My Lord Highwayman

by Valerie King

  “A joke?” Burwash’s brows rose. “What the dev—I mean, what the deuce do you mean, miss?”

  “You must ask Lady Waldron. She will tell you all about it.”

  Abigail glanced past Mr. Burwash and saw that Lady Waldron had dragged her husband away from the Bow Street Runner and was hastily explaining the situation to him.

  Abigail smoothed Treyford’s hair and felt the bump rising on the side of his head. To her relief, there was no blood. “My darling,” she whispered. “Please tell me you are well.”

  “I am not,” he returned hoarsely. “What happened?”

  “Your little joke went badly,” she stated loudly.

  “What are you about?”

  She placed her fingers on his lips. “Hush. You must not speak. Mr. Burwash will learn everything he needs to know from Lady Waldron, only do you not think it a very bad joke to be playing upon a Bow Street Runner?”

  He looked up at her and blinked. “A very bad joke,” he stated, understanding dawning on him. “Why did I ever agree to it?”

  “I cannot imagine. Only you have given me the severest fright.” To Mr. Burwash she said, “You must go to Lady Waldron at once. At once, I say. She will explain everything. Oh, dear. Sir Christopher will be so very angry.”

  She met Mr. Burwash’s gaze and saw that he seemed doubtful. “Please, Mr. Burwash. This was all a terrible mistake. You know of Lord Treyford’s fine reputation. Why would he ever engage in such a ridiculous activity except that it was a joke?”

  “I must confess, what you say makes a great deal of sense.” He excused himself and crossed the road to Lady Waldron.

  Treyford moaned and tried to rise, but Abigail gentled him back onto her lap. “You must lie still,” she soothed. “You have suffered a blow to the head with a very hard club.”

  “Oh,” he murmured, peering up at her, squinting his eyes. “So tell me what it is I am supposed to have done.”

  “You were, er, pretending to rob Sir Christopher’s coach, just as a joke, mind, and Mr. Burwash threw a well-aimed club at your head, knocking you from your saddle. He did not know that you were funning with Sir Christopher, but Lady Waldron is explaining the whole of it to him now.”

  He rolled his head toward the trio standing near Mr. Lavant’s coach. “Good God. Is Burwash wearing a gown?”

  “Yes, it was part of the trap.”

  He chuckled. “I might have kissed him had he not thrown that club at me. So tell me what is going forward. How is it you arrived with Lady Waldron?”

  In a very quiet voice, she related her earlier conversation with Lady Waldron, and because she’d been given permission, she told him of Lady Waldron’s unfortunate sentiments for the man reclining on her lap.

  “I cannot credit it is true,” he whispered, looking up at her. “You say she admitted to having loved me these many years and more?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good God,” he murmured.

  “Indeed.”

  “It never occurred to me,” he said. “Never. How is that possible?”

  “At the time, you were greatly in love with another woman. How could you have noticed anyone else?”

  “What you say is true,” he stated, sighing.

  Abigail’s heart was nearly breaking. She felt she had spoken her own situation so clearly that she could hardly bear it.

  “Do you think Burwash will believe this Banbury tale?”

  “I desperately hope so, Trey, else you will see Tyburn Tree before much longer.”

  “I was a fool not to have comprehended that this was a trap.”

  “You certainly were,” she agreed emphatically. “But then Lady Waldron had treated your sister so abominably, well, what else could you have done?”

  “Yes. I was distraught that Hetty would have attacked my sister—in public—and she, in such ill health.”

  “Lady Waldron has much to account for, there can be no two opinions on that score. However, she is truly repentant and begs you will see your way to forgiving her. I know her mind. She is aggrieved for her conduct and wishes to make amends.”

  “How magnanimous of her,” he responded tartly.

  “Might I remind you, Lord Treyford, that she was not the one to don a highwayman’s disguise and to rob any number of persons of a great deal of money. You were. This was your choice and presently she is saving your life. So a little less sarcasm, sir, and a little more gratitude.”

  He smiled ruefully. “I beg your pardon, Abigail. There can be nothing gained by sustaining this animosity even a second longer.”

  Lady Waldron, Sir Christopher, and Mr. Burwash approached them at this moment. Lady Waldron actually dropped to her knees in her expensive silk gown with Burwash following behind.

  “I do apologize, Lord Treyford,” she said easily. “Somehow I forgot to tell Sir Christopher that you would be taking the place of our ridiculous highwayman and that it was to be a great joke.”

  “Treyford,” Burwash said, approaching him in an equally fine gown. “I say, I am that sorry about clubbing you. I hope you do not mean to hold it against me. Only I will tell you what I told Sir Christopher—such pranks are better left to schoolchildren.”

  “You are absolutely right, of course,” Treyford said, sitting up. “And how can I possibly hold anything against you when you knew nothing of what was going forward? If anything, I am in your debt. Perhaps you will come to Treyford Hall and we’ll enjoy that fencing match. What do you say?”

  Mr. Burwash’s chest swelled. “Why, I should like it above all things, as you very well know.”

  When the day and the hour were arranged, Mr. Burwash turned to Sir Christopher. “I suppose there is only one last matter to settle—will you have further need of my services?”

  “No” was the consensus, and that spoken far too quickly.

  Mr. Burwash laughed. “Well, at least the orphanage is getting built despite all these childish antics.”

  “Yes,” Treyford said. “And we have learned something else as well.”

  All eyes turned to him. He shrugged. “Burwash looks quite striking in blue.”

  Seventeen

  The following day, Abigail paced in front of the drawing room fireplace, awaiting the return of Mr. Lavant, Treyford, and Mr. Ditchling from Sir Christopher’s home. The gentlemen had been gone nearly five hours.

  “You will wear out the carpet,” Sarah called to her with a smile.

  “They should have returned long since,” she answered fretfully.

  “Do you truly fear there will not be a reconciliation?”

  She stopped in her pacing and turned toward Sarah, who was sitting at the end of the sofa, a footstool beneath her feet. Her former pupil was presently plying her needle on a sampler of red roses.

  Abigail considered her question. “No, I suppose I do not. However, I do wish I had been allowed to attend.”

  “You would only have distracted the gentlemen from the business at hand. I have even seen Sir Christopher stare at you wonderingly.”

  “Sir Christopher?” Abigail said, shocked.

  Sarah settled her embroidery hoop on her lap and lifted her gaze to Abigail. “He is a man like all the others. Why would he not gape at you on occasion, since you are prettier than even Aphrodite.”

  Blinkers, who had been watching Abigail from a reclining position on the hearth, meowed suddenly. “There, you see.” Sarah said. “Even Blinkers agrees with me.”

  Abigail might have set about telling Sarah she was speaking utter nonsense, but at that moment, she heard the sound she had been long awaiting. “You are much mistaken.” she said, setting off at a run toward the windows. “Blinkers was merely heralding the arrival of your father and Lord Treyford.”

  “And Mr. Ditchling,” Sarah called out happily.

  Abigail, whose attention was entirely caught by the sight of the elegant black-and-maroon coach, as well as the four matched grays, could not help but recognize the deeply contented sound in Sarah’s voice. She
turned back over her shoulder and smiled. “You love him very much.”.

  Sarah twisted in her seat that she might see Abigail better. “With all my heart and then a little bit more,” she responded, sighing.

  Abigail held her gaze for a moment, then with a sigh of her own, turned to watch the gentlemen descend the carriage. She suspected they would all be somewhat fatigued, since the journey would have required nearly an hour in each direction and the roads this far from London were not as well maintained as those closer to the metropolis.

  Mr. Ditchling shook out his long legs and turned to help Mr. Lavant from the coach. She could hear her former employer bellow his insistence he had no need of Mr. Ditchling’s arm, but he took hold of it anyway. Lastly, Treyford descended the coach, his expression solemn.

  As they moved toward the door, she left her station by the window. She found that Sarah was standing by the bell pull. “I daresay they will be in need of some refreshment,” she explained.

  Abigail nodded. “Indeed, they will.”

  An hour later in the conservatory, when the gentlemen had enjoyed a platter of fresh fruit, wedges of cheese, and tankards of ale, Mr. Ditchling took Sarah into the rose garden and soon afterward the grove beyond the hedge.

  “She will be very happy,” Mr. Lavant said.

  “Yes, she will,” Abigail agreed.

  Treyford settled his tankard on the table and added, “Ditchling was wise to wait for her, I think.”

  “I could not ask for a finer son-in-law,” Lavant stated.

  Abigail, who had been as patient as she could manage, finally opened the subject. “Treyford, I beg you will tell me all that happened. I have been in the severest anxiety since the three of you quit Oak Hill this morning.”

  “We discussed everything,” he said, leaning back in his chair. His expression seemed almost grim. “You were right. Hetty confessed she had loved me all these years but at the same time had been unable to rid herself of her disappointment that I had never even noticed her. Good God. I still cannot comprehend how such a love could transform into something so mean-spirited, so cruel.”

  Abigail watched him closely. He did not seem to be surprised that Lady Waldron had loved him for two decades, only that her love had become twisted and had resulted in his separation from Three Rivers Cross society. She realized, of course, that Treyford knew very well what it was to love for eons. She repressed a sigh. “What of Sir Christopher and the funds you stole from him and from the others?”

  Lavant interjected. “He was magnanimous. I vow I was quite astounded, for I never thought he could show so much leniency, even forgiveness. I believe his wife spoke truthfully to him last night, and it would seem something quite wonderful has been settled between them. Is that your impression, Trey?”

  Treyford nodded. “I believe so. I thought at times, in our very long conversation, there was even a tenderness between Sir Christopher and his wife. He released me from all the stolen funds, including those of his neighbors. He said he would repay whatever was taken from them, since he felt solely responsible for setting the neighborhood against Mr. Clark’s project.”

  “Well. He certainly can afford it,” Lavant barked. “The deuced fellow has more money than God.”

  Abigail could not help but smile. Still, she felt compelled to say, “This was exceedingly generous of him, whether wealthy or not.”

  “It was,” Treyford agreed. “He also gave me the packet of two thousand pounds used in his trap yesterday. He said he wants the orphanage completed, the sooner the better.”

  “Oh, that is wonderful,” Abigail said. “Mr. Clark will be ecstatic.”

  “That he will,” Lavant said, “but not less so than by the fact that Treyford will now be received everywhere and must no longer risk his neck playing at Robin Hood.”

  “It would seem everything is settled at long last,” Abigail said, smiling.

  Treyford nodded. “Yes, at long last.” He smiled tenderly upon her, which caused her heart to skip several beats. Oh, how she loved him. If only she had never seen that same smile bestowed on Lady Chandos, how different this moment would be.

  She strove to keep her composure. “How is your head?” she queried. “Does it ache very much?”

  He touched the bump on the side of his head, which was hidden entirely by his thick black hair. “Only a very little. I feel I was most fortunate.”

  “And you are not dizzy?”

  “No, not a bit.”

  Lavant drained his tankard and then said, “So, when do you mean to fence with Burwash? By God, you were a lucky man. That fellow had trumped you, and yet you escaped with some ridiculous tale about playing a joke on Sir Christopher.”

  “I was fortunate, indeed, but I owe everything to Abigail. Everything.” He smiled softly at her once more, then answered Lavant’s original question. “As to the fencing match, we have agreed on Tuesday. Should you like to observe the spectacle?”

  “Of course. Why not make a picnic of it. You ought to invite the Waldrons as well. Prove to our neighbors that the war is over.”

  “An excellent notion,” he agreed.

  “Will Lord and Lady Chandos still be with you?”

  “They are leaving tomorrow,” he said wistfully.

  Abigail could not fail to note the sad expression on his face, a circumstance that served to fix in her mind her own intention of leaving before the picnic on Tuesday.

  * * * * * * * * *

  On Monday evening, after dinner, Sarah excused herself to speak with Mrs. Nympton about her wedding plans, and Abigail was left in the drawing room with Mr. Lavant. The hour was but seven, and she had plenty of time to complete her final packing before leaving Oak Hill at nine o’clock. She had already arranged with Stockleigh for the carriage, asking him not to tell Mr. Lavant of her plans.

  “I think tonight, instead of tea, you ought to have a glass of brandy. Would that please you, for I must say you seem a trifle nervous this evening?”

  “Yes, a glass of brandy would be welcome.”

  He poured out two snifters and after handing her one of them took up a seat in a wing chair opposite her. He began sipping his brandy and watching her closely over the rim of the large round glass.

  Abigail felt herself tremble inside. For such an obnoxious creature, Mr. Lavant was amazingly perceptive, and she began to fear that he suspected her present course.

  After what seemed an eternity, he finally asked, “Were you even going to say good-bye?”

  She drew in a sharp breath. “How did you know?”

  “Do you think I have so little intelligence? I read the signs in your face all through dinner. You are not generally given to a fit of the nerves as you were tonight. Why, you even knocked over your glass of claret.”

  “So, Stockleigh did not tell you that I had ordered your coach for nine o’clock.”

  Mr. Lavant barked his laughter. “Of course he told me. Do you think he wishes you to leave Three Rivers Cross? Both us know you suit Treyford to perfection. My intention right now is to find some manner of persuading you to stay.”

  Abigail took a sip of her brandy. “You have only to tell me that he is not still in love with Lady Chandos and I will stay.”

  At that, Mr. Lavant sighed heavily.

  She could only shake her head. “What? Did you think I had so little intelligence? I had but to see them once together to perceive the state of his heart. She is still the reason he is as yet unwed, and I will not marry a man who cannot love me because his heart is given elsewhere.”

  “Oh, damn and blast,” he cried.

  Abigail finished her brandy and rose to her feet. “I intend to return in three weeks, for Sarah’s wedding, I will promise you that much. But I am leaving tonight.”

  Mr. Lavant rose to face her as well. “And there is nothing I can say that would persuade you to remain?”

  “Nothing. I know when to leave, Mr. Lavant. Perhaps it may seem like running away, but even you cannot give me the answer my e
ntire being longs for more than anything else in the world.”

  “You are right on that score. I cannot give you that answer.”

  Abigail placed her hand on his shoulder, and standing on tiptoe, leaned forward to place a kiss on his cheek. She then removed to her bedchamber to complete the packing of her bandboxes and portmanteaus.

  A half-hour later, while she was rolling her last pair of silk stockings, Sarah scratched on her door and begged admittance.

  “Of course you may come in,” she called out.

  Sarah entered the room, her cheeks tear-stained. “So it is true,” she said sadly as she glanced about the chamber at the numerous baggages flung open and gaping at the ceiling. “Yes, my dear, it is true. My work here is finished. Have you spoken with your papa, then?”

  “Yes, he told me everything. I was never more shocked nor more sad. I suppose I had hoped you would stay in our vale forever.”

  At that, Abigail closed the lid of the bandbox she had just completed packing and held her arms out to the young woman soon to be wed. Sarah entered her embrace readily and hugged her strongly in return, several sobs shaking her.

  “I am indebted to you for so much,” Sarah said. “You’ve no idea.”

  “Oh, I have a notion or two. From the very first day of my arrival, I knew you were in love with a man named Henry.”

  Sarah gasped faintly. “But how could you have known that?”

  Abigail chuckled and released her pupil. “You named your mouse Henry and spoke to him in the gentlest of tones. It was not a very great stretch to divine your true sentiments.”

  “I shall miss you so very much, Miss Chailey. Papa said you promised to return for my wedding.”

  “And so I shall.”

  “Where do you intend to go? Will you write to me and let me know where you are, always, that I might correspond with you, for the very thought of not having you in my world, even through letters, weighs my heart so fiercely that I vow I would tumble into a decline did I not hear from you often.”

  “I feel exactly the same, so you have made me very happy just now. As for where I intend to go, my destination is Bath. I shall sojourn there for a time before seeking my next post, and of course I shall write to you. I am depending upon your being a very faithful correspondent.”