“You’ll notice it doesn’t jostle one about half so much as an ordinary coach,” Lady Kimble said. “Springs! Isn’t it ingenious? And the crest on the door isn’t just paint like some people have. That’s real silver and real gold. Just like the ones in Paris.”
“Oh, you’ll be the envy of simply everyone!” gushed Lady Vicary.
“Harcourt and Irving will be sorry they missed this,” Lady Houblon said. “But that’s what they deserve for passing up Lady Beauclerk’s assembly to go to a silly boxing match.”
“But I’d be happy to show it to your husbands when they join us for supper.” Lady Kimble beamed. “I wouldn’t want them to feel deprived. I’m the first in London to have one, outside the royal family of course. I’ve not seen its like.”
“Nor I,” Elizabeth said with feeling. She had never been inside a bawdy house, but this was what she imagined one would look like: all scarlet velvet and gold-tasseled trim, complete with red drapes to block out the prying eyes of the curious masses.
She was saved from having to listen to another round of compliments when the coach rolled to a stop, outside the home of the next addition to their flock of partygoers.
“Lady Selwyn wanted us all to come in and see her new home,” Lady Kimble said, peeking out the drapes. “But we’re running a bit late and I’m sure she’ll understand that this rain would simply ruin my—I mean our coiffures.”
Elizabeth wedged herself out from between Lady Vicary and Lady Houblon, glad for a chance to escape for even a few minutes. “I would be happy to make our excuses,” she said brightly.
“Oh, but your hair, my dear. We could send the footman.”
“I don’t mind,” Elizabeth insisted.
Lady Kimble didn’t protest further, having already refastened her attention on her two remaining victims. “Have I told you about the decorative carving on the wheels yet?”
Elizabeth gratefully accepted the footman’s offered hand and stepped out into the light mist. He held a parasol over her head, and she took care to keep her sapphire blue silk skirt out of the puddles. Despite her objections, Nell had fashioned this gown a bit more modestly than the red one, adding a white satin stomacher and a froth of lace at the neckline and elbows.
The town house was surprisingly humble, for a friend of Lady Kimble’s. The footman rapped on the door, then announced her to the servant who opened it. “Lady Barnes-Finchley, with Lady Kimble’s party,” he said imperiously, before standing to one side to wait for her with the parasol.
The servant, little more than a boy, ushered her into the entry hall. The house was apparently undergoing a renovation, for there wasn’t a stick of furniture to be seen, only scaffolds and dropcloths.
“Is Lady Selwyn ready?” Elizabeth asked, bewildered, almost sneezing on the smell of paint, so strong it made her eyes water.
“I’ll fetch her, mum,” the boy said before dashing off to find his mistress. A moment later, Lady Selwyn appeared from the rear of the house. She was a striking woman, of about Elizabeth’s own age, dressed in a simple gown. The amber color set off her auburn hair, which tumbled about her shoulders with a complete lack of artifice. She was carrying a bundle in her arms.
As she came closer, Elizabeth realized with a sharp pang of distress that the bundle was a baby.
“I’m so sorry that I’m not ready yet.” Lady Selwyn rushed across the hall with an embarrassed smile. “Are the others here as well?”
Her eyes on the baby, Elizabeth couldn’t find her voice for a moment. “Th-they asked if they might see your new home at… at another time. We’re running a bit late, and there’s the… rain.”
Lady Selwyn looked relieved. “Yes, oh, yes, certainly. Actually, that would be best. We’re terribly behind schedule, as I’m sure you can see. Most of our servants are still at our old home, packing, and the furnishings were supposed to arrive three days ago and they haven’t, and simply everything is in chaos.” She looked up the stairs. “And Samuel was supposed to come and see me off, but I suppose he’s still exploring that drafty attic.”
With a sigh, she turned to Elizabeth and held out the baby. “Will you take little Serena for a moment? I hate to have her breathing in all the dust up there. I’ve just fed her, so she won’t be any trouble. I’ll go see if I can’t locate my husband.”
“N-no, really, I…” Elizabeth had an armful of baby before she could choke out the last word. “… couldn’t.”
Lady Selwyn was already hastening up the stairs. “I shan’t be but a minute.”
Her heart thudding in her chest, Elizabeth stared after the woman for a full minute, holding the child at arm’s length. She stood rooted in place, looking desperately around. There was no place to set the baby down, and she could hardly lay her on the cold marble floor. Nor could she hand her to the footman outside in the rain. And the boy was nowhere to be seen.
Little Serena started to wiggle in protest at being held so woodenly. Elizabeth knew she should cuddle the baby against her own warmth, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t. Just having this little person in her hands was agony beyond bearing. Babies were so blessedly helpless, so tiny, so… fragile.
Swallowing hard, she tried to force down the emotions that suddenly swelled in her throat. She locked her gaze on the wall, not even daring to look at the child. She tried to interest herself in the Selwyns’ choice of wallpaper. A spring-green damask. How nice. The baby began to fuss, burbling and kicking for attention.
Elizabeth began to tremble. What a lovely counterpoint that green color made to the gold-painted trim. The workmen were certainly doing a fine job with this room. Serena’s small sounds turned into a hiccough and then a full-blown cry,
Where the devil was Lady Selwyn? Please come back. Please, please.
Elizabeth could feel cold perspiration dotting her forehead, her pulse beating fast and shallow. She tried desperately to keep her attention on the decor. This was obviously going to be a most elegant home when finished. The Selwyns had excellent taste.
Serena began to wail.
“L-Lady Selwyn?” Elizabeth called up the stairs. How long could it take to find one missing husband? What kind of proper lord spent his time exploring an attic, anyway? And why in the world was Lady Selwyn going to a party in the first place if her life and house were in such total disorder? “Lady Selwyn?” she repeated more loudly. “Anyone?”
The baby’s crying became so pitiful, so desperate, that Elizabeth was finally forced to give Serena the attention she demanded. “Shhh,” she whispered, awkwardly trying to bounce the baby in her outstretched arms.
That only made her cry louder.
Finally, Elizabeth gave in and cradled Serena against her, fighting back her own tears. “Shh, now, it’s… it’s all right.”
Serena quieted within seconds, snuggling instinctively into Elizabeth’s warmth. Elizabeth closed her eyes, aching with the baby’s every little movement. She felt a rush of emptiness, broader and deeper than all the waters around England. The weight, the roundness, the chubby softness of a baby was like nothing else in the world. Serena even smelled wonderful, that sweet infant scent of milk and innocence.
It had all been familiar to her—so very, very briefly.
Then, slowly, as if it were as natural to her as breathing, Elizabeth began to rock the baby, humming a half-remembered tune that faltered now and again. She felt a tug on her wig.
Opening her eyes, she saw Serena catch one of the bouncing white ringlets with both chubby hands. The baby smiled.
Elizabeth felt her heart unravel. The little girl was so perfect, so utterly adorable. She was about six months old, with a thatch of red hair, ruddy cheeks, and bright eyes that rivaled the chandelier above for brilliance.
“Aren’t you a pretty little girl,” Elizabeth whispered, unable to resist brushing her fingers through the baby’s silky hair, tickling her little chin.
Suddenly her vision blurred with tears. She had never had the chance to cuddle her own son this wa
y. In the months since, she had almost forgotten how sweet it felt simply to hold a baby. Lost in grief and sorrow, she had forced herself to forget. Had believed she could never risk going through it all again.
But now she felt an emotion that was both unexpected and undeniable: longing.
Could she really live her entire life never feeling this special softness in her arms again, never seeing her love reflected back in a toothless grin, never cuddling a precious little person who was all her own?
A new feeling rose to mingle with the longing: a sense of peace. She had been fighting a painful war with her own deepest instincts. She hadn’t realized until now, holding Serena, that it was a war she would never win. The feelings of grief and loss over Liam would always be with her… but wanting another child didn’t diminish her love for him.
“You are a pretty little girl,” she whispered, bending her head to brush her nose against Serena’s. “Yes, you are.”
“Oh, thank you.” Lady Selwyn’s voice came from the far side of the room. “You’re so kind to watch her for me. I’m sorry I took so long.”
Elizabeth looked up, dabbed at her eyes, and tried to regain her composure. Lord and Lady Selwyn were coming down the stairs.
“This is my husband, Samuel,” Lady Selwyn said, speaking around a hairpin as she hurriedly twisted her hair into a chignon. “Samuel, this is Lady Barnes-Finchley, a friend of Lady Kimble’s. I’ve heard she’s quite the hit of the social season.”
Elizabeth curtsied, still holding Serena. “So pleased to meet you, sir.”
Lord Selwyn was tall and blond, handsome in an unassuming sort of way that suited his casual attire of buff breeches and waistcoat with a white shirt. His sleeves were even rolled up. “And I you, Lady Barnes-Finchley,” he replied with a bow and genuine warmth.
“We really don’t go in for parties much,” Lady Selwyn said as she finished pinning her hair. “But I haven’t been out very often since the baby, and Samuel insisted I go. Though there is so much to do here—”
“And I shall take care of it all.” Lord Selwyn smiled at his wife. “Your orders for the day are to let me handle this chaos while you thoroughly enjoy yourself.”
As Lady Selwyn returned her husband’s smile, Elizabeth noticed she had taken time to dab a bit of rouge on her cheeks—then realized it was a natural blush, for it deepened as her husband’s hand strayed to her waist.
She couldn’t help the little tug of envy in her heart. Lady Kimble could keep her silly coach. This was what Elizabeth found worthy of envy, this happy couple and their adorable baby. They were the most charming aristocrats she’d yet encountered in London. Elizabeth couldn’t even imagine any other lady of her acquaintance pinning up her own hair.
“I do hope Serena wasn’t any trouble.” Lady Selwyn reached out to take her daughter.
“No, not at all.” Elizabeth found herself reluctant to let the baby go. “No trouble at all,” she repeated softly.
Lord Selwyn lifted the wiggling little bundle from his wife’s arms and shooed the women toward the door. “The two of you had better be going before that Kimble woman comes looking for you. I’d rather face a firing squad than have her blustering about my entry hall.”
“Samuel, honestly!” Lady Selwyn gave Elizabeth a pained smile, then took her arm as they went out the door. “Men! We marry them thinking we can civilize them, but it’s a lost cause, isn’t it? Now you simply must tell me all the latest gossip. I’ve been out of circulation so long.”
Elizabeth managed to utter a few tidbits as they collected the footman and dashed through the rain to the carriage. Then they were surrounded by Lady Kimble’s chattering friends and subjected to one more rendition of the coach’s litany of attributes.
Before long they were speeding toward the Beauclerks’ country estate, and Elizabeth felt relieved that she wasn’t needed in the conversation. She struggled to concentrate on the party and Montaigne and what she had to do today.
Instead, her mind was filled with images of the baby and the Selwyns and… Marcus.
She had promised him that she would consider his proposal, but she hadn’t allowed herself to truly believe it might be possible, to imagine what life might be like, if she stayed here in England, with him.
Clearly, all aristocrats were not alike. Some were rather unconventional.
Could there be a place for her at Marcus’s side, as his countess… an unconventional countess?
Elizabeth Worthington, Lady Darkridge, she thought, trying to picture it.
Lady Vicary suddenly drew her attention back to the conversation.
“Shush, everyone!” the older woman said urgently, holding up her hand for silence. “Did anyone hear something odd?”
The gossiping in the carriage ceased and they could indeed hear a sound above the rhythm of the carriage springs and the horses’ hoofbeats: men’s voices, shouting and rapidly drawing closer. Lady Kimble pulled aside one of the window curtains, peeked out, and let loose an ear-splitting screech.
“Highwaymen!”
Chapter 22
The word “highwaymen” struck panic into everyone. Elizabeth’s companions dissolved into screaming, babbling bundles of terror. Lady Vicary snatched off her ruby and diamond earrings and necklace and tried to stuff them in between the seat cushions. Lady Selwyn had gone completely pale. Lady Houblon and Lady Kimble were in tears.
Outside, one of the male voices shouted, “Stand and deliver!”
The coach jerked to a stop, almost tossing the women to the floor. They clung to their seats and each other with shrill cries and sobs.
Elizabeth, trying to dislodge Lady Vicary’s painful hold on her arm, was more annoyed than frightened. Of all the confounded bad luck! How ironic to be waylaid by highwaymen, and on this of all days.
Lady Kimble’s coach was a ridiculously blatant lure, of course, but these would have to be bold thieves indeed, to attack a coach in broad daylight just outside the city. She and Lady Selwyn wore nothing of value worth stealing, so she knew they wouldn’t merit much attention.
A shot rang out, and all five of them fell silent, like partridges frozen in fear upon encountering a hunter.
“Down ye go, mates,” the male voice said, apparently issuing orders to the footmen. “Step aside there and be quick about it. You! Open ’er up and let’s ’ave a look at what we got ’ere.”
The women crushed into a wide-eyed huddle against the far side of the coach, leaving Elizabeth the closest to the door as it opened. She blinked in the bright light, the image of a black-garbed brigand on horseback dancing before her eyes.
“’Ello, me ladies,” he said, leaning over his horse’s neck, brandishing a pistol at them.
Her eyes on the gun, Elizabeth felt a stab of shock, followed by a dizzying sense of unreality, as if this were a dream. That was her pistol! The silver-embossed one she used to carry as Blackerby Swift! Marcus had taken it when he captured her weeks ago, and had never given it back. How could this thief—
Her gaze snapped from the pistol to the man holding it, and her surprise dissolved in a rush of outrage that made her momentarily forget her companions. “I don’t believe this! What the devil do you think—”
“Lady Barnes-Finchley!” Lady Selwyn gasped, trying to pull her back from the door. “Don’t provoke him!”
Marcus’s dark eyes, just visible between the edge of his black mask and the brim of his tricorne, settled on Elizabeth. “Good advice indeed, me lady.” She could have sworn he was smiling behind the mask. “Do as I say and ye’ll come t’ no ’arm.”
Elizabeth had to settle for glaring her reply. Now that she was paying attention, she recognized Marcus’s voice—though what he was doing with that accent and her pistol, attacking her group so dangerously close to London, she couldn’t fathom!
Marcus glanced up toward the front of the coach. “Are ye almost ready there, mate?”
Elizabeth craned her head out the door, over her companions’ strident objections. S
he saw a second man, dressed just as Marcus was, taking up the position vacated by Lady Kimble’s driver.
“Ready,” he called.
Who the devil could that be? Elizabeth was feeling more confused by the second. What in the world was Marcus up to? And where had he found a new partner?
He moved his horse to one side. “Ye’ll be gettin’ out, ladies. One at a time, if ye would be so kind.” He pointed the pistol at Lady Vicary. “You first.”
Lady Vicary darted a hopeful look at the seat where she had stuffed her jewels before joining the two footmen, who stood outside in a puddle with their hands in the air.
Elizabeth had to dig her nails into her palms to keep from giving Marcus a blistering earful. So that was what he was up to! He had never intended to let her go to the assembly today! Well, if he thought to leave her stranded here on this muddy road, he was mistaken. She would walk the rest of the way in the rain if need be!
“Step lively, there.” Marcus turned his gun on Lady Houblon.
The rotund woman suddenly gasped, staring at the weapon, and placed a hand over her considerable bosom. “I know who that is!” She turned a wild-eyed look on Lady Kimble. “You were the one who told me about him. The daring highwayman with the silver-chased pistol and the accent. It’s Blackerby Swift!”
The two women promptly rent the air with fearful cries and threats to faint.
Elizabeth sat frozen in disbelief. She could only stare at Marcus and bite her tongue to keep from protesting, He’s not Blackerby Swift, I am!
She couldn’t begin to puzzle out this hopelessly topsy-turvy situation.
“P-please don’t shoot us!” Lady Kimble babbled.
“And don’t take this.” Lady Selwyn indicated her simple gold wedding band. “I beg of you.”
“Keep it.” Marcus gestured impatiently with the pistol. “Down ye go. And ’elp that one along while yer at it.”
Midnight Raider Page 25
