leave me susceptible to the attention of predatory males.’
Her father’s mouth twitched, as though he wanted to smile. ‘He said that?’
‘Not exactly, but words to that effect. I was not thinking clearly at that time. In case he was going to try and prove his point, while he wasn’t looking I tipped the lemonade away and took some more punch.’
‘For what reason?’ her father asked.
‘So I could prove my point first, of course.’
The smile he gave was broad. ‘Ah yes . . . of course. How silly of me not to think of that.’
‘Adam didn’t notice the exchange of drinks, and he offered to take me for a turn around the garden to get some air. He said he’d asked for your permission.’
‘Yes . . . he had.’
He had a punt waiting, and there was an orchestra on the island. It was so pretty, and the music was relaxing. He took me out on the lake, and then . . . he tried to kiss me.’ She shrugged. ‘Things got a little mixed up. I think I may have encouraged him. Then he kissed me and all his friends turned up and they were laughing as they converged on us. The punt tipped over . . . it was so dark in the water . . . and cold. I couldn’t breathe and was in a panic because I didn’t know how to swim, and my skirt was heavy with water.’
Her father’s hand covered hers as her voice weakened to barely a scratch. ‘It seemed such a long time to be under water. Eventually, someone took me by the hair and dragged me to the bank. Everyone was shouting at once, and I was sick.’
‘Is there any message you wish me to offer the viscount on your behalf?’
She glowered at her father. ‘Tell him that from this moment on, he and his odious friends no longer exist. I hope never to see or talk to any of them again.’
‘Thank you my dear. I think that message is clear enough for him to absorb, though with your permission I will modify it a bit. You must rest now. Agnes will be here soon with some soothing syrup for your throat, and the doctor’s powder will help take the pain away. We will soon have you well again.’
Later, the maid came back with a small jewelry box. It contained an enameled highwayman on a black horse with ruby eyes, and was on a silver chain. The gift Adam had brought her from Italy. How pretty it was. Her first thought was to give it back, but she couldn’t bear to part with it.
***
The infection did go to her lungs. It was a month before Charlotte was well enough to get out of bed – a month of coughing and fever induced dreams. There were gifts of flowers to cheer her up. Baskets of fruit arrived too, and a box of confectionary to tempt her appetite.
Adam came several times, and she sent him away. After two weeks his visits stopped.
There were messages to answer . . . but nothing from Adam.
September was fruitful. At this time of year, she and Josephine would usually help the servants gather chestnuts, orchard fruits and wild blackberries to preserve over the winter months. Charlotte couldn’t summon up the energy. She was lethargic, as if her immersion in the lake had sucked the very life from her. Her father hadn’t said what had taken place between himself and Adam, and Charlotte didn’t like to ask him.
There were several gentlemen callers, some with marriage on their minds, including the squire, who reminded her that she’d promised to name his horse.
The beast was in the carriageway, black, beautiful and shining. His foot stamped impatiently at the ground. He was the horse that the imaginary highwayman of her childhood
rode. Only the rider was different. It should have been Adam astride him, and she rubbed a fingertip against the necklace he’d given her. ‘You should call him Ebony.’
‘Perfect,’ the squire said. ‘Unfortunately, I must get rid of the beast since he has unseated me on several times. Young Denby showed an interest in him, so perhaps he’ll make me an offer. Now, Miss Featherby, I have something to ask you.’
A little while later she dismissed his suite with, ‘Thank you for the proposal, squire. You’re a good man and a nice one, but I don’t want to marry yet. Perhaps you should consider Amanda Crawford. She is nearer to you in age, is much more sensible than I am, and is the heiress to her uncle’s fortune.’
Her stepmother was vexed when she told her. ‘The squire is a perfectly good man.’
‘Yes . . . I know he is, Mamma. But he’s far too old for me.’
‘Well, be stubborn if you like, but if you’re waiting for Lord Denby to come back and claim you, don’t bother. Your father gave him such a scorching that he went off with his tail between his legs. I doubt if he’ll return. I’ve heard that he has gone to Italy, to be the guest of a widowed contessa and she and the viscount have become engaged to be married.’
The blood drained from Charlotte’s face.
The week before Christmas brought enough snow to sprinkle the landscape in traditional style. It wasn’t deep enough to prevent visitors but when it stopped the land was layered in white and looked very pretty.
It was too cold to walk comfortably to church so they wore fur hand warmers and collars. The carriage was prepared with hot bricks for their feet and blankets for their knees. With bells jingling on the horse’s leathers they set off down the lanes, and were greeted by friends, acquaintances and neighbors at the church.
They had hardly stepped down from the carriage when Josephine nudged her in the ribs and whispered, ‘Isn’t that Lord Denby; doesn’t he look handsome?’
He did indeed look handsome, in a long black riding coat, black boots and top hat. Without success she tried to slow the rapid beat of her heart. He must have purchased the squire’s horse, for he sat astride Ebony’s back, the pair looked quite relaxed and at home together. When Adam stroked the beast’s nose it whuffled contentedly into his palm. Obviously the pair belonged together.
Charlotte hurried into the church before Adam set eyes on her, and ignoring their usual pew, she sat to one side of a concealing pillar. The church was decorated with holly and mistletoe. The crib was set up before the altar, the nativity scene softly lit by flickering candles.
‘Lord Denby has come home from Italy,’ Josephine trilled to her mother.
Agnes craned her neck, and not catching sight of him, turned her head and said, ‘We must invite him to visit us for the New Year social, James.’
‘He may have made plans of his own.’ The baron frowned and looked around at the congregation when the reverend appeared from the vestry. ‘Where has Charlotte gone? I thought she was with us.’
Josephine giggled. ‘She’d hiding behind the pillar. Oh what fun. Lord Denby has seated himself right behind her, and she doesn’t even know it. Now she will have to acknowledge him.’
Josephine’s voice carried, and heads turned. A rustle of sound went through the congregation as Charlotte turned to stare at her former friend with as much disdain as she could muster.
When he smiled pleasantly at her and she snubbed him, he chuckled. ‘You are being childish. If you stick that nose of yours up any further the crows will mistake it for the church steeple.’
Her father beckoned before it developed into a scene. ‘The service hasn’t started yet. Join us if you would, please Charlotte.’
When she rose, the viscount also rose. She almost gave in to the impulse to flee from the church, but she knew Adam well enough to be aware that he would follow after her. As it was, he was at her back as she preceded him down the aisle. His breath puffed warmly against her neck, and his footsteps were a stealthy pad on the black and white tiles, like a prowling cat. He scattered greetings right and left, and a rustle of sound went through the church.
Seething with nerves, Charlotte dropped her reticule. The contents spread far and wide.
‘Allow me.’ Adam stooped to retrieve coins, a lace handkerchief and her aid-mémoire, even a peppermint lozenge, which was transferred casually to his mouth. He took a long time picking it all up, while the congregation tittered and she tapped her foot impatiently. Eventually he slid everything back into the bag and offered it to her with a little bow.
‘Thank you, my lord,’ she said, but begrudgingly, for she’d sworn never to speak to him again. Her stepmother bestowed a smile on him.
Adam remained on his feet until she was settled, then seated himself in the Denby pew on the other side of the aisle. He leaned forward, smiled, and greeted the whole family before saying, ‘I hope you’re fully recovered from your recent affliction, Miss Featherby.’
It was an affliction of his making, and he’d chosen to mock her in church by following her down the aisle, and then refreshing the congregation’s memory of the event by pointing it out to them.
There was a strong urge in her to end this foolishness, but seething with embarrassment as she was, she told herself that while she’d been suffering from the consequence of the foolishness of himself and his friends, he’d been enjoying a liaison in the sun with his Italian contessa. He might even have married the woman.
The dismay she felt gave her quite a jolt. Why should she care who he married? The answer she came up with was not to her liking. They were no longer friends. She no longer loved him. She had never loved him.
She was lying! She’d always loved him. But it was no longer a childish love. She loved him as a woman loved a man . . . and what she felt confused and scared her.’
She growled under her breath, trying to think of a way to find out if he were married or not, and without him suspecting.
The reverend gently coughed. ‘If you are ready, Lord Denby, perhaps we could get on with the service and keep the personal greetings until afterwards. To celebrate the birth of our lord, let us sing, Once in Royal David’s city.’
Adam had a warm, deep tone to his voice, and the growly note was apparent. He flicked her a glance and winked.
Next to her, Josephine giggled and earned a frown from her mother.
***
Charlotte managed to avoid Adam after the service by talking to the reverend’s wife. Her stepmother accomplished what she’d been unable to, and in quite a direct manner. ‘You should come and dine with us tonight, my lord.’
‘Many thanks. I’d be delighted, since it will give us the chance of being reacquainted. Besides which, you have a very good cook.’
‘We’ll be going up to London as soon as the snow clears. We’re to attend Miss Ashby’s dinner on the occasion of her engagement to Sir Jeffrey Meyrick, and it will be Charlotte’s coming of age ball in April. You should have received your invitation by now.’
‘I do believe I have, and would not miss it for the world. Perhaps we could travel up to London together . . . though I’m going by horseback.’
‘We will be travelling by railway train, and are quite excited by the thought. James is very interested in anything propelled by steam, you know.’ Her stepmother offered Adam her most confidential smile and lowered her voice.
‘I understand you have become engaged to an Italian contessa . . . or is it a secret?’
The flicker of surprise in his eyes was followed by amusement. ‘It most certainly is a secret . . . especially to me. The contessa is . . . was a distant relative, who was ailing, poor lady. I was in Italy to handle her estate. Besides, Lady Featherby, years ago I pledged myself to a young woman and she has not released me from the pledge. Probably because I have not asked her to.’
Charlotte had been ten years old, and barely remembered the promise. It had been a child’s game. He had dared her to climb the oak tree and had said that if she did he’d carve their
names on the tree trunk - and if their names endured until they were grown up, then she would become his countess.
Seeing as he’d thought to mention it in the company of her family, she saw no reason why she couldn’t back him into a corner, and embarrass him in the way he did her. ‘And will you ask her to?’
‘It would not do for a gentleman to rob a lady of her expectations by jilting her.’
‘Perhaps the lady has no expectations and has forgotten the promise she made.’
‘Her memory was very good, as I recall.’
Surely Adam didn’t intend to hold her to some childhood game. Besides, she had no proof that the carved names had endured.
She could soon find out.
Hah! she thought, and turned away, leaving him with his minor victory. He was trying to wear her down. If only Adam would tell her how he felt about her, then she would know where she stood in his eyes.
Because Charlotte now had no excuse but to socialize with Adam, her stepmother offered her a smile so smug that she resembled a cat that had just eaten a dish of cream.
Her stepmother was proving to be a force to be reckoned with, Charlotte thought with a frown. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t do some manipulation of her own.
***
Early the next morning, when the sun was barely a wash of pale yellow light to the east, Charlotte pulled on her riding costume and braided her hair. Leaving the house she saddled her grey mare and headed out.
It was cold, but the morning was still. Frost covered the ground and the hedges and trees were hung with icicles. As the sun came up, so the mist rose with it, until it was a writhing vapor that hid anything within five yards of her.
She was on Adam’s land. Not that he’d mind. Due to a mild winter, and even though it was cold day, the seasons were stirring. Woodbines carrying tender green leaves threaded through the hedges, and hazel nut catkins hung like tassels from the naked branches, which were dotted here and there with their little red flowers.
