by Valerie King
“No doubt elegantly,” she responded archly.
He was silent apace. “Only tell me, why did you not send a missive to Mr. Clark and perhaps arrange an assignation with him tonight? I have been given to understand that Mr. Clark has been known to be very helpful on occasion.”
Abigail felt dizzy of a sudden. Perhaps it was the waltz. “Whatever do you mean?” she queried, breathless. “Did Mr. Clark tell you as much?”
He leaned toward her, drawing her more closely to him. “My dear Abigail, daughter of the moon, do you not know me?” His voice was cloaked entirely in a Spanish inflection, just like . . .
Her mouth dropped open in a most unladylike manner, and she drew back to stare at him. This was impossible. She missed her steps, but he caught her up tightly and guided her back into the flow of the dance. “I should not have told you on the dance floor,” he said.
“You have told me nothing. You have only hinted. Treyford, are you saying . . . ? I cannot even speak the words aloud.”
Again he leaned very close. “The book I sent you,” he whispered, adopting the exotic accent. “The Corsair, no? And the sonnet, and the kisses we shared on the moors and at Lady Waldron’s folly.”
“You are the highwayman,” she whispered, stunned. “I had always thought there was something familiar in the way you kissed me—as Treyford, I mean. But I never would have believed . . . I remember Mr. Lavant saying you were a man of many abilities, that you had once taken up the part of Hamlet as pretty as you please, but this is beyond anything. Treyford, please tell me that you are merely funning.”
He turned her this way, then that, to the steady rhythms of the music, never once letting his gaze waver from her face. “I wish that I were funning,” he responded seriously. “I should never, never have taken up the business in the first place.”
“Why did you?” she asked, still greatly shocked. “No, wait. Treyford, take me off the floor. We must speak of this now.”
“Of course.”
He led her adroitly through the many dancing couples, and after passing through several crowded rooms and antechambers found a measure of solitude in the long gallery near Mrs. Lavant’s smiling portrait.
Treyford quietly explained his reasons, dwelling primarily on the severe disappointment he had suffered on Mr. Clark’s behalf when the local families would not support the building of the orphanage. “I became so angry because it was evident that their refusal to help was because I had already committed my funds. Only, Abigail, tell me this does not alter your sentiments toward me, though I would not blame you if it did.”
“I must think,” she said. “All this time— From the first, then, every conversation we had about the highwayman, you were, you knew— Oh, but this is so unfair. I am mortified.”
“You had begun to love him,” he said somberly.
“Yes,” she murmured. “Yes, I had. Then you, as Treyford . . . You were always there talking with me in a manner I enjoyed above all others, and you protected me from Laurence and Frederick, even from Geoffrey. I never once thought, however, that you might be . . . other than who you are. Trey, it is too fantastic to be believed.”
“I only wish to know if you can forgive me for this deception. I have wanted to tell you ever since I kissed you in Lavant’s wood, but somehow the proper moment never seemed to arrive, until now. But it’s important that you know the truth.”
She looked into his eyes, which were utterly sincere. She pondered the extraordinary truth that he was the highwayman, and she could only stare at him. “That first night, when you kissed me. You must have thought me wicked. And later, when I arranged with Mr. Clark to meet you on the moors . . . Oh, Trey, I feel a blush on my cheeks even just thinking on it.”
He smiled crookedly. “My darling Abigail, I thought only that you were the most intriguing lady I had ever met.” Since the gallery was deserted, he cupped her face and kissed her.
Abigail closed her eyes and received this salute, her mind whirling. Treyford was the highwayman. How could she not have known the truth, for his kiss was, indeed, the same?
She drew back, smiling. “I feel like the worst simpleton for not knowing.” She touched his lips. “I remember thinking at one point that your kisses seemed so very familiar.”
He smiled and kissed her again, only this time drawing her more fully into his arms. His lips were so soft and warm. She thought of the highwayman and of Trey, the men blending into one person. A rush of excitement flooded her. “I never understood,” she began, whispering against his lips, “why I let the highwayman kiss me as I did. I still do not. Oh, Trey.” She slipped her arm around his neck and kissed him fully. He moaned against her mouth.
“Abigail,” he breathed. “Will you . . . ?”
The door at the end of the gallery opened suddenly. Abigail released him instantly, chuckling a little at having been caught in such a compromising position.
“There you are,” Lavant called out. “I have been searching for you, for both of you, for the past quarter hour. Two of my guests, recently arrived, have been asking after you, Trey.”
“After me?” Treyford queried, his brow furrowing.
“Yes.”
Abigail watched Mr. Lavant as together she and Treyford moved in his direction. She had never seen this particular expression on his face before, a sternness that made no sense at all.
“Will you not tell me who these guests are?”
Lavant shook his head. “No, for I have meant it from the first as a surprise. Actually, more like a gift, for they have a purpose in coming to my daughter’s come-out ball tonight.”
“Does Sarah know of this?”
“I just told her. She believes I have done exactly what needed to be done.”
“Now I am completely mystified.”
Mr. Lavant turned and held Abigail’s gaze squarely for a moment. “They await us in the entrance hall. Miss Chailey, I wish you to attend us as well.”
There was something so pointed about his having addressed her in this manner that Abigail became fearful. Her heart sank as though knowing what was about to befall her without being cognizant of the incidentals.
Treyford appeared baffled, even slightly amused, as he offered Abigail his arm. Laying her hand on his arm, he shot a quizzical glance her direction. Following after Lavant, he whispered, “Why do you tremble?”
“I am not certain,” she responded quietly.
The gallery was not far from the entrance hall. So it was that within less than a minute, Abigail was staring at an older woman and her husband. The lady was exquisite, though obviously more of an age with Treyford than herself. Her blond hair was silvered and her skin showed an etching of lines about her eyes. Otherwise, she was absolutely beautiful.
“Marianne,” Treyford murmured stunned.
Lady Chandos, of whom Abigail had heard so very much. She released Treyford and he moved forward immediately. “Your Grace,” he said, taking the lady’s hand and bowing over it. He offered a polite bow to the duke.
“How do you go on, Trey?” the lady inquired in a musical voice.
“Very well, thank you.”
She smiled, and Abigail could not help but note that Treyford could scarcely keep his eyes from her.
He still loves her, she thought. She had a sudden impulse to turn on her heel and to run away. Her heart had tightened painfully in her chest, and she could feel tears forming at the backs of her eyes. Yet, she remained.
Mr. Lavant was suddenly beside her. He leaned down and whispered, “Pluck up, my girl. You can weather this storm, for you are seeing a ghost only. Besides, I have a very specific reason for inviting them here, which you will soon see.” He then passed by her and begged to introduce her to the Duke and Duchess of Chandos.
Abigail went through the introductions almost blindly.
Have you never loved to the point of madness?
Treyford had loved Lady Chandos once in this way. It would seem he still did. How was it possible that th
is time she had not only tumbled in love with a man ostracized from his community but who was passionately in love with another woman as well?
After the introductions, Lavant addressed Treyford. “I am sure you will want to escort Lord and Lady Chandos to the ballroom. Sarah will, of course, desire to meet them, along with any number of our other guests. Do you not agree?”
Finally, Abigail understood. She stared at Mr. Lavant in no small degree of wonder and at that moment believed him to be the finest man ever born. If she had had any doubts as to Mr. Lavant’s intention, the next hour dispelled them entirely. Both Lord and Lady Chandos had come to Oak Hill for strictly one purpose, to clarify both their present relationship with Lord Treyford and the actual circumstances of the duel itself.
The duke was particularly adamant on one point as he spoke at length with Lord Adling. “Treyford, even at nineteen, was a gentleman throughout. He deloped twice and took three bullets from me that night. I was so lost in my rage that I would have kept reloading my weapon and firing upon him until he was dead, regardless of the code I was breaking, had he not finally taken aim and fired. By the time I fell, he had sustained three pistol balls to his chest. I know for a fact he was nigh to perishing from the wounds he received. Lavant’s wife saved him, otherwise the doctors were convinced he’d written his last sonnet.”
Because, in addition to this speech, both Lord and Lady Chandos were seen to treat Treyford warmly, clusters of guests throughout Lavant’s principal receiving rooms as well as the ballroom were discussing this odd turn of events. Since Sir Christopher and Lady Waldron were not present, the gentry and nobility of Three Rivers Cross were free to express their opinions.
At one point, Mr. Lavant approached her and she readily expressed her admiration for what he had done. “I am so very proud of you, Mr. Lavant. You have proven yourself the very best of friends to Treyford, only how did you conceive of it?”
“You inspired me,” he said. “You made it clear that you could never marry my good friend as long as he was an outcast from our local community, and I could not have that. I intend to do all I can to keep you in our little vale for the rest of your life.”
Abigail glanced away from him. Did he not know the truth about Treyford’s sentiments toward Lady Chandos? And if he did, how could he expect her to marry a man who so obviously loved another woman.
“Dear Abigail, I know what is distressing you, but I believe most strongly that a home has been prepared for you, for many years it would seem. You have only to seize it.”
She looked up at him, fully aware that he was referring to Treyford. “You are so certain?”
“I am,” he said. He glanced in Treyford’s direction, and she followed with her own gaze. He was presently speaking with Lady Adling, for the first time in twenty years, a circumstance that prophesied quite happily just how well Mr. Lavant’s plan was proceeding. “Treyford is in love with you, but you must forgive him for not knowing how much.”
Abigail wanted to believe him, but when she watched Trey’s gaze slip to where Lady Chandos was conversing with an animated Mr. Marisfield, when he drew in a deep breath but did not release a corresponding sigh, when his gaze lingered, she simply was not convinced. She wondered if she ever would be.
* * * * * * * * *
After an excellent supper had been enjoyed, past midnight, Treyford guided Marianne about Lavant’s rooms. He had had no particular intention save to enjoy her company and to thank her for her kindness in journeying into Devonshire to come to his aid. They had talked as old friends might, becoming a little lost in past reminiscences, even discussing again the horrors of the night of the infamous duel.
The years had brought more to their friendship, however, than just the sadness of that past event. For one thing, he inquired after her seven children, to which she responded at length about each one. He spoke of his property and the improvements he was making to the soil of his home farm. She listened attentively and made knowledgeable inquiries of her own.
Time passed, and finally, they were alone in the conservatory. He wondered about her sister. “Are you staying with Hetty?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“She cannot be content that you are here.”
“No, she is not.” Her brow grew troubled. “I do not understand her, Trey. If my husband has forgiven you, if we have brought you into our circle of acquaintance in London, how can she not release the past? We quarreled bitterly just before leaving for Oak Hill. I begin to wonder if our sisterly friendship will be able to endure such a terrible disagreement.”
“I have never understood her.” He smiled down into Marianne’s face, remembering how much he had loved her, how his heart still beat strongly for her. “Do you ever wonder, Marianne, what would have happened had she not summoned your husband home that fateful night?”
Marianne’s brow puckered further still. “What do you mean? Hetty did not send word to Chandos of our affair.”
“Of course she did,” Treyford responded, chuckling. “Who else would have betrayed us? Only your sister knew, unless you suspect your servants.”
She shook her head. “Trey, I thought you knew. Do you mean to tell me that all these years you thought Henrietta had written to my husband?”
“Yes, of course. What I do not comprehend is who you think informed him.”
He watched her complexion pale. “I did,” she said simply.
He could not have heard her correctly. “I beg your pardon?”
She straightened her shoulders. “I wrote to him. Trey, I didn’t know what else to do.” Tears rose to her eyes swiftly and trickled down her cheeks. “I loved you, but I could not bear the thought of the divorce and the scandal. I could not elope with you, yet I did not know how to tell you. Besides, the terrible truth was that I knew I could never make you a good wife. Your intelligence exceeds mine so much. Did you never notice how I would often end one of your eloquent philosophical statements by kissing you?”
“Good God, you did, didn’t you?”
She nodded, wiping the tears on her cheeks. “I knew our marriage would be disastrous for so many reasons, so I wrote to Chandos. I never expected him to come home in a towering passion and call you out. Never. Perhaps a brief bout of fisticuffs, but never a duel. And that night, when the pair of you nearly died. Oh, Trey, I blamed only myself, my stupidity, my animal pursuit of you. And then all these years, the way my sister has treated you, no matter how many times I begged her to forgive you, and she would not relent. Oh, Trey, how will you ever forgive me?”
Treyford gentled more tears from off her cheeks.
“We were both behaving stupidly and because of it suffered perhaps just as we should have. But of course I forgive you.”
“I am relieved beyond words to hear you say so.”
He looked down at the face he had loved so dearly and for so long, He realized with a start that at last his passion for her had faded. He no longer loved her to the point of madness. He loved another more than he would ever have believed possible after having loved Marianne.
His thoughts turned to Abigail and to the dozens of conversations they had enjoyed on any number of topics. She had never once silenced him with a kiss, for indeed she had seemed as transported by the discussion as he had been.
He placed his hands on her arms. “So it was you, all along, who brought Chandos from London.”
She nodded. He then drew her into a warm embrace, holding her close for a long, long time. “Oh, Marianne, I wish I had known. How I wish I had known.”
* * * * * * * * *
Abigail stared at the sight of Treyford holding Lady Chandos in his arms ever so tightly and felt a strange numbness steal over her from her head to her toes. She turned around and began walking away unsteadily, touching her hand to the wall every few feet in order to keep her balance.
She had gone in search of Treyford, having taken Mr. Lavant’s opinions quite to heart, intending to ask him if he would like to make up the numbers fo
r the quadrille with Sarah and Mr. Ditchling, along with two other couples.
She had gone from room to room. She had made inquiries. “Yes,” Mr. Clark had said. “I last saw him escorting Lady Chandos in the direction of the entrance hall.” Lord Adling had seen them in the long gallery. Beyond was the conservatory, which was where Abigail had discovered them together, embracing. She understood then that his love for Marianne would never die.
She returned to the ball.
Sixteen
“Blinkers, I vow you are the laziest cat I have ever known,” Abigail said, smiling at the feline presently sprawled atop one of her portmanteaus.
Blinkers stretched a paw at this comment but did not bother to open his eyes.
Abigail glanced around the bedchamber at the various portmanteaus and bandboxes she had been packing all morning. She would be leaving Oak Hill very soon, but her heart was aching. Yet, what else could she do, when Treyford was still in love with Lady Chandos?
Over the past sennight since Sarah’s ball, Abigail had watched the cloud that had shadowed Three Rivers Cross for nearly two decades simply drift away. Lord and Lady Chandos had accepted an invitation to spend several days at Treyford Hall, which resulted in a steady stream of visitors in their honor but with the equal purpose of becoming reacquainted with Treyford.
At long last, the local gentry and nobility were making peace. Abigail had been a frequent guest at the Hall as well, but solely because Mr. Lavant refused to allow her to remain at Oak Hill even though she desired nothing more. Her heart was in a perpetually leaden state, for little during her visits to Treyford Hall had occurred to change her opinion of the true state of Treyford’s heart. Lady Chandos had but to enter a room, and his entire countenance softened appreciably.
More than once he had asked Abigail if something was distressing her, but she always told him, “Nothing to signify.” He may not have been entirely convinced, but his present duties to his sister, to Lord and Lady Chandos, and his visitors prevented any serious discussion. For that she was grateful. What difference could talking about the state of one’s heart make? He loved Lady Chandos, and there was nothing more to be said.
