The Highwayman's Folly

by Daria Vernon

  “Help me up?” she asked.

  But he didn’t. His eyes explored her before locking into hers.

  “The sweetness of solitude,” he said, “is wearing thin as gauze.”

  Where—? Beth searched her mind for the phrase’s familiarity, and found it. The words were hers.

  He continued, or tried to. “Its promises for—its promise for feasts—damn.” He shook his head. He didn’t have it.

  Beth did, and was about to complete the phrase for him, until she remembered what it was—

  The sweetness of solitude

  Wearing thin as gauze

  Its promise for a feast of freedoms

  Now sometimes seeming flawed

  She wasn’t certain of whether she believed in those flaws or not. She squeezed Rhys’ arm.

  “You read my notebook?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry.”

  “Why did you ever take it?”

  “For information? And—I don’t know. I thought I had to hate you.”

  “Why?”

  “An expensive carriage. A bright white silk stock tied round your neck. Not a crease in your traveling habit. You reminded me every bit of the women who helped condemn my friend to death.”

  “And that anger, that’s why you took me too?”

  “No. I took you with us because the alternative was to leave you alone in the middle of the highroads on a frigid night, with other cads lurking nearby. I hoped that I might somehow be the lesser evil.”

  He lowered his head. Whatever else he was about to say, he couldn’t meet her eyes.

  “I didn’t know what you were capable of then. You would have been fine, I know that now, but there was a selfishness that night too, Beth. Wondering about your fate if we had parted would have plagued me the rest of my days.”

  “Tell me more.”

  “It would have been just as terrible not to know what happened to you after I left you at Greenthorne.”

  “Which is why you’ve come back, years later?”

  “Which is why I came back, weeks later.”

  Beth waited for Rhys to go on, feeling as though she were missing something. She repeated the words in her head and grasped what they really meant. Everything felt suddenly darker, as though a cloud had moved overhead to cancel out the dappled sunlight that seeped through the trees.

  “Rhys?”

  “I came back, weeks after we parted. I had to see you well.”

  The cold fist of betrayal, at first held back by her confusion, now slammed fully into her. She pushed him up and away from her so that she might scramble to her feet. He rose to join her.

  “My father told me you were welcome back anytime. Why would either of you keep a meeting from me?”

  “Because he didn’t know.”

  “Didn’t know you came back? Rhys, what did you do exactly?”

  Rhys pushed a taloned hand into his hairline and exhaled.

  “I did the only thing I knew how. I lurked and I spied like the felon I am.”

  Beth wanted to know more, but the limitations of her heart were fast being reached.

  She wanted to scream or to throw something. Frustrations clawed at her insides for a violent escape, but she no longer possessed the emotional lawlessness of her youth. Perhaps that was one loss from her youth that would be for the better. She took a deep breath. Here was this broad-shouldered man, shrinking from her and avoiding her gaze. A man wounded before her. His voice was thick with shame—the sort of shame that she recognized from her youth.

  “But you’re not that anymore, are you? You’re on the other side of the law now.” She stepped toward him carefully. “So you say.”

  “I am.”

  He’d looked so meek just a moment before, so in need of reassurance. But as she drew nearer, he seemed to grow taller—to loom up over her like the dark stranger that found her on the road one January night.

  He took the final steps needed to close the gap between them.

  Rhys wrapped an arm around her and stroked the back of her neck, coaxing her to look up at him. There it was—that hint of pine. She caught only the barest note of it, but it was a tonic that made her heart race.

  She held onto his arm, steadying herself, waiting.

  “You want to know what I thought in the woods that night?” he asked.

  “I do.”

  He leaned down until she could feel his breath as he spoke.

  “I thought, what will I do without her? Without another night like this?” His embrace drew her in more deeply. “How do I continue to live on the same soil and never lay my poor eyes on her again? How do I make my mind stop wondering where she is and what she’s doing at any given moment? And how ever do I cope with the notion that she may not be in the same agony over me?”

  “Rhys,” she said, pulling away. “Is that what would have pleased you? My shared agony?”

  “I didn’t wish it—”

  “Well you have it.”

  He froze.

  “I was in agony. I was. Same as you. But as I said last night, there’s that imbalance that I find hard to reckon with. You knew where I was. You had an advantage. To write to me, to visit me . . .” A harsh laugh escaped her. “To spy on me.”

  Beth lowered her head. She’d drained many hours away in her father’s study, seeking Desmarais, but never Rhys. No, she was never quite brave enough to bear herself to that sort of hope.

  Yet, she trembled now, wishing that she’d not pulled away from his arms. Unheld by him, she felt suddenly prone to the whims of her distress.

  “Does it ease your pain, Rhys, to know that I wept into your cloak, prayed into it for some act of fate that would crash us into one another?” The timing of his return—it was so poorly chosen, so tragic. “Does it make you feel better that you lingered with me for years? That every man I spoke to was held up against you and found wanting?”

  She detected a spark in his eye. He couldn’t conceal it. It did make him feel better. Her very soul flared like a struck match. He wanted her. He missed her. But they were at odds.

  He reached again for her, but she stepped back.

  “The trouble is,” she said. “It all improved.”

  “Improved?”

  “I couldn’t go on unless it did. So I made it get better. Not perfect. But better. And it was only very recently that I could even see my power in that. I’ve healed from you, Rhys.” Mostly.

  “Beth, if you—”

  “How wonderful for you, that you had the fortitude to stay away from me for three long years. How excellent you are at self-deprivation.” She could taste the venom in her words, was practically burned by their sting before she flung them, yet she could not stop. “That you loved me so much and martyred yourself to our unfortunate circumstance. You saint.”

  His eyes peeled wider and she realized she’d said it—had put those words into his mouth—that you loved me. She suddenly felt faint. It was beyond time to depart.

  She whirled and made for Cutter, stopping short at the horse’s side.

  Damn.

  On her rare rides astride, Beth had taught herself how to mount without a groom, but now she was confronted with the sidesaddle. She considered flinging a leg over it anyway, but her habit was not particularly suited to such an alternative. Fine. She would lead Cutter instead.

  She turned to take the reins, only to nearly trip over Rhys, who had bent down at her knee. His strong hands were stirruped for her. There was guilt in his dulcet expression. She wished she could ease it, but she was the one who had put it there. Where had all of her cruelty come from?

  She allowed him to heft her inelegantly into the seat.

  He passed her the whip that had been discarded in her hurried dismount. Then he pulled a letter from his pocket and passed it up to her as well.

/>   “What’s this?”

  “It is my thanks.”

  At Greenthorne, Beth’s father could be found in his study at most times of day. But during their stay with the Weldons, he’d often wandered restlessly outdoors. Beth wasn’t surprised when she spotted his lone figure in a chair at the pond’s edge.

  Riding closer, she raised her eyebrows at the sight of a fishing pole beside him. Had he gone daft?

  “Papa?”

  “Hmm?” He didn’t look up to her but kept his gaze intently on the water.

  “You do know there’s no fish in there?”

  He lifted his chin and smiled up at her pitifully. “In fact, I did not.” He pushed the pole over from where it was dug into the ground and closed a novel he’d been ignoring in his lap. “I just find myself bored to death when away from home.”

  Beth took her knee from the pommel and slid down from Cutter’s back.

  “You find your darkened study at Greenthorne more engaging than socializing here at Tallyside?” she asked.

  “I do.”

  She crouched on the grass beside her father and looked out over the large pond, its fountains no longer pumping. He placed a hand on her wrist where it rested against his chair. His widower’s wedding band caught the sun.

  “Quite the breakfast conversation this morning.”

  Beth winced. “That Ceci certainly seemed scandalized enough by it.”

  “Yes, well, Ceci—uh, Lady Blount—feigns the appropriate response—and overly dramatically if you want my opinion. Trust me, she knows scandal personally.”

  As a woman whose pet name was flung about so comfortably, Beth did not doubt it.

  “I quite enjoyed it this morning—seeing everyone’s eyes go wide. Hearing the silver clink sharply to the plates.”

  “Is that why you brought up the kidnapping, Papa, to provoke shock?”

  “You weren’t going to do it alone, were you?”

  Unbelievable. No, she probably wouldn’t have brought it up herself. She’d been saving her scandals for Europe. She still felt too raw sometimes to own it here, where men who were up on the gossip could do things like snatch their arm away during a dance.

  “I had quite the conspirator in Mr. Booker, didn’t I? And I didn’t even know it.”

  “You like him, don’t you?” she asked.

  “My dear, he brought my only child out of hell and placed her back in my arms. I daresay I’d die for the man. But yes, beyond that, I do also think I like him.”

  “You don’t even know him.”

  “When I ran into him in town, I recognized him immediately. I dragged him to the nearest tavern to shower him with ale and gratitude.”

  “Ah, yes—ran into him. You do realize he was most likely there to find you?”

  “Beth, dear, I’m not so quaint. Of course I realize it.”

  Beth rose to her knees to be more level with his eyes. “And you never had any suspicions of him? Of a stranger that carried me to your doorstep out of a fog of mystery?”

  Papa’s eyes studied her. “Should I suspect?” He huffed inwardly, as though suppressing a small chuckle. “I’ve known you your whole life, Beth. Studied you intently for three decades. Perhaps I even knew what I was getting into when you were but a spark of mischief in your mother’s eye. Oh yes, Beth. I had suspicions and worries. But I was no more suspicious of him than of you. Do not forget that I’ve been tested by wild lapses of propriety before.”

  “A kidnapping should hardly be seen as the abducted woman’s fault.” Beth hastened to clarify, “And the rescue of a woman should be no scandal either.”

  Her father tucked his chin and gave her a look that told her she was being unfair. “You’re well aware that I’m in agreement with that. But all anyone else sees is an unmarried woman in the arms of an unrelated man.”

  Beth knew it as well as any.

  Her father put a hand on her cheek. “My overwhelming relief was that you were home. The only person you expressed ire for was Desmarais. All else was inconsequential.”

  “I assume Rhys told you something of Desmarais?”

  Her father scowled and resettled in his low seat. “He did, yes. Has he not told you?”

  As though I’ve given him a chance.

  Her father sighed. “There isn’t much information but that his name is on the register of an inn in Hull. That’s all we know.”

  “Hull. So close by? I always said he was alive. You should have told me.” A chill skimmed down Beth’s spine, even in the bright sun of May Day.

  He shrugged. “I’ve hardly known for a full day myself. But the man won’t come near you, I swear it.”

  “You’re right, Papa. He won’t.” It was the right time to tell him. “Because I’m going away for a while.”

  His white eyebrows lifted. Some of his thin hair was picked up by the breeze. She had to leave now, before he grew too old, before he needed her too much. She smiled to ease her words.

  “I’ve been inspired by Allison, and I’m going to the Continent.”

  He set his lips tightly, and his finger wagged in the air while he found his words. “I knew this would happen. As soon as she left, I could see your boredom grow tenfold.” He suddenly took her arm urgently. “Has Mr. Bunce been helping you? I could swear he kept something from me at our meeting.”

  Beth smiled. “He has indeed. But Papa, please don’t—”

  He waved away whatever she was about to say. “It’s fine. I’m happy for you. Though I do want to know what Desmarais is about before you disappear from my sight.”

  He pulled a rock from his pocket and skipped it across the body of water.

  “Then will we return to Greenthorne this afternoon?”

  Her father rolled his eyes. “If only. I’m afraid it’s one engagement after another here. Lady Weldon has her heart set on everyone going to the May fair in Bartswell this eve.” He narrowed his eyes warily. “Perhaps you should stay here instead of walking to town with us—because of Desmarais.”

  “That’s ludicrous. I’ll enjoy my life, no matter where he is.”

  Her father smiled. “Mr. Booker said you might say that.”

  Chapter 20

  Twilight gave the horizon a golden edge as the group cut through the fields toward the road. The fair was set up on the edge of Bartswell, not two miles away, and the whole party—consisting largely of the breakfast crowd—had deemed themselves fit to walk.

  Beth led the pack as she often did, with her uncommonly brisk stride. Her arm was locked with Allison’s, and what the girl lacked in stride, she made up for in energy, skipping intermittently to keep up. The early evening had already cast some of its magic on Beth. Badly as she’d wanted to leave for home earlier in the day, she now found herself content.

  She was aware of another fast-walker at her back. Aware that he must be restraining his determinant stroll in order to hold back with the others, to give her space. Intuition kicked at her from time to time, whispering: He’s looking. If you turn right now, he watches. But she resisted the pull of it.

  She’d read Rhys’ letter before supper. In it, he’d expressed his gratitude for how she had set up Dewey’s family to live so well. She’d never named herself as their benefactor in any way, but, of course, she was the only one who could have done it, and Rhys was no fool. It had been so long since she’d seen to their living that she’d almost forgotten the arrangement. But Rhys had checked in on them and realized he’d been cut free of the debt he held over himself.

  In the letter, he shared the wonderful details he’d learned. That all of the children had educations and apprenticeships. That Mrs. Dewey was now the proprietress of a little shop of notions. All the hopes Beth had for the family were fulfilled.

  She’d not anticipated the letter’s second half. You’ve freed me to pursue paths that I’d never b
efore dreamed of, he’d said. For some time, I was listless, not knowing how to live without owing someone. Then he’d listed all of those he’d owed pieces of his life to: The Marine Society, the press-gangs, long merchant contracts, a mad captain, Dewey’s family, his band of thieves. The trajectory of the life of a lad from Cardiff had begun to take shape, and it had started low and rotten. That he’d ever even become a career carpenter on mercantile vessels must be some testament to his will.

  “Oh Beth, it nearly killed me not to see you this afternoon.” The sweet voice of Allison broke Beth from her reflections. “I begged Mama not to send me on that errand.”

  “What did she have you do?”

  “She pleaded that I ride to her acquaintances’ house with some books to loan them, but it was all a contrivance. What she really wanted was for me to meet a wealthy nephew that was visiting them. He wasn’t even home!”

  Beth hugged Allison with one arm. “That’s a pity that you didn’t even get your fun.”

  “It’s fine. She showed me a portrait of him in the dining room, and between us, he was lacking.”

  “Lacking what exactly?”

  Allison thought for a moment. “A chin?”

  Beth chuckled. “So harsh, Allison.”

  “I did have a pleasant interaction on the way home.”

  “Oh?”

  “My hat blew off while I rode, and a gentleman kindly grabbed it for me before my footman could.”

  “And is this someone you would hope to see again?”

  Allison batted the air with her folded fan. “Goodness no. He was much too old, but it was flattering nonetheless.”

  Beth looked carefully at the young woman beside her. A woman of a nature less cynical than her own. In the flaxen-haired beauty, she saw an early wisdom but also an abundance of trust. “Allison, you deserve many things in this life. You are so above being flattered emptily by those who can’t draw even a wisp of your attention in return. Conquer grandly.”

  Allison shrank a bit—an unintended effect.

  “I just like to appreciate kind people,” Allison said, looking off in the distance.

  Of course. Because Allison herself was kind, even if she jabbed at the rendering of a man’s chin in an oil painting.