William gave a polite cough into his fist, trying to hide his skeptical grin.
“He wears Hessians, you say. Could he be a man of quality?” Dorothea whispered in the same dark manner.
“How could that be?” Lady Brookhurst queried in disbelief. “A real gentleman would never lower himself.”
“My, I certainly hope he can live up to this reputation of his,” William replied, giving a chuckle.
“It’s not a laughing matter.” Larissa cast him a dark look. “It’s simply dreadful.”
“What you don’t realize, Lady Trent, is there’s always a highwayman lurking somewhere. Some get caught, some give it up, and some continue from year to year.” William eased back in the chair, propped his feet up and held his glass, inspecting its contents. “Horrid way to make a living. Far too dangerous for my taste. Bound to get shot one of these days, and if you’re caught, hanged.”
“They’ve gone without us again,” Larissa huffed in exasperation the next afternoon.
“You must get used to it,” Lady Brookhurst said. “When out and about in the country, the gentlemen busy themselves out-of-doors, and we ladies must entertain ourselves.”
Larissa had never been to a country house. She did not realize the activities of men and women were segregated.
“The lady of the house usually attends to such things, but—” Lady Brookhurst gestured to her daughter. “Dorothea here, could step in, could you not?”
“Maman,” Dorothea censured in a tone of disapproval.
“Come now, my dear, you are here at his lordship’s insistence,” Lady Brookhurst pointed out. “The marquess is quite taken with Dorothea,” she said to Larissa. “I do not think it would be too soon to say she is in line to be the next marchioness.”
“Maman, please,” Dorothea chided. “Larissa and I were just on our way out.”
“We were?” she whispered to Dorothea who immediately led Larissa out of the parlor.
Their premature departure prevented an embarrassing scene from becoming more so. “We are going driving,” Dorothea announced. “And I shall drive.”
“You know how to drive?” Larissa gasped.
“Oh, yes,” Dorothea exclaimed. “Every lady must learn to be truly self-sufficient. Don’t tell me Sir Randall would have any objections to your learning?”
“No, I’m sure he has none at all. It’s only that I … I had never thought of taking on such a task.”
“Mark my words, you’ll learn in no time at all.”
Once the curricle was in motion, Dorothea simply handed the ribbons over to Larissa. At first she felt nervous, but once she adjusted to the pull of the horses against the wide leather ribbons, driving the team was not so bad at all. As a matter of fact, not only was it easier than she had expected, it was very enjoyable.
Larissa wasn’t sure if it was the feeling of independence or the feeling of speed. Why, she was moving barely at a trot and a slow one at that.
The curricle was small and at one point Larissa had lifted a wheel rounding a corner. It was then she realized how hazardous it would be to race along at breakneck speeds as she had heard some young men did for a wager.
By the end of their ride, Larissa’s hands were sore. Next time she would wear heavier gloves. She wasn’t sure how or why, but something told her there would indeed be a next time.
Chapter Twenty
The following morning Lord Melton and his guest, Lord Firth, met up with William and Randall at the stables. The marquess gestured for the younger men to join them.
“We met with Lord Ardsmore out in the south pasture. He was on his way to Carswell to tell us he was robbed last night. He’s most upset. Most upset.”
“Understandably so,” Randall agreed.
“He’s still planning to go ahead with his dinner tonight. Too late to call it off without turning people away at the door. That would be dashed bad form, you know.”
“Was it the same blighter?” Firth quizzed.
“He said the highwayman wielded two Italian dueling pistols. He could see the silver handles glinting in the moonlight, along with the stickpin at his throat.
“Adding to the rumor he is of quality, Ardsmore says he speaks in the most elegant of tones.” Melton stared at Firth while relaying the unpleasant news. “I don’t want to worry the ladies any.”
“It’d start their imaginations spiraling,” William whispered to Randall. One side of William’s mouth turned upward, giving a half smile. “Women find stolen kisses from a highwayman exciting, don’t you know.”
“Ardsmore’s called in the Runners,” Melton explained. “Offered a bonus to catch the blackguard who bussed his new wife.”
“Bus sin’ Billy, they call him,” Firth added.
“Bussin’ Billy, a bit common for a supposed nob, wouldn’t you say?” William interjected. From his brother’s hard stare, Randall knew the opinion was an unwelcome one.
“The point is,” Melton continued, clearing his throat, “the man’s not dangerous. He’s not leaving a trail of bodies behind.”
“That’s a relief,” William added. “He’ll only steal my valuables.”
“Dash it, Wills,” Randall chided. “What could be more valuable than your life?”
“Ardsmore went after Billy with the concealed knife in his cane. Made sorry work of the blighter’s greatcoat. Slashed a fair portion of fabric under his arm.”
“Why couldn’t his blasted aim have been better?” Firth criticized.
“Avoiding the mortal blow, Billy stumbled back to the edge of the stream. This time of year it’s just a trickle of water. He merely muddied his Hessians.”
Randall knew by the look on Firth’s face he gained some small measure of satisfaction knowing the highwayman had ruined the finish on an expensive pair of boots.
“And it gives the Runners one more clue to his identity,” Melton concluded.
“That is good news,” William agreed.
Melton and Firth went ahead to the house. William snagged Randall’s arm, holding him back for a few words.
“I might as well let it be known I plan on keeping my distance from the new Lady Ardsmore,” William admitted. “Had dealings with her myself. She is most comely.” William hiked his eyebrows in a favorable expression. “It’s all dashedly awkward now that she lives just over at the next piece of property and married to Ardsmore no less.” William tossed the stalk he’d been chewing onto the ground before exiting the barn.
“It’s that bad, is it?” Randall mused.
“It does not bode well for me, I’ll say that much.” William tossed the hay to the ground.
“Then I take it you won’t be joining us this evening.”
“Not on your life,” he professed. “I don’t mean to belittle the situation, but really.” William chuckled. “I think Terrance is afraid Bussin’ Billy will kiss Dorothea before he’ll ever have a chance.”
Randall suspected that given the opportunity Dorothea might find it thrilling to be in the arms of a dangerous highwayman.
He entered the house in time to hear the butler announce to Lord Melton, “It’s a Mr. Daniel Lawrence of the Bow Street Runners, my lord.”
“What?” Melton looked behind Jenkins to the stranger approaching in the hall. “I can’t believe I, or any one in my house, could be suspected.”
“My apologies, Lord Melton.” Mr. Lawrence gave a deep bow from the waist. “I have my orders. We are conducting a search within a fifty-mile radius of the crime. The occupants found in every household and establishment are to be questioned about their whereabouts of last night.” His gaze swept the faces of the occupants, searching for a telltale sign or hint of deception. “I need not conduct a search of the premises unless I feel there to be sufficient cause to do so.”
Lord Melton could not contest the Runner’s authority in the matter and had to concede. “The parlor is at your disposal.”
“You are most gracious,” Mr. Lawrence replied.
“Not
at all.” Melton gestured for the butler, who appeared at his side. “Jenkins, you will assist Mr. Lawrence with anything he might need.”
“Yes, your lordship.”
“If you will excuse me,” Melton gestured with the flourish of his riding crop, “I shall return momentarily after I change.”
“Lord Melton,” Lawrence summoned the earl before he could ascend the grand staircase. “Would you be so kind as to be the first? It would make an excellent example for your guests.”
Melton glanced around. “Of course,” he said with a smile, ready to give his full cooperation, and headed in the direction of the front parlor.
Lawrence addressed the guests before following after the marquess. “I’d appreciate if you didn’t leave just now. Jenkins, please make sure everyone remains below stairs until I’ve had the chance to speak to them.”
“Just as you say, sir,” Jenkins replied. Addressing the ensemble he continued, “If you gentlemen would be so good as to move into the breakfast room to wait, I shall see to it fresh coffee and tea are served.”
William and Randall being the closest, they stepped into the room. Lord Firth followed, grumbling under his breath, “I’ll expect something bloody well stronger than tea.”
It was more than an hour later, and Randall was the last to be questioned. Not an unexpected outcome. After all, he was the lowest ranking of the guests. Completing the interview with Mr. Lawrence, he stood in the opened doorway to the parlor.
“I’m afraid your lack of alibi requires I take further steps. I will need to search your room.”
Dorothea appeared from around the corner. “May I speak?” She held her clasped hands in front of her and looked down, studying the whitened knuckles.
Randall noted the baffled look on Mr. Lawrence’s face and made the introductions.
“I only hesitate to come forward because of the delicate nature of the circumstance,” she began. Dorothea looked up, greeting Mr. Lawrence’s gaze with her wide blue eyes. “I do feel it is the only right thing to do.”
The Bow Street Runner vowed, “I can assure you, I shall be most discreet with any information you divulge.”
“Very well,” Dorothea sighed, managing to overcome her reluctance. She followed the Runner into the parlor at a sedate pace. Mr. Lawrence gestured for Randall to join them and isolated the three of them behind closed doors.
“I believe Sir Randall told you he was in the library last night,” Dorothea began.
“Yes, he did,” Mr. Lawrence confirmed.
“He was not alone. I was with him.”
Mr. Lawrence gave Randall a hardened look. “What do you mean you were ‘with’ him?”
“After the guests had retired for the evening, I came below stairs to retrieve my book of Byron’s poems. I had thought I left it in the drawing room. As it happens, Sir Randall had intercepted it and used it to lure me into the library.” She stopped and moistened her lips between eyeing Mr. Lawrence’s expression at regular intervals. “Need I go into detail?”
“It would be helpful if you could be a bit more specific,” he said, urging her on, remaining very professional in his questioning.
“When I entered the room, Sir Randall stood in front of the closed door. I did not wish to wake anyone and cause a scene. He begged me to take the book from him, but held it just out of reach. The only way to retrieve it would be to put my arms around him. I was willing to leave the volume in his care and return to my room, but he would not take no for an answer.” She paused again, the color in her face heightened. “I may as well tell you, sir, my mother and I are the guests of Lord Melton, and Sir Randall is a married man.”
“All right,” Mr. Lawrence stopped her, hearing enough. “When was this?”
“It must have been about an hour after everyone had retired. Ten o’clock, ten-thirty perhaps.”
Without a change in his serious demeanor, Lawrence’s gaze locked onto Randall. “You’re free to go.”
Hearing this slanderous tale Randall threw open the double doors.
Larissa, wearing a look of concern, stood in the hallway with Melton, Firth, and William behind her. Mr. Lawrence stepped in front of Randall and announced, “I had a question about Sir Randall’s whereabouts.”
Larissa stepped forward, raising her chin. “He was with me last night.” She knew it was a lie and couldn’t help from blushing, but hoped it would be enough to convince Mr. Lawrence.
“I appreciate your attempt to protect him. After all, you are his wife.” Mr. Lawrence made a nervous glance toward the now emerging Dorothea and cleared his throat. “Your husband has already been cleared. Lady Dorothea has already vouched for his innocence.”
Randall noted a subtle look of betrayal spread on Larissa’s face. Her hardened glare slid from Dorothea to him. He couldn’t let her believe what she was thinking now. He could well imagine it was the worst she could concoct, and Randall knew she had quite the imagination.
Leading Larissa above stairs and into the privacy of his room, Randall closed the door. He would explain, then force her to listen to reason. “I wish to inform you lest you hear this from another, more unsavory source.”
Larissa kept silent.
“Dorothea claims I was in the midst of seducing her.”
“Well that’s it, isn’t it?” Larissa addressed him with her arms crossed and eyes ablaze. “You’re not really married to me. You can do as you well please.”
Along with the fury he felt inside, it gave him a strange sense of satisfaction that Lady Dorothea’s phony alibi bothered Larissa.
“Do you think so little of me? Do you think I would insult you by seducing another while married to you? I have already promised you. While we are ‘married,’ I would prove to be the model husband.”
“If that is true and you did not try to seduce her last night, what do you make of Dorothea’s explanation?”
“I have no idea. How am I to explain her actions? Everything she said was completely untrue.” Something in Larissa’s wary stare told him of her doubts. He was not about to let her call him a liar. “You’re the one who told them about us being together last night.” He flung his hands up. “Maybe I did lie about last night. Maybe I did hold up Lord Ardsmore. Go ahead. Why don’t you search my wardrobe for the damaged greatcoat and soiled boots.” He led her to his dressing room by the arm and flung the door open. “It should be simple, I only have but a single pair of Hessians.”
To his amazement, Larissa took him up on his offer and did just that. With her chin held high, she went in to see for herself.
Was he really so untrustworthy? After she finished rummaging through his wardrobe, she would feel the thorough fool.
Randall had decided he’d be gracious and accept whatever apology she offered. No use causing problems when they had near a month remaining in their “marriage.” He could be accepting, giving, and accommodating more than most, he surmised.
It was only when Larissa reappeared in the doorway with a coat draped over one arm and a pair of muddied Hessians in the other that he felt his legs give way beneath him and he dropped onto his bed.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Where did you find those?” The shock on Sir Randall’s face was genuine.
“In your wardrobe, just as you said.”
“They’re not mine.” It was a reflexive response on his part. He stood and approached the incriminating garments, taking a second look. “They are mine. I don’t know how they have come to be in this condition.”
Sir Randall took the coat and rummaged through the folds. He was not disappointed. There it was, just as Lord Melton had described. The telltale tear on the right side under the arm, a clean, precise cut presumably made by a knife.
He stepped back and sank onto the bed again. “If Lawrence had the notion to search my room.”
“This would have looked very bad for you.”
He massaged his throat. “I would have been hanged by the end of the week.”
The t
hought of Sir Randall swinging at the end of a rope made Larissa feel faint. “Who would have done such a thing?” She sank onto the bed beside him. “If the stolen items had been found in your possession, I have no doubt the authorities would have done just that.”
“Do you think whoever framed me might have also planted the stolen jewelry in my room?” Sir Randall did not wait for a reply, but scrambled to the small table next to his bed, pulling open the drawers. He finished the search of his side table and leaped to his feet to search through the clothespress and desk.
“They must think you more clever than to simply hide them under a few shirts or waistcoats.” Larissa watched disbelief overtake the look of terror on his face.
He paused and straightened. “Do you really think so?”
“On second thought, I cannot imagine they would think you that intelligent.”
“That’s a fairly insensitive thing to say. But it’s not you who is being framed is it?” An insulted expression crossed Sir Randall’s face. “It would be nice to know you’re concerned.”
“I am concerned,” she said, not wanting to confess her feelings outright. “That is why I am willing to repair the tear in your coat. I suggest you clean your boots before Mr. Lawrence changes his mind and searches the house.” She took up the greatcoat and headed for her room.
Sir Randall caught her arm, delaying her. “You do care, don’t you?” he whispered and smiled.
Larissa gripped the torn greatcoat a little tighter and looked into his eyes. If he felt for her as she did for him, she need not answer that question.
“Where have you been all morning?” Dorothea asked Larissa when she came into the breakfast room.
“I’m afraid I must have lost track of the time. I was in my room, busy sewing.”
“Why do you look at me so, Larissa?” Dorothea asked, sounding quite hurt. “I thought we were friends.”
“Friends do not steal husbands from one another,” Larissa snapped.
“Please, not so loud,” Dorothea hushed, rose from the table and neared, beckoning Larissa into a coze. “You want to know why I said what I did about Sir Randall?”
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