An Unconventional Courtship

by Dorothy Mack

  I remain, sir,

  Your obedient servant,

  Cleone Latham

  Relief was the emotion uppermost in Jason’s mind when he folded this businesslike communication from his beloved and put it carefully away in an inner pocket of his brown coat. She might not love him yet, but it was good to know that she trusted him and considered him enough of a friend to ask his assistance. He lost no time in exiting through the French doors and losing himself in the shrubbery, where he made up his mind to stay out of sight until he could be sure of an unaccompanied trip to the peach orchard.

  When Cleone arrived in the orchard with a basket over her arm, she thought at first that she was alone. She had been scanning the rows of trees as she approached without detecting any signs of movement, human or otherwise. Her heart sank under the weight of her disappointment. Lord Altern had been her last hope to avoid relating the story of Philip’s misdeeds to his grandfather. Mechanically, she began to pick the ripened fruit from the trees, hardly aware of her actions as she rehearsed the words she would use to soften the blow for her great-uncle.

  “Here is a beauty just ripe for picking,” said a quizzical voice at her side.

  Cleone jumped in surprise, her startled glance moving from dark-grey eyes regarding her steadily to the perfect peach in his extended hand. “Lord Altern, you startled me! I did not see you among the trees.”

  “You did stress the private nature of the subject you wished to discuss,” he reminded her gently as he guided her farther away from the house with a hand under her elbow.

  “Yes, I — I know I did.” For a moment, Cleone could not bring herself to parade the family’s dirty linen before one who was essentially a stranger. She had turned to him in desperation, and a tinge of that emotion was in her voice now as she apologized. “I should never have involved you in this. I don’t even know how to begin to tell you. Perhaps I should not —”

  “Would your young cousin’s incipient career as a highwayman have some bearing on the matter you wished to discuss?”

  Jason had thought to help her by plunging into the subject directly, but he regretted his outspokenness as the girl beside him turned deathly pale. Wounded brown eyes filmed over with tears, and she trembled so violently that he removed the fruit basket from her arm and took her upper arms into his grasp to steady her. She seemed not to notice.

  “You know?” The hoarse whisper went straight to Jason’s heart.

  “Yes, my dear. At least, I suspected, but I swear to you that no one else has any inkling. Won’t you tell me the whole story? For instance, how do you come to know of this? Did Henley tell you he had taken to the high toby?”

  “Of course not,” she exclaimed indignantly. “Nor has he!” At the lift of one black brow, she added defensively, “It is all because of this awful debt. I wanted him to tell his grandfather, but he was afraid. And then there was the ring, the Henley emerald. He pledged it and told my uncle it was being made smaller and it would be ready this week and —”

  “Whoa!” Lord Altern removed his hands from her arms and, placing one cold little hand on his arm, covered it with his own warm one. “Come, let us stroll about this peaceful grove and you shall tell me the whole story right from the beginning, and don’t leave anything out.”

  Miss Latham, who had managed a large household and a feckless family’s affairs for years, meekly submitted to Lord Altern’s orders and was able to give him a quite rational account of Philip’s troubles over the next five minutes. He did not interrupt once, only saying without heat at the end of her recital, “Young fool.”

  “Philip is not dishonest, sir,” Cleone assured him earnestly. “It is just that he lives in dread of his grandfather’s wrath and could not bring himself to confess his gambling loss. For the rest — this robbery business — I feel he is not really responsible; he isn’t seeing the whole picture clearly.”

  Jason prudently refrained from commenting on this attempt at rationalization. “He never told you the name of the man to whom he owes this vast sum?”

  “No, but I should think it must be this Lord Carberry, do not you? It explains why he sent Musgrove to London to find out exactly when Lord Carberry intended to set out for Brighton. It also explains the error in holding up your coach last week.”

  “No doubt you are correct. I could wish, however, that it were someone other than Carberry with whom he had these dealings.”

  “Do you know the man?”

  “I know of him. He’s only a few years older than Henley, newly come into a marquessate through the back door. Two cousins ahead of him were killed in the war in Spain. The word is that he’s very much impressed with his new honours and inclined to be rather high in the instep. Not someone who could be prevailed upon to keep something of this nature quiet if he found out the truth of the matter.”

  Cleone’s worried eyes sought his thoughtful ones. “Then you advise me to tell my great-uncle so he may try to prevent Philip from going through with this?”

  “Good heavens, no! That’s the last thing I’d advise. Will you trust me to handle this for you?”

  “Do you think you can find Philip and stop him?” Cleone asked eagerly. “I had thought of taking out a horse myself to search for him when he didn’t appear at lunch, but that course seemed to present so many difficulties that I could not deem it likely to succeed.”

  “Thank goodness for second thoughts,” Lord Altern said grimly. “I only hope Henley is indulging in some at this moment. I shall need you to explain my absence for the next few hours, so that no one here becomes alarmed. Can you think of something to tell them?”

  “You have been called away suddenly.”

  “Who called me? And how to explain my reappearance later? No, we must do better than that.”

  “Are you planning to take your groom with you?”

  “Yes, I’ll need him.” Cleone’s lips were pursed unconsciously while she considered the situation, and Jason marvelled that she could be so close and remain unaware of his burning desire to pull her into his arms and kiss those tempting lips until they responded to his ardour.

  “I have it!” Now her mouth curved in soft triumph. “Your groom is ill or injured and you must take him to a doctor.”

  “Why wouldn’t I send someone to fetch the local doctor?”

  “Because you do not trust a country practitioner. You intend to ride to Brighton to consult the Prince Regent’s physician.”

  At last some spark of animation had appeared in the velvety brown eyes. His own laughed back at her. “I am a very conscientious employer, am I not?”

  “Of course. Your dependents’ wellbeing is your responsibility.” She was serious again, and Jason stepped back a half-pace to a safer distance. Miss Cleone Latham’s charm was dangerously addictive.

  He was very glad he had put some space between them when they were hailed a second later by Emerald and Cecily.

  “What are you two doing lurking among the trees?”

  The gay challenge came from Cecily, but Emerald’s snapping green eyes were demanding an answer.

  “I came out to get some peaches for Cook,” Cleone replied with aplomb.

  “No doubt you lost your basket?” Emerald observed sweetly.

  “No, it is right here on the ground where Miss Latham put it when I told her the bad news.” Lord Altern had been doing some quick thinking, and he was ready for the chorus of questions as he retrieved Cleone’s basket for her.

  “I have just learned that my groom has had an accident. There is a sliver of wood in his eye that I cannot remove. I saw Miss Latham’s dress through the trees and hurried over to tell her that I will be taking Timkins into Brighton to see a doctor immediately. I have begged her to make my excuses for dinner.”

  “But why must you go all the way into Brighton,” asked Cecily, wide-eyed, “when Dr. Finch could be here inside the hour?”

  “Ah, no, I would not dare trust a country doctor when it concerns the eye.” Jason contrived a reali
stic shudder and bade the ladies a hasty adieu, setting off in the direction of the house at a near run before anyone thought to question the wisdom of subjecting an injured eye to a horseback ride of a dozen or so miles.

  He got away in the next few minutes without having to explain himself to anyone else. As he and Timkins rode off in the direction of the Brighton Road, Jason had leisure to focus on what he had committed himself to do. These thoughts brought him little comfort. For want of any better plan, he headed back to the spot where his own coach had been held up, though he trusted that even young Henley, jingle-brained though he undoubtedly was, would not launch his second venture from the same spot.

  They cut across country and into the stand of beeches where the masked robbers had fled a week ago. Jason had not expected to find anyone here, for they would have had ample warning of his approach, but he instructed Timkins to keep a sharp eye out for signs of horses having been tethered in the area. The results were negative, and now they were faced with a decision of whether to search first in the direction of Brighton or back toward London.

  “I have not been to Brighton above twice in my life, Timkins. Would you say there are many areas like this where highwaymen could observe the road from a place of concealment?”

  “For the next few miles perhaps, sir, but only a looby would strike at the outskirts of a city with the greater possibility of traffic on the road.”

  “Then let’s start searching in that direction for a short distance and then head back north as far as need be. At least it’s Sunday. There should be very few travellers on the road to remember us.”

  With several detours to search wooded areas that could provide protection from which to launch an attack, it took a couple of hours to cover the next three or four miles toward Brighton. Jason glanced at his pocket watch in some concern when he and Timkins started back along the road in the direction of London. The horses were pleased to maintain a brisk canter while their riders discussed the next step. So far they had met only a few riders and two carriages, all of which were clearly local in origin. It was already dinnertime, though the sun would not be setting for a couple of hours yet.

  “It would be helpful to know what time Carberry actually left London,” Jason remarked some time later as they were about to come back in sight of the place where his coach had been stopped, “but Musgrove left town at dawn with no more definite information than a scheduled afternoon departure. He may have stopped to dine at the inn, of course, but if he has hired a house in Brighton he might be planning to drive straight through.”

  “Will there be more than one carriage, do you ken, sir?”

  “I don’t know, but with Carberry I’d bet on uniformed outriders. He likes to cut a dash.”

  They were within a couple of miles of the inn where Jason had stopped. He had in mind an area he recalled where the trees approached nearer the road. If there were no signs of waiting horsemen there, they would ride quickly past the inn and begin searching again at some distance farther toward London. Henley wouldn’t risk the possibility of increased traffic in the immediate vicinity of the inn.

  “I wonder if he has even considered the possibility of armed guards,” he mused to himself. A momentary tightening of his hand on the reins betrayed his growing concern over the outcome of this adventure. He spared a thought for Cleone, who must be valiantly trying to conceal her anxiety from her family about now.

  “Nothing is going to prevent me from giving that devil’s whelp a piece of my mind when we come upon him,” he snarled, totally unappreciative of a glorious sunset that was just beginning to colour the western sky.

  In the next moments, no one had time for the glories of nature as first shouts, then a shot rang out somewhere ahead of them. They were spurring their mounts on before a second shot followed close on the heels of the first. A grim-faced Lord Altern thundered around the bend in the road to see what looked like a small army of skirmishers but resolved itself into five figures on horseback plus a riderless horse. No one was on the ground, thank heavens. As the huge black exploded into the scene, followed by Timkins on his dappled grey, two horsemen wheeled and broke for the trees. The others, unsure whether the new arrivals were friend or foe, hesitated, and Jason seized the opportunity to let confusion work for him.

  “Were they highwaymen?” he yelled at the coachman, who was struggling to control his frantic team.

  “Yes,” answered a blue-and-gold-clad outrider. “Who might you be?” He held a pistol pointed straight at Jason, who ignored it as he turned Beelzebul about.

  “Help the driver,” he called back over his shoulder. “We’ll get those two.”

  To his infinite relief, there were no sounds of pursuit behind them as he and Timkins raced into the woods. They had been on the scene for less than a minute, but long enough to gather an impression of a huge blue-painted traveling coach piled high with baggage. The door to the carriage had remained closed during the attempted holdup, but of course the horses had been plunging about the entire time. He had noticed that the window above a gold-painted crest had been opened. The setting sun had picked out the gold-painted wheels and poles of the remarkable equipage.

  As he and Timkins slowed down for caution’s sake in the sudden gloom of the dense trees, his thoughts were on the shots that had been fired. None of Carberry’s attendants appeared to have been injured. He hadn’t gotten a clear look at the highwaymen, who had taken advantage of his and Timkins’ timely arrival to escape from what would have been almost certain capture and unmasking, so there could not have been any grievous injury. Jason’s mouth set in harsh lines as they picked their way through the trees, guided by sounds of crashing underbrush ahead of them. All the gods had been with them today, he acknowledged with an inward shudder at what might have happened had he and Timkins been even a half-mile farther away at the time of the attempted robbery. Relief did nothing to cool his rising fury at the irresponsible conduct of as bacon-brained a young chucklehead as it had ever been his misfortune to encounter. He would like to have Henley under his command for just one month!

  Jason’s aggressive ruminations were interrupted by a warning from Timkins that he could no longer hear riders ahead of them. He let out a string of fluent oaths without once repeating himself, to the silent admiration of the groom.

  “They can’t have left the woods; they didn’t have enough of a start on us. They must be hiding somewhere, hoping we’ll get tired of the search.”

  They slowed to a walk, stopping frequently to listen to the woodland sounds and examine the undergrowth for signs of entry. It took them another fifteen minutes to discover the fugitives in a small clearing.

  A colourless Philip was stretched out on the ground while Musgrove stood guard over him.

  “Put that away,” Jason snapped, waving at the pistol in the groom’s hand as he dismounted, tossing his reins to Timkins. “What’s wrong with him? Was he hit?”

  “A bullet creased his ribs,” the groom replied. “He’s in awful bad pain.”

  “Then he is well-served,” declared Lord Altern unfeelingly. “Let’s see how badly off you are, young good-for-nought.” He glanced briefly into dilated eyes in a white face before turning his attention to the side where blood had soaked through the viscount’s coat. “Help me get this off,” he directed Musgrove.

  Philip passed out for a few seconds during this painful operation, but his eyes were open by the time Jason finished his examination of the damage.

  “You’ll live,” he said shortly, “but if I were you, I’d curb my ambitions for a life of crime. You don’t seem suited to it.”

  “You — you don’t understand,” Philip whispered between clenched teeth. Sweat was standing out on his face from the effort to hold back his moans. “Must explain.”

  “I understand everything,” replied the stern-faced giant looking down at him without pity, “but we’ll save talking for later. We can’t take you home until it’s full dark, but for now we can stop the bleeding and cov
er the wound.” He made a pad of Henley’s neckcloth as he spoke and commandeered those of the grooms to tie it in place.

  The slow ride back to Bramble Hall was accomplished in almost complete silence, except for an occasional groan jolted from Philip. They had not dared to use the road, so Musgrove had to guide them across country by the light of a half-moon, a painful ordeal for the wounded youth, but necessary for his safety. To his credit he made no complaint, though he lost consciousness more than once. Timkins led his horse while Lord Altern supported him at these times. He insisted on pushing forward when Musgrove would have stopped to let his master rest, explaining for the groom’s benefit that since there appeared to be no danger of damage to the lungs, it was better to make what speed they could.

  Jason had been doing a lot of thinking during the long trek home and he put his plan into operation the moment the house came into view, ordering a silent approach to the kitchen entrance. He judged that the family would be just on the point of retiring and counted on the door not being locked yet for the night. If he could get Henley to his own room without meeting anyone and then find Cleone, they just might manage to brush through this adventure without kicking up a dust.

  The first condition was favourable, as they found the side door still open. With Musgrove’s aid he lifted Philip down, carrying him over his shoulder as he had Cleone during the storm. He waited until the grooms had led the horses away before he actually entered the house. Fortunately, Philip had fainted again, so all he had to contend with was an anxious but, thankfully, composed Cleone, who appeared in the hall before he had closed the door behind him.

  “I have been listening on the stairs for your return. Is he — is he —”

  “Not badly hurt,” Jason reassured her, and had the satisfaction of seeing the colour creep back into her cheeks. “Can we get him to his room unseen?”