The Duchess and the Highwayman

by Beverley Oakley

  From the doorway, Phoebe stared at the scene while tears pricked her eyelids. Mr Redding loved and respected his sister, but Phoebe was nothing but a low-born creature in his eyes. She half turned, torn between defending herself and quietly slipping away. She thought Mr Redding was falling in love with her, but now she realized that again, his feelings were fueled by lust and nothing more sincere than that. Why had she deluded herself it was anything else? No man had ever been concerned over her feelings. No man had ever held her hand or crooned words of comfort to her. She’d been alone since the day she’d been born.

  Her throat felt swollen, and she rubbed the back of her hand across her eyes. She knew she was jealous. Mr Redding had excited her, sent her pulses racing, made her body feel like it was a temple.

  But that’s all she was to him: a body, young, and to his liking. Convenient. He didn’t care about her.

  Wishing she had a handkerchief, she left the room. What future did she have if it depended solely on bringing pleasure to the men prepared to pay for it? That had been the truth when she was offered to Ulrick in marriage. At least, then, she’d been protected in part by birth and respectability.

  Now she had not even these.

  11

  Walking in the back garden by the cherry tree later that afternoon, Phoebe was surprised to hear her name called. She’d avoided remaining indoors to escape the dreadful prospect of bumping into Miss Redding and inciting the brother’s ire. In fact, Phoebe’s ire toward Mr Redding was so great she wasn’t sure she’d know how to address him when the time came.

  Turning, she saw Miss Redding standing on the garden path that led into the orchard where Phoebe had been whiling away her time. “Hugh says I’m not to speak to you, but it wasn’t you who upset me.” Miss Redding came immediately to the point as she joined Phoebe. “Shall we walk?” Unsmiling, she indicated the line of trees.

  Phoebe shrugged. “If you wish.”

  “It was your talk of Mr Wentworth.” Miss Redding looked proud and haughty as she said his name, though it wasn’t long before the mask slipped and she appeared as little more than a diffident schoolgirl. “I’m supposed to avoid even the mention of his name in my brother’s company because I’ve so shamed him, but I think it might be rather a relief to speak to you since you knew Mr Wentworth on account of his visits to Blinley Manor where you worked.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Don’t worry, I shan’t say a word. Hugh says you’re in danger because of what happened there but not to bring up the subject. He says I should just let Mr Wentworth’s memory fade away until he’s not even a shadow in our lives.”

  “So you’re defying your brother just by talking to me? Aren’t you afraid he’ll look out of the window and see us?”

  “Hugh’s just ridden into the village, so he won’t be back for a while.”

  Phoebe observed the determined dark eyes that were in such contrast with her trembling mouth. “Mrs Withins will tell him if she sees us,” Phoebe warned, walking on a little. “And you know your brother will be very angry.” Righteous indignation made her tremble. How could she ever have found her heart engaged by a man who thought so little of her?

  “Well, I don’t think I’ve ever associated with a woman like you…” Miss Redding’s voice trailed off as she followed Phoebe out of line of sight of the windows, doubling back so they were within the shelter of a large hedge.

  Phoebe swung around, one eyebrow raised. “A woman like me?” she repeated. “I thought your association with Mr Wentworth made you a woman just like me.”

  Miss Redding gasped. “How dare my brother confide to you so much about me. You’ve…beguiled him. You’re his mistress, aren’t you? That’s why I mustn’t talk to you.” Trembling, she muttered furiously, “I hope his trust is not misplaced, and that you won’t reveal anything that might damage my reputation.”

  Phoebe relented a little in her anger toward Mr Redding when she considered that he had trusted her to such an extent. Her ire toward Miss Redding also abated as she considered how young the girl was. Surely she’d have been still in the schoolroom when she’d been so easily led and Phoebe, more than anyone, knew how vulnerable she must have been to Wentworth’s charm.

  Just as she was about to say something ameliorating, Miss Redding raised her head. “Our situations couldn’t be more different though, so you must understand my brother wanting to protect me from you. I succumbed to the charms of a gentleman because of my foolish heart, whereas you are forced to do so—”

  “Forced to do so?” Phoebe’s sympathy drained away. “Are we talking about Mr Wentworth?”

  Miss Redding looked confused for a second before her brow cleared. “I was talking about you and my brother. Yes, I was disgraced through my association with Mr Wentworth because I lost my heart…” she took a breath, adding, “…however, your association with my brother is through pecuniary necessity.” She put her hand up to stay Phoebe’s protest. “I’m not condemning you, but you can’t tell me you love my brother when you’ve only just met him and it’s clear you have nowhere else to go.”

  Phoebe resisted the urge to slap her. “You are more straight-talking than you look, Miss Redding,” she murmured at last.

  “I pride myself on speaking the truth as I see it.” Miss Redding looked disgustingly virtuous. “I also love my brother very dearly. He’s been both father and mother to me since the early death of my parents. But I can see he’s lonely, and that you coming into his life in such a manner has made him susceptible to…what you might offer. I’m sure it’s a very convenient arrangement and, of course, I quite understand his concerns that I should not associate with you—”

  “Except that I might suggest your association with Mr Wentworth has blurred those lines between us which you suggest preclude a certain leveling in our stations,” Phoebe said hotly. Who did this young woman think she was, taking the moral high ground like this?

  To her astonishment, Miss Redding promptly burst into tears. Again.

  Phoebe shook her head as the girl buried her face in her hands, rocking her shoulders while the green feather of her bonnet threatened to snag on the spikes of the hedge.

  “Stop behaving like a sniveling infant,” Phoebe muttered, putting out her hand awkwardly and then withdrawing it. “First you accost me, and then you insult me and say you’re not supposed to be speaking to me. I think it’s time to bid you good day, Miss Redding, before your brother or Mrs Withins sees us and accuses me once again of upsetting you.”

  Miss Redding looked up at her through reddened eyelids. “Don’t go,” she pleaded. “I know I was rude even though there’s truth in what I say—you surely must admit it. But my situation is so much worse than yours. I have lost everything!”

  “Your virtue, which you so foolishly offered?”

  Instead of another angry outburst, Miss Redding merely nodded sadly. “My virtue…and then…” she took a deep breath “…that which I cannot speak of. So much worse. And now my will to live.” She began to cry again, but this time with such heartrending sobs that Phoebe was moved.

  Drawing Miss Redding deeper into the garden where there was no chance of being observed, she asked, “There was a child?”

  “Yes…no, it must never be spoken of!” Ada heaved in another breath and rested her head against the tree trunk behind her, her eyes closed as tears coursed down her cheeks. “I was not supposed to know it lived, but the wet nurse who was going to take little Emily away became ill and…and there was no one to nurse it but me for three days. I grew attached, realized I couldn’t live without my child, that I’d sacrifice everything. But Hugh said my reputation would not survive, and that without that, I might as well be dead.” She dropped her hands and stared at the sky and Phoebe, who’d tried so desperately for a child for so many years, felt a deep and primal tug for this foolish, deluded schoolgirl who, like her, had thought she was in love with Wentworth.

  “Hugh took your child away?”

  “He arranged it, yes.” Miss Reddi
ng stared at her feet, before glancing up. “What could he do but find a good home for her? I am not yet twenty and must find a husband for we are not wealthy, and he is concerned about my future. With a child, that would of course not be possible, and not only would I be socially ostracized, but Emily would be too. But oh, sometimes I wish I were dead.”

  Phoebe frowned. Ada looked even younger with her face pink and puffed from crying. She did a quick mental calculation. So Ada had been Wentworth’s plaything when he’d been playing with his cousin’s wife: Phoebe. No doubt he nightly congratulated himself on his prowess in luring the innocent child into his bed—or wherever the deed was done—and then foisting a child on her, believing it wouldn’t be long before he’d impregnate Phoebe with the heir who would give him the keys to Blinley Manor. Oh, how she loathed him.

  “When was your child born?”

  “Eight months and three days ago. Hugh won’t tell me where Emily is, except to say that she’s with a family who loves her and not in the Foundling Home, which was my greatest fear.” The girl slanted a look at Phoebe. “Hugh said you were good at the voice and mannerisms of a lady. That you were Lady Cavanaugh’s lady’s maid. You’d have seen Mr Wentworth often, then. I wonder if you ever heard him mention me.”

  “Oh, I barely saw Mr Wentworth,” Phoebe said quickly. “I came to work for my mistress only a short while ago. Of course, I heard her speak of him, and I know the ill he did her, but I know nothing about him other than that.” No, the last thing Phoebe wanted was to be quizzed, or inadvertently reveal something she ought not to about her own shameful past with the odious creature who had done so much harm to both her and Miss Redding.

  Miss Redding looked disappointed. “I loved him, you know,” she whispered, plucking a leaf from the tree against which she rested. “I never would have done what I did had he not told me he would marry me as soon as he could extricate himself from a certain difficulty—a woman who had a hold on him, he said, and whom he had to kindly let down since they’d known one another for many years. He said he’d obtain a special licence and we would elope.”

  Phoebe bridled. Was this the way he spoke about her? She was about to speak when Miss Wentworth said, studying her fingernails, “I thought he was talking about Lady Cavanaugh but…” she hiccupped “…I later learned it was much worse than that, and that’s why there’s no point in my brother thinking he can force Wentworth to do the honorable thing.”

  At Phoebe’s puzzled look, Miss Redding replied, “Wentworth is married already.”

  A sudden rushing in Phoebe’s ears made her grip an overhanging tree branch to steady herself. “Married?” She shook her head. “You can’t be right. I knew nothing… ” She corrected herself, quickly. “I’m sure my mistress knew nothing. Why, she hoped to marry him, you know, because it was her dying husband’s wish that she keep the estate in safe hands. You know Lord Cavanaugh’s heir was an imbecile. Yes, I speak frankly to you for you have spoken so frankly to me. My mistress was at the mercy of her husband’s desire for her to…” She floundered. She couldn’t say marry when that made no sense, and she could hardly admit the truth of Ulrick’s sordid little plan—which Phoebe went along with so willingly she was now ashamed to admit—to this chit of a girl.

  Ada took this in with a small frown, but without puzzling it out too much she shook her head. “Mr Wentworth married a woman some years ago, only he’s kept it a secret, and he’s been paying her to keep silent. I wonder if she’ll keep silent now he’s inheriting Lord Cavanaugh’s estate and title. What woman wouldn’t want to be a duchess and live on an estate attended by hundreds of servants?”

  Phoebe could think of one, but instead she asked, “Are you sure Mr Wentworth is married?” She simply couldn’t reconcile this piece of news. “With all due respect, my mistress would have known this. You surely can’t know for certain. He’d never have told you such a thing, especially if he’s paying his true wife to keep silent, as you said.”

  “His manservant took a liking to me. He told me Mr Wentworth was already married, and made me promise I must not ever reveal that he’d told me, or else he’d lose his job and a lot more besides. He was frightened, I see now, but he was a decent man and no doubt he could see that Mr Wentworth had designs on me that could not be honorably followed through.” Miss Redding managed a wan smile.

  “You knew Collins? Goodness, you must have…”

  “Gone often to Mr Wentworth’s lodgings? Yes.” Miss Redding sighed. “I was still at Miss Wilkins Seminary in Kensington when I met him after I dropped my handkerchief on the pavement, and he seized it up and returned it to me. I remember the look we shared and the admiration on his face before I received a note a few minutes later asking me to meet him.”

  Phoebe stared. “Why, that must have been years ago.”

  “Three years ago. He was mad for me, and I was mad for him. He attended an Assembly near where I lived so he could meet my brother but the meeting didn’t go well, he said. He told me he’d need more time to win Hugh over before we could be wed. Yes, I was flattered by his attentions—”

  “But you were a schoolgirl!”

  “But soon I’d be out and looking for a husband. I was a foolish child who thought I’d beat all my schoolmates to the altar. But look what happened to me? I was led like a lamb to my fate. And now I wish I were dead.”

  “Wouldn’t you rather you had your revenge on Mr Wentworth?”

  She’d thought that Miss Redding, a girl of such fire and vulnerability, would either return a vigorous yes or burst into tears once more. Instead, Ada said, rather listlessly, “If it could be done, I would like to see Mr Wentworth brought down, though once I’d have given my life for him.”

  “Just as you would happily sacrifice it now for the unhappiness he’s caused you.”

  Miss Redding shrugged again. “It can’t be done. Mr Wentworth is too cunning. My brother can’t touch him. No one can. He’s now Lord Cavanaugh, and he’s bent on apprehending Lady Cavanaugh, or should I say, the widowed Lady Cavanaugh who killed her husband, though no doubt he’s secretly pleased to have his cousin dead else he’d not be enjoying his title and estate.”

  It was hard for Phoebe to listen to this. “Lady Cavanaugh was my mistress, and she did not murder her husband,” she said hotly. “He forced her hand around the paper knife he then drove into his heart.”

  Miss Redding sent her a level look. “How do you know this?”

  “I saw it.”

  “And Mr Wentworth observed that you’d seen it?”

  “Yes, and that’s why he’ll kill me if he finds me.

  “So you escaped, fearing your life was in danger, and my brother picked you up on the road?”

  Phoebe nodded. “That’s right. Just as I told you earlier. Now my greatest wish is to see my mistress exonerated, which in turn will mean I am safe in my own right.” She looked meaningfully at Miss Redding. “And you wish to see Mr Wentworth exposed. Not for what he did to you as that would be ruinous to you, but to ensure the world knows he’s a married man with a wife he chooses not to acknowledge.” She shook her head, her mind whirling. All these years Phoebe had been consorting with this man she’d thought loved her, when, in fact, he was married.

  “We must find his wife,” she said, with rising conviction. “That is the only way. We must find out who she is and where she lives.”

  All Phoebe’s earlier anger, uncertainty, and despair were swept away by this newfound information. At last, she had the means to expose Wentworth for the scoundrel he really was.

  For if Wentworth were keeping a wife secret, who knew what other secrets he was guarding at the cost of his newfound position?

  12

  Hugh was feeling decidedly guilty when he stopped to greet Phoebe under a pear tree, having seen her alone as he’d brought his horse up the road by the bend near the river on his return from the village. She was wearing the new dress she’d just bought. It was simple and becoming, but when he drew closer and could see
the signs of wear proclaiming it was so obviously secondhand, he felt a pang of remorse for the cavalier way he’d dismissed her when his sister had arrived earlier than expected.

  He glanced about him and was glad to see no sign of Ada. No doubt she was devouring her romance novel by that Jane Austen woman she seemed so infatuated with. If Hugh took Phoebe into the woods, Ada would not miss him if he were gone another twenty minutes.

  The need to atone was very strong.

  “I’m sorry for this morning, Phoebe,” he said when he drew level, leaning down from the saddle and stroking her cheek. “I slighted you and that was wrong.” He smiled, indicating the thickening forest on the other side of the hedge with a look. “Come with me?”

  She took a step back at his approach, jutted out her chin and ran her hands down her dress. “I suppose you feel that my accompanying you to the woods is the least you deserve in view of your generosity.”

  His dismounted, taking her hands, feeling the cad he knew he was.

  “I was too quick to say the things I did in front of my sister and, it’s true, I’m too eager to enjoy your company now that I see you on your own.” He hoped his smile conveyed the forgiveness he craved. “You drive me wild with desire, Phoebe.”

  The look in her eye did not soften. “You were indeed quick to remind me of my inferior station, sir, and you are very quick to reinforce the gratitude you expect from me.”

  “Phoebe, I truly am sorry.” And he was. “I was a boor. I admit it. A thoughtless boor.”

  “But now you think your honeyed words can make everything all right. I’m not good enough to be in the same room with your sister, but you can have me at will. It’s true you’ve bought me dresses and given me food to eat in return for what I’ve given you. But…what security do I have?”