Frances groaned. “But this is so annoying! I own it’s exciting to be held up by such an amiable highwayman, but not when we’re in such a hurry looking for Ariadne. This is such bad luck!”
“It is,” Torridon agreed thoughtfully. “Astoundingly bad, in fact.” He took Jamie from her, settling him in the crook of one arm, while he offered the other to Frances. They might have been strolling in the park. “What if Ariadne somehow discovered we were following her? And the highwayman is the man she is going to meet?”
Frances’s eyes widened. “Ari and a highwayman? You mean she sent him just to slow us up?”
“Possibly.”
“Then we must be on the right road.” Frances increased her pace. “We must hurry!”
*
With the abrupt departure of the Torridons on some unspecified expedition, and her mother-in-law’s decision to take her younger daughters into Blackhaven, Eleanor, or Dawn as she still tended to think of herself, found the castle suddenly empty. If one didn’t count the small army of servants. Nevertheless, she was able to entice her husband out of his library to enjoy a couple of hours of secret pleasure in their bedchamber.
Gervaise was more than happy to linger. In fact, when they were interrupted by his valet in the outer chamber, he was inclined to wrath.
“I have been asked to tell you, my lord, that Lady Torridon has called,” the valet said woodenly. “Her ladyship awaits your pleasure in the small drawing room.”
Gervaise scowled at the closed door. “Frances can look after herself. What does he mean—”
“Not Frances,” Dawn said, springing up. “It must be Torridon’s mother!”
“His mother? What the devil is she doing here? Did you invite her? Did Frances?”
“Lord, no.” Dawn slid out of bed and reached for her carelessly discarded clothes. “If you ask me, she is a large part of Frances’s problem. This might be an opportunity to negotiate peace.”
However, when Dawn walked into the drawing room, she knew at once that the lady would not be easily placated.
“Lady Torridon,” she greeted her uninvited guest, advancing with her hand held out. “What a pleasure to meet you. I’m so sorry to keep you waiting.”
“No apology is necessary,” Lady Torridon said graciously. “It is I who must apologize for the intrusion. To be frank, Lady Braithwaite, I am looking for son or my daughter-in-law, or my grandson. Are any of them here with you?”
“All of them,” Dawn replied. “That is, they are all staying here, but they have gone off on an expedition.”
Lady Torridon narrowed her eyes. “Together?”
“Yes, baby and all.”
“And that woman, Mrs. Marshall?”
Dawn blinked. “I don’t believe I know a Mrs. Marshall. She is certainly not staying here. But please, sit and let me ring for tea. You must wait for them, of course.”
Lady Torridon sat, her back ramrod-straight.
Dawn took a chair next to her. “Forgive me, ma’am, but is something wrong?”
Lady Torridon brushed the back of her gloved hand over her forehead. “Wrong? Where do I begin? My daughter-in-law has not been… well, not since the birth of my grandson. She is moody and erratic… the last straw was when she fled her home without a word, taking my grandson with her, lying, hiding… in short, I fear for my grandson’s safety.”
With an effort, Dawn picked up her dropped jaw. “You will be glad to know I have seen no such signs in Lady Frances. And she takes excellent care of little Jamie. But you must speak to my husband, who obviously knows her much better than I.”
Gervaise strolled into the room and bowed to Lady Torridon. “How do you do, Lady Torridon? A pleasure to meet you again.”
“I wish it were in happier circumstances,” her ladyship said heavily. Clearly, she was not intimidated by Braithwaite and would happily repeat her bizarre accusations against his sister. Dawn regarded him warily.
“What on earth is the matter?” he asked at once.
Lady Torridon sighed. “I gather my son and my daughter-in-law did not arrive here together?”
“No,” Braithwaite said, amused, “they did not. But in fashionable society ma’am, it is rare to find married couples in the same house for very long.”
“Fiddle-faddle,” snapped her ladyship. “It is my belief your sister fled her husband’s roof in the company of that woman, Mrs. Marshall, and plans to keep my grandson from Torridon.”
Braithwaite blinked. “If such a nonsensical thought ever entered Frances’s head, she’s making a very poor show of it. Frances and Jamie arrived here in Torridon’s company and they’ve all gone off together this morning. You have it quite wrong if you imagine he is pursuing his errant wife. I witnessed their departure this morning, and Torridon was about to set off alone before Frances came running after him with Jamie. They left together, so far as I could tell, in perfect harmony with one another.”
It was gently spoken and civil, but Lady Torridon was a fool if she did not see the ice behind his eyes. He would allow no one to traduce his sister, and Dawn could not blame him.
“Of course, you are an honorable man and she is your sister,” Lady Torridon pronounced. “You are bound to defend her, and it is not my desire to give you pain. But I, too, must do what is right, and I tell you now it is my intention to return to Scotland with Jamie as soon as may be, and to keep Frances away from him. With all the weight of the law behind me.”
Chapter Fifteen
Lawson’s one fear as the carriage careened along the road, was that the highwayman would overturn the vehicle and drop them in the ditch. At least they weren’t on the coast road and liable to go over the cliff. Braced against the back of the coach and under the seat, she wasn’t too badly bumped. She spent most of the short journey being grateful that the villain hadn’t shot the baby or Lady Torridon. What sort of a monster pointed a pistol at a baby? A man with no conscience and no feelings. Which didn’t really bode well for her if she was discovered.
In the meantime, she paid attention to the vehicle’s direction, noticed when it turned left, and then a few moments later, left again. For one horrible moment, as the carriage finally came to a halt, she was afraid they had come to some terrible thieves’ den. But then she heard the clink of glasses and crockery and the tone of laughter told her it was just a tavern, or an inn perhaps.
The latter it seemed. The coach swayed as the highwayman climbed down. “See to the horses, will you?” he said casually. “Just some water and some hay to keep them sweet.”
Lawson lay where she was, unable to believe her luck. The highwayman actually began to hum a merry tune to himself as he walked away. For a moment, the humming seemed oddly familiar to her, but then she found most humming equally irritating.
She waited while water and hay was brought for the horses. Ideally, they should have a good long rest after such a gallop, but Lawson was afraid of the highwayman returning. So, she waited only five minutes or so after the stable lads had left, and then, slowly emerged from under the seat.
As she had thought, they weren’t in a stable building but the inn yard, as if the driver was expected to return and move on without changing horses. For now, there was no one around.
Warily, she opened the carriage door and jumped stiffly down. She was getting too old for such work. Closing the door behind her, she walked to the horses as if she had every right to be there and stroked their noses. Their breathing had calmed and they seemed contented enough.
Lawson untied the highwayman’s horse from the back of the carriage, hoping no one would notice it too quickly as it ambled around the yard. Then, she walked around and climbed up onto the box. Few people knew she was a coachman’s daughter and had secretly driven the vehicles of a Sussex squire when she was ten years old. Of course, her father had sat beside her, but she had learned from him and never forgot.
Gathering the reins, she touched the horses lightly with the whip. “Walk on,” she told them, and guided th
em in a circle around the yard until they faced the gateway. She walked them through it, her heart in her mouth in case she met the highwayman coming the other way. Would she have the courage to ride him down? Or at least threaten to. Surely, he would get out of the way by instinct.
The matter wasn’t tested. She drove the horses out of the yard and onto the road, unhindered, heading back the way she had come at a fast trot.
*
“This is pleasant,” Torridon said. “I feel like a contented farmer, out for a Sunday stroll with his wife and baby son.”
They were walking along the road side by side in the pleasant spring sunshine, with Mark the under-coachman toiling after them. The air, scented with fresh grass and flowers, was redolent with birds’ song.
Frances smiled, for it seemed she didn’t mind being held up. “Well, it’s partially true.”
“Some landowners do work their own land, nowadays,” Torridon said. “It’s becoming almost fashionable.”
“I think Daxton does. And I suspect Tamar will to some extent, if only for lack of other labor. Do you think you would be good at it?”
“I might. I’ve been learning over the last year and have some changes planned. I shall probably muck in, as it were.” He hesitated. “It was Andrew, not me, who learned about the land. All I cared for was soldiering. I’ll never be like him. But I can be my own earl.”
“You are your own earl,” she said warmly. Never before their fraught reunion at Braithwaite Castle had he admitted feeling out of his depth in his new role. In fact, he had hidden it so well that she had never guessed. She had been so involved in her own feelings that she hadn’t given enough time to his.
His fingers threaded through hers. “I would rather be yours.”
She flushed under his heated gaze. “I made that vow more than a year ago.”
He bent his head and kissed her lips. Her heart leapt, though it was hardly the moment for passion, with Mark walking behind them, Lawson in danger, and Ariadne getting away with the rubies… and a coach and horses hurtling along the road toward them.
Torridon released her, drawing her to the side of the road and behind him. He gave Jamie into her arms and turned back to face the oncoming horses.
“Oh no,” Frances said in dismay. “It isn’t that wretched highwayman back again, is it?” She had the sudden fear that he would run them off the road, and was about to climb into the ditch to protect Jamie, when Torridon spoke in astonishment.
“It isn’t any man. It’s… it’s Lawson!”
Frances peered around him. The horses—their own familiar carriage horses—were slowing. And guiding them to an expert halt was indeed Lawson.
“Lawson, you angel!” Frances exclaimed, while Torridon and Mark went to the horses. “We were praying you would escape without harm but it never entered my head you’d manage to steal back our horses and carriage! He didn’t hurt you, did he?”
“Never knew I was there!” Lawson said with contempt. “He stopped in an inn yard where I doubt you could see the carriage from the road, and just wandered off. I waited while they watered the horses and then drove them back here to find you.”
Grinning, Mark reached up to help her down from the box. “Well, what a hand you are, Miss Lawson, and no mistake. You’ll be doing me out of a job next.”
“Nonsense,” Lawson said gruffly, though for the first time in Frances’s company, she blushed. Turning to glare at Frances, she commanded, “Into the coach with you! His little lordship’s been out in the sun too long.”
“For once,” Torridon said, opening the coach door, “you have precedence over all of us.” And he handed Lawson into the carriage as though she were a great lady. Lawson seemed too stunned to protest, until she sat down inside and emitted a very un-Lawson-like giggle.
*
Frances had been fifteen years old, Serena a year younger, and Gervaise all of nineteen summers when they had discovered the wonder of the ruined church. Of course, the grooms had already teased them that it was haunted, and they had first seen it rising out of a drifting mist, so it had been a wonderful place to make up stories and scare each other.
Coming upon it in adulthood during the late afternoon sunshine didn’t quite have the same effect. It was merely a picturesque ruin. And, peering out of the carriage window, Frances could see no sign of anyone lurking among the broken walls.
“Perhaps we’ve missed them,” she said, sitting back in disappointment. “Where would they go, next? To The Crown for tonight, then on to London in the morning…”
“Hmm.” As the carriage halted, Torridon leaned over to inspect the ruins. “I certainly can’t imagine her skulking behind broken walls for hours or sleeping under the stars. It doesn’t look as if there is any of the roof left.”
“There is, just at the back.” Frances pointed toward the most substantial part of the ruin. “From there, you can see the way down to an undercroft. But the door is made of iron and locked fast. For safety, I suppose. The vicar at the new church—look, you can just make it out behind the trees—is quite proud of his ruin and looks after it.”
Torridon’s shoulder pressed against her back. His face was close to hers. Her whole body tingled with awareness. He reached past her, opening the door, and jumped down into the road.
“I think I’ll just take a stroll over there and have a closer look. Mark, drive down the road a hundred yards or so, and see if you can’t disguise the carriage a little in those trees at the bend. I won’t be long.”
With a quick smile at Frances, he closed the door, and walked off toward the ruin. The coach began to move, but Frances immediately knocked on the roof and it halted again.
“I’m going with him,” Frances said, and gave the sleeping Jamie into Lawson’s delighted arms. Then she, too, jumped down without the aid of steps, picked up her skirts, and hurried after her husband while the carriage lumbered off.
Although he must have heard her coming, he didn’t look round. Instead, he waited until she fell into step beside him and simply took her hand. She smiled and they walked on together.
“You’re not a very obedient wife, are you?” he said at last.
“No. But I saw you swipe the pistol from its pocket in the carriage. You think they’re here, don’t you?”
“I think they might be, but if our highway robbing friend is about, I don’t want you here, too. We are just conducting a little reconnaissance.”
Whatever the reason, there was pleasure in wandering among the ruins with him, a very different enjoyment to that of her childhood with Gervaise and Serena, but just as real. She said guiltily, “I probably shouldn’t have left the castle so suddenly. I didn’t mention Maria’s problem to anyone else. With Serena gone, you don’t suppose she’ll do anything foolish, do you?”
“No,” Torridon said. “Between you and me, she was trying to talk herself out of eloping with him this morning. I believe she would have, too. But I went with her in support, to give the young lieutenant his congé.”
“You did?” Frances said, startled. “When?”
“While the rest of you were preventing Serena loading up the kitchen sink. And I’ll tell you what, Frances, he’s a paltry fellow, utterly undeserving of any female companion, let alone your sister.”
“That bad?”
“Worse,” Torridon said. “But his so-called friend seemed a good fellow. Bernard Muir? Heath had borrowed his curricle, but he came to talk them out of it.”
Frances smiled. “I like Bernard. He’s Gillie’s brother.”
“I know.”
“How was Maria?” Frances asked with foreboding.
“Relieved mostly and a little sad. But I think she will get over it quickly.”
“I suspect Serena’s leaving had something to do with it all. We must make her feel more special.”
“I agree.”
Frances smiled at him, but he was gazing around the ruins.
“What happened to this place?” he asked.
&n
bsp; “I don’t believe anything happened to it except old age, and a landowner who wanted a grander church. Then his descendant became Viscount Overton and acquired more lucrative lands in the south. I don’t think the family ever visit any more. Certainly, I’ve never met them up here. But I’m very grateful they left us a haunted ruin.”
The sun ducked suddenly behind a bank of cloud, darkening the scene. A ghostly murmur seemed to whisper amongst the grass at her feet and a chill passed up her spine.
She halted mid-step, staring up at Torridon. “Did you hear that?”
He didn’t answer. Gazing around him, he was obviously listening, too, as the echo of muffled voices drifted on the breeze and faded. He walked on. “I don’t believe in ghosts. But I understand why the locals call it haunted.”
“Serena swore she heard voices once. I thought she was making it up to scare us.”
Torridon drew her on to the substantial part of the ruin, through the broken, arched doorway into a room with ivy growing out of the ceiling. “That will be your undercroft?” he observed, gesturing toward the iron door.
“Look through the keyhole,” Frances advised. “You can see steep steps leading downward…” She broke off with a surge of excitement and lowered her voice. “Oh, do you think the sounds came from down there? There must be another way in.”
Torridon, who had crouched to put his eye to the keyhole, rose to his feet, and pushed gently at the door. To Serena’s astonishment, it swung silently open.
“There is a light shining from the foot of the stairs,” he murmured in her ear. “Perhaps it’s the vicar practicing black arts.”
Laughter caught in the back of her throat.
“I wish you would wait here,” he said, brushing his lips against her earlobe. She shivered. “If you won’t, stay behind me.”
In truth, since he immediately stepped through the doorway onto the first step, she could only remain behind him, for the winding stairs were too narrow to go side by side. Besides, there was no rail on the edge of the steps, so it seemed sensible to descend as close to the wall as possible.
Regency Scandals and Scoundrels Collection Page 43
