My Lord Highwayman

by Valerie King

  He decided, therefore, to give her ample opportunity throughout the evening to expose those aspects of her character he believed were presently hidden beneath a lovely exterior. He would have begun immediately, but at that moment, Stockleigh arrived announcing that dinner was, indeed, served.

  Four

  The flow of conversation at dinner pleased Abigail immensely. Treyford made inquiries about the various posts she had held throughout the kingdom. She was happy to speak of the previous homes in which she had served as governess, the most recent of which had included a sojourn in Yorkshire and another in Lincolnshire, a trip to the Lake District five years earlier with one particularly poetic pupil from Cambridgeshire, and a summer spent in the most useless but wonderful manner in Brighton.

  Abigail in turn discovered that Treyford Hall was most dear to his heart. His was one of the most prosperous holdings in the county. He had been making improvements on his own farm as well as on the land of his numerous tenant-farmers over the past two decades, so that the yield of the crops had more than tripled in that time. His farmers were delighted, his rent-rolls had increased, and his profits from his own labors had proven handsome indeed in recent years.

  Miss Lavant interjected a question. “Uncle Trey, has Mr. Ditchling returned from Bath yet? Do you know when he is expected?”

  Abigail was struck immediately by the soft tone of her pupil’s voice. Ah, Mr. Ditchling. Could this be the one? Was Henry his first name?

  Since Lord Treyford’s expression seemed a trifle guarded, Abigail’s interest was further piqued. He touched his lips with his linen. “I had a letter from Henry three days past. He was hoping to have returned before your new governess arrived. I believe he was desirous of discouraging you from your usual antics, since you will be enjoying your come-out ball so very soon. Alas, some business must have detained him in Bath. However, according to his letter, he should be arriving any day now.”

  Miss Lavant glanced at Abigail. “You will like Mr. Ditchling,” she said. “He is a particular friend of Uncle Trey’s and a very good man, is he not, Papa?”

  If Abigail was in any doubt of Miss Lavant’s tendre for Mr. Ditchling, Mr. Lavant’s warm, affectionate expression would have removed it entirely. He leaned over and squeezed his daughter’s hand gently. “The very best of men, my dear.”

  To Abigail, he said, “I have known both Henry and Trey since they were breeched. Good men, the pair of them. They were inseparable as children, always up to some mischief.”

  “They still are,” Miss Lavant said enthusiastically. “I believe them to have been twins but somehow separated at birth. They are even of an age.”

  At that, Abigail choked on her Madeira. She glanced at Lord Treyford and saw in his eyes a somber expression. Good God, if Mr. Ditchling was Treyford’s age, then he was more than twenty years Miss Lavant’s senior. He could easily have been her father as a suitor. A feeling like chagrin took strong hold of her.

  So, Miss Lavant was in love with a man old enough to be her father and she a young lady still caught up in the pranks of childhood. None of this boded well for a happy outcome. She began to feel one of her occupations would best be to prepare her pupil to relinquish her tendre rather than to pursue it hopelessly.

  After dinner, Abigail accompanied Miss Lavant to the drawing room, leaving the gentlemen on the terrace to enjoy their port while the ladies partook of tea. After a few minutes, she settled her cup on its saucer and glanced about the elegant room. The long chamber was decorated in heavy brocades of a lovely shade of peach that had been popular in the latter part of the prior century. Several landscapes in oils by an artist she did not recognize, yet very finely done, were the primary decoration of the room. She found the effect charming.

  She took a sip of tea, then observed, “I do not believe I know this artist. The work is truly pleasing.”

  Miss Lavant’s eyes took on a glow. “These were my mother’s. Was she not wonderfully gifted?”

  “Indeed, yes,” Abigail said. “I would have thought them purchased from a notable artist perhaps not yet known. I find myself stunned, only the chamber seems rather dark. I would think her work would be better displayed with more candles scattered about.”

  Miss Lavant chuckled. “It is an ongoing battle between Papa and Stockleigh. Our good butler dislikes the chandler at Three Rivers Cross very much, and has for years, so he refuses to light sufficient candles for any occasion lest he be forced to purchase more from the man than is strictly necessary. However, he keeps a branch of candles lit in the small parlor, which Papa usually fetches at some point in the evening.” She gestured toward the door opposite.

  “So, your butler sets his will against your father?” Abigail inquired, catching Miss Lavant’s eye.

  Her pupil nodded. “Oh, yes.”

  “I knew there was a reason I was particularly fond of Stockleigh.”

  Miss Lavant laughed, her blue eyes brimming with amusement.

  Abigail rose to her feet. “Well, I think I shall fetch the candles now.” She crossed to the doorway and passing through, caught sight of Lord Treyford at the end of an adjoining but rather short hallway. “Oh, hallo,” she said. “I did not expect to see you there. I was in search of more candles.”

  He turned toward her, and his mouth opened abruptly as though she had given him a shock.

  ”I did not mean to startle you,” she hastened to add.

  “You did not startle me. You just seemed so . . . You see, the light from the chamber beyond frames you, and the hallway is quite dark. For a moment I thought you were another portrait. I was just looking at this one here.” He gestured to a painting beyond the scope of her view.

  “I suppose it must be an odd effect.”

  “Yes, very, but come,” he murmured, waving her toward him. “Have you seen the portrait of Lavant’s wife?”

  “No.”

  “Then, you must. She was very beautiful.” He smiled suddenly. “Like you.”

  At this unexpected compliment, Abigail felt a quick return of the butterflies she had felt earlier upon his arrival. She moved down the darkened hall, her senses heightened as she met his gaze and smiled at him in return. His own smile broadened, which for some reason sent the butterflies hurtling through her stomach. What was it about him that made her so delightfully queasy, and that for no particular reason save that he thought her pretty?

  When she reached the gallery that led to the terrace, he swept his arm toward the object he had been viewing. Two meager candles lit the space, but it was enough to see the portrait.

  Abigail turned in the direction of his arm and caught her breath. “How lovely she was.” The lady appeared to be something near Abigail’s present age, not yet thirty, when she sat for the portrait. In the minxish expression as well as the features in general, she saw Miss Lavant reflected.

  “Quite lovely,” Treyford responded. “But she was also an extraordinary woman. Lavant adored her. He was older than she by some fourteen years when they wed. I was two and twenty when she died in childbed, giving birth to Sarah. Lavant was desolate for years. We all missed her terribly. She had been my staunchest friend during a very dark time and for several weeks nursed me back from death’s door, but that was a very long time ago.”

  Abigail was caught up in these reminiscences and could not tear her gaze from his face. She was surprised that he was sharing so many poignant memories with her. In a quiet voice, she asked, “You had been ill?”

  “Not ill, wounded. Surely you have heard of the duel by now?” He shifted his gaze to her for a penetrating moment.

  “Yes, I have,” she returned carefully.

  “I don’t know why I tell you this, but contrary to what you may have heard from other quarters, I was badly wounded during the duel. I should have died. Indeed, I expected to perish that very day. I believe I would have, had not Mrs. Lavant arrived to care for me so stubbornly.” A half-smile brightened his features. “She would not let me die.”

  Abiga
il was shocked. “But I was given to understand that you were barely injured in the duel.”

  “Who spoke to you of it, I wonder?”

  Abigail heard the hard edge to his question. “Lady Waldron.”

  He appeared disbelieving. “Miss Chailey, you have been here scarcely more than a day. How does it happen you have already spoken to Lady Waldron of the duel? Even for her, this must be some sort of extraordinary achievement.”

  “I met her the very night I arrived, as it happens.”

  “The same night? At the Mermaid?”

  She shook her head. “No, on the moors, just before the descent to Three Rivers. For if you must know, the highwayman stopped my coach in error. After he had gone, Lady Waldron and her husband were so good as to lend me their assistance, for they arrived shortly on the heels of his attempted robbery of my coach. Lady Waldron actually traveled with me to the inn.”

  “Indeed,” he murmured sardonically. “How very kind of her.”

  “I believe she meant it as a kindness,” she said. “There was nothing in her manner that led me to doubt her intentions.”

  “I am not so sanguine,” he responded.

  “You seem determined to think ill of her—do you dislike her so much?”

  “Should I think kindly about a woman who would lie about the duel, for I vow you heard from her lips that I had escaped unharmed?”

  “I did, but I do not believe she was lying, even though her account of what happened diverges from your own.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “You must choose whom to believe, Miss Chailey,” he stated firmly, “But on this matter, you cannot allow both of us to be right.”

  “You misunderstand me, Lord Treyford. I think she believed what she was telling me was the truth, though I have little doubt she was either misinformed herself, or she has chosen to believe a lie. There is a difference.”

  His jaw worked strongly. “Leave it to a governess to have thoughts so convoluted that they make no sense at all.”

  “Now you are being unkind,” she said, challenging him immediately. “In addition, if you find fault with my reasoning prowess in this moment, my lord, I beg you will find fault with me alone, and not all the other ladies belonging to my profession. You do a great injustice to governesses at large by blaming all of us because you do not approve of my opinions.”

  He stared at her for a moment. “You have a point,” he conceded. “And I do beg your pardon.”

  “Thank you,” she returned, smiling.

  “You are a strange female. Are you not angry with me?”

  “I will confess I am a trifle annoyed, but not so much by what you have said as by the fact that I believe you are so prejudiced against governesses in general that you have already unfairly judged anything I might say to you.”

  “I will admit this might be true. However, I have had several unhappy experiences with those of your profession. Lady Waldron, for instance, was a governess at one time, and you must know by now that she has succeeded in setting the entire countryside against me for two decades. But this is not the only reason. My niece’s governess stole over two hundred pounds from my sister—which she could ill afford—and from my observations the vast majority of young women enter the profession in hopes of finding a husband along the way.”

  “I see,” she murmured. She continued to view the portrait, though her thoughts were given entirely to what Treyford had just said to her.

  Finally, she addressed the heart of the matter by saying boldly, “Perhaps you would not have such a poor opinion of governesses had you not nearly killed Lady Waldron’s brother-in-law.”

  “Do you think I have not considered what my life would have been like had I not fought Lord Chandos?”

  “Then, you regret the duel?”

  “Of course. Facing the duke that morning is the unhappiest marker of my existence. I would that the duel were undone, but that is impossible.”

  Abigail considered him carefully. With some men, she would have felt compelled to guard her words, but there was a directness in Treyford that she liked very much. Therefore, she did not hesitate to say, “You should have considered as much before you faced Lord Chandos across a stretch of green.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Are you deliberately trying to provoke me?”

  “Not to provoke you, precisely, at least that is not my intention. I personally believe that dueling, swords or pistols, is a great evil. Surely, you could have avoided your duel with Lord Chandos had you wished to.”

  “You are not a man,” he responded simply. “Every woman feels that with just a little push, a duel might be set aside like an embroidery sampler. But it is no such thing, particularly twenty years ago, when dueling was practiced a great deal more than it is today. Chandos was in a towering rage when he returned home, though why he should have felt ill-used I cannot imagine. He was in the habit of leaving Marianne alone for weeks, sometimes months, at a time, to cool her heels and await his return like a faithful puppy. What did he expect of her? By mid-July, he had been gone four months.”

  “And the duke had not returned, not even once during that time, to see her?”

  He shook his head. “By July, I had been attempting to persuade Marianne to elope with me, to leave her husband, who obviously did not love her. She had agreed to do so. Hetty—Lady Waldron—was there. At the time, I thought her a friend, an excellent friend. I thought we had her support in the elopement, though when I look back on it, I realize I was entirely mistaken about her feelings on the subject. The very day Marianne and I were to elope, suddenly Chandos came bursting into the drawing room, having been fully informed of our plans. You may imagine who I now believe performed that particular office.”

  “Lady Waldron.”

  He nodded.

  The history was so different coming from his lips that she scarcely knew what to think. From Lady Waldron she had gained an impression of a brief, passionate affair—a seduction—ending in a duel. Now she saw something entirely different.

  “And there truly was no way to avoid the duel?”

  He laughed harshly. “Had you seen Chandos’s face, believe me, you would not ask such a question.”

  “You should not have loved a woman who was married,” she said on a sigh.

  At that, he appeared truly angry. “I could more easily have stopped the sun from rising. Right or wrong, I loved Marianne to the point of madness. I believe I was destined to love her as I did. I cannot explain it, nor will I try to justify my devotion to her, but for you to tell me that I should not have loved her seems ridiculous in the extreme to me. Of course I should not have, but I did. Fate would not have it otherwise. Have you never loved so desperately, my pretty governess?”

  She considered his question carefully, and a feeling very much like sadness descended on her: “No,” she responded, her voice little more than a whisper. “I do not believe I have ever loved to the point of madness.”

  He took a step toward her. “Then, you must consider yourself fortunate. I would not wish such a state on anyone.” He fell silent, and she found she had nothing further she wished to say on a subject that obviously still gave him pain, even after so many years.

  Finally, he said, “I am curious about something. Why are you not wed? I heard you say you had been betrothed. Did the gentleman cry off?”

  Abigail glanced at him. This was certainly one of the oddest conversations she had ever had with a man she scarcely knew. His question, at the very least, could be interpreted as impertinent, just as many of her earlier remarks could have been described in the same manner.

  Yet for some reason, she was not in the least offended by his query. “No, as it happens, he did not cry off. I did, for he lived estranged from society, in a world of his own making, quite separate from a larger community. He also spent a great deal of his time—too much so—in the East End hells with a set of fellows I have since come to understand are gamesters. I could not see myself living contentedly with such a man, even t
hough I loved him. I loved him very much.”

  His expression stilled, like a clock that had stopped its relentless ticking. “I can see that you loved him,” he said, a trace of sympathy in his voice. A smile dawned as he continued, “But not to the point of madness?”

  She smiled ruefully in return. “Fortunately for me, I suppose, just as you said, I did not. Had I loved him so completely, I would have been lost, for I have since become fully persuaded that our marriage would not have brought either of us very much happiness.”

  She saw that he was watching her closely. The air became suddenly charged with warmth and vibration. She had a profound wish that the conversation might go on forever even though a certain tension had characterized the whole exchange. She wished she might remain with Treyford, to talk with him a little longer, to tell him more of Geoffrey Ferrers, to tell him that sometimes she felt as though her heart would break, for she had truly believed she would marry him, raise a family with him, grow old with him. If she begged for Treyford’s opinion on the subject, what would he tell her, she wondered, that she had erred in rejecting him or that she was to be commended?

  The feeling of admiration for the viscount returned to her. He had unusual green eyes which contrasted wonderfully with his black hair. She was struck again with how handsome he was. She found herself curious that he, too, had escaped matrimony. “You are not married,” she stated before she could check the words. “Even after all these years.”

  He chuckled but shook his head. “No, I have not met a woman who has taken my heart as completely as my first love. Besides, as you must know, I have not been permitted to court the ladies about Three Rivers Cross.”

  “You go to London every year for the Season, or so Miss Lavant tells me. In which case, I cannot believe you have lacked for opportunity and certainly Lady Waldron’s influence cannot extend so far as the metropolis.”

  “No, it does not. She rules supreme here but is a very small ornament in London. But come, let us rejoin Lavant and Sarah. Our host is of such a matchmaking propensity where I am concerned that should he conclude we are a match, he will set about arranging the matter at once.”