She did not respond, and kept her features schooled into an emotionless mask.
“I did it because of our friendship,” Dorothea professed.
“You can’t possibly expect me to believe that.”
“Why else would I tell such a lie? To give Sir Randall an alibi of course.”
“What?” This piece of news brought Larissa around.
“The Runners would think his wife would lie for him. They might even expect it. But for me to claim he was with me should prove shocking to say the least. Scandalous if it should be heard publicly. So I lied to keep him above suspicion. I might as well tell you the truth, I saw him strolling about outside alone.”
Larissa didn’t know what to say. Dorothea’s little white lie had kept him safe. Most of all, she prevented Mr. Lawrence from taking his search above stairs to Sir Randall’s closet, where, it was certain, the runner would have found irrefutable evidence of his guilt. Only, Larissa knew Sir Randall could not have done it.
“Of course, he could not have done it,” Dorothea continued. “I should never believe him capable of such action.”
“What you have shown me proves your actions have gone beyond those of mere friendship.” Larissa smiled. “Please accept my apology, Dorothea. How could I have ever thought ill of you?”
“I am only too happy to avoid problems between Sir Randall and the law.” Dorothea seemed to have been genuinely relieved. “I hope I haven’t caused any difficulties between the two of you.”
“No, you have not.”
“It must be ever so reassuring to have the love of such a trustworthy man.”
“It is something I cannot begin to explain,” Larissa said, stating the unequivocal truth.
That evening, Larissa entered the parlor. Dorothea and Lady Brookhurst were there waiting to leave for Ardsmore Lodge.
“Oh, the men always make light of the ladies taking their time, but faith, will you look at who is waiting for the gentlemen.” Lady Brookhurst gestured about her with her silk fan. She stilled, fixing a critical eye on Larissa. “How lovely you look, except … except …”
“Is there something amiss?” Larissa looked down at her gown. Her hands moved from her skirts to the curls atop her head, wondering if her hair was out of place.
“She is perfection itself, Maman,” Dorothea praised. Her fingers came to rest on her gold locket.
Glancing at her neckline, Larissa had also suspected the décolletage too low for good taste. With the look on Lady Brookhurst’s face, Larissa must have been right.
“I have it!” Lady Brookhurst’s face lit up.
“Have Regina fetch my garnets,” she said to her daughter. Within minutes, Regina returned with a beautiful wooden inlaid decorated box. Lady Brookhurst drew out a garnet necklace and held it to Larissa’s gown. “This will go splendidly with your gown. They are not grand by any stretch of the imagination, but I imagine they should do.”
Lady Brookhurst told Regina to lay the necklace around Larissa’s neck, then fasten the bracelet around her wrist.
“What an improvement, do you not think, dear?”
“Maman, you are so right as always,” Dorothea replied.
“Wearing colored gems is one of the small pleasures of being married.”
After admiring the dark stones encircling her wrist, Larissa laid a hand at her throat, touching the necklace, wishing she could see them around her neck. “Thank you, Lady Brookhurst.”
“Just make sure and return them when you’ve finished.” Lady Brookhurst gave a regal nod and proceeded to check on the status of the men.
For some reason unknown to Larissa, she and Sir Randall were to travel separately, while Lady Brookhurst, Dorothea, and Melton traveled in his coach. Whether Melton wished to be alone with Dorothea, expecting her mother to fall asleep, as she had a tendency to do in a moving vehicle, or whether Sir Randall had used the opportunity to arrange time alone with her, she could not say.
However, Larissa did find conversation between them somewhat awkward. Larissa found the easy exchange of words that once flowed between them gone, the need to be close to him and the harmonious feeling she once felt between them forgotten.
Or so she had thought.
Dinner at the Ardsmore’s proceeded smoothly. No one dared bring up the recent robbery of their hosts. That was, until the ladies retired to the drawing room and Dorothea spoke.
“I do hope you have recovered from that unfortunate incident.”
Larissa couldn’t believe Dorothea’s lack of decorum. How could she bring up such an unpleasant subject?
“Was Billy as handsome as they say?” Lady Brookhurst wanted to know.
“He was so handsome and strong, from what I could see. He wore that mask you know,” Lady Ardsmore replied. “His lips tore the very breath from my body when he … kissed me. I should wish Ardsmore could have such an effect.”
The ladies laughed, a mixture of outrage at her honest admission and envy. How could Lady Ardsmore have enjoyed being held up? Larissa wondered.
There was a part of Larissa that could perhaps understand the thrill of a robbery where no one was harmed, looking at it from the safety of hindsight. Three months ago, she might have reacted the same way herself. It was an adventure!
How she had grown from Miss Quinn, the innocent seminary girl, to Lady Trent, the baronet’s worldly wife.
Larissa realized she was not the same person at all.
Chapter Twenty-Two
This night had been just as warm as the last. A wisp of a cloud slipped in front of the night’s full moon, illuminating the green of the plants into silver. Rounding the corner on this side of the crossroads to Marsgate, the horses gave a great protest when Sir Randall brought the rig to a halt.
“Stand and deliver!” announced the booming baritone of a highwayman dressed in black who occupied the middle of the road atop a black horse. The black mount pranced in a carefully guided tight circle. Bussin’ Billy kept his primed pistol leveled upon his prey. “I’ll be relieving you of those gems, my lady.”
Larissa’s hand drew to her neck, fingering Lady Brookhurst’s garnet necklace before working the clasp loose and dropping it followed by the bracelet, into her lap.
“You, sir, stay seated. I’ll ask you, my lady, to step down, if you will.” Keeping his attention keen on Sir Randall, Bussin’ Billy dismounted. “If you please, my lord, your valuables and any monetary sums you may have on your person, hand them to your lovely companion.”
Sir Randall removed his fob from his waistcoat, pulled out his watch, unfastened his gold studs from his cuffs and pulled out his ruby stickpin from the folds of his cravat, handing them to Larissa one by one.
“Here, my fair lady, I await a kiss from your sweet lips.” Keeping the pistol aimed at Sir Randall, Billy held out his other hand for Larissa.
Sir Randall nudged her forward. “Go ahead, you know he won’t harm you.”
Larissa stepped toward the highwayman, preparing herself for the completion of the ritual by delivering a kiss one might bestow upon a hero instead of a scoundrel. She leaned toward him, the same scent of spice Sir Randall wore wafted from his cape.
Instead of pulling her close, Bussin’ Billy took hold of her arm and tucked it behind her waist, holding her steady against him. He then took quick but careful aim at Sir Randall and pulled the trigger.
The pistol spit fire. A blast ripped through the air, echoing through the night. Larissa could feel the reverberation in her chest. A small grey cloud of smoke drifted past between her and the stricken Sir Randall, who fell back against the seat.
Larissa screamed, somehow managed to struggle free, and ran back to the curricle to Sir Randall’s aid. He lay on the seat, his wounded arm draped onto the floor. He might have looked as if he were asleep, except for the growing dark stain on the sleeve of his expensive jacket.
The movement of the horses nearly caused Larissa to lose her balance. Then the rig lurched forward, sending her toppling over
Sir Randall’s leg. She landed on the seat next to him.
The horses bolted, carrying the occupants of the transport for an uncontrolled ride. Larissa grasped for the ribbons, sliding from their loose tether. She managed to gain hold of them and pulled back as hard as she could.
“Stop! Stop! Oh, please stop!” Larissa stood on her feet, leaning back with all her might, to no avail. The horses ran on.
Sir Randall must have recovered, for the next thing she knew, his hand came over hers and applied the added effort needed to stop the bolting team. Exhausted, he fell against the squabs.
She secured the ribbons and bent to Sir Randall’s side. “I was scared to death. I thought he might have killed you.”
“Might have killed me? I knew you would be rid of me, but—are you disappointed?” Larissa helped Sir Randall sit upright.
“What a horrible thing to say. I would never wish you dead.”
“Well that’s nice to hear,” he managed, gasping for air. She could see perspiration dotted along his forehead and upper lip. His usual warm expressive eyes were now vacant and mirrored pain.
“Does it hurt much? Let me see,” Larissa offered. She winced at the sight of the wound, keeping her touch as light as possible. She lifted his jacket and pulled it off his shoulder.
“Bloody hell!” he cried through his teeth.
The sleeve of his once smartly tailored jacket lay torn and soaked with blood. The flesh on his arm Larissa once knew as smooth was torn, looking angry and raw.
“It hurts enough,” he groaned through clenched teeth.
“I must bind your arm to stop the bleeding.” Larissa lifted the hem of her gown and tore at her white underskirt. She noticed he chanced a peek at her stocking-clad limbs. “Really, Sir Randall.” She threw the hem of her gown over her knees bringing his diversion to an end. “You’re in no position to make a game of this. You’re seriously hurt.”
“No one knows that better than I. You can’t begrudge me something to ease the pain.”
“You’ll find that in no way will staring at my garters ease your pain.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he mused. A gentle smile warmed his ashen face. “I seem to think my pain has lessened somewhat.”
She pressed a pad onto the wound. “Hold this,” she instructed. She wrapped his upper arm with the longest strip and pulled the material taut.
“Ouch! Would you please take care!”
“Sorry.” She winced in sympathy. Larissa pressed her hand against his face. His skin was cool to the touch, moist and clammy. She draped his coat over him for warmth before she took up the ribbons.
Lucky for her, Dorothea had insisted she try her hand at driving a team. Now she could manage to get them home.
On the way home, Larissa realized how easily she had escaped from Bussin’ Billy. And how did they become unwilling passengers of the runaway rig into the dead of night?
The highwayman must have allowed her to run back to the curricle. He could have quite easily prevented her from leaving his side. Why did he let her go?
Turning up the long drive, Carswell Castle loomed ahead, looking magical in the moonlight. Larissa knew Sir Randall needed care as soon as possible, but slowed the horse to navigate over the narrow bridge spanning the moat. Once inside the fortress walls, she followed the gravel path to the main house.
Up ahead parked next to the house was a black phaeton. To her knowledge it was not one Lord Melton owned.
Sir Randall’s eyes opened to narrow slits, managing a brief look. “Thank God the doctor’s here,” he slurred before his head lulled back on the squabs.
“The doctor?” She looked at Sir Randall and laid a protective hand on his shoulder. Something was wrong, she could feel it. Larissa slowed the horses to give herself time to ponder the conundrum set before her.
She still could not comprehend why the doctor was there. True, Sir Randall needed a physician, but how had it happened one had arrived? No one at the Castle could have known of Sir Randall’s plight. The doctor must have been called to attend to someone else. Exactly what had happened for someone to need a doctor? Larissa would not allow Sir Randall or herself to be lured into a trap. The situation called for caution, and careful she would be.
“We’re back at the castle.” She roused Sir Randall. “It’s time to go in.”
“What?” he groaned, lifting his head.
“Can you manage to walk into the house?”
A smile waned across his face. “If I can hold onto you for support, I’m sure I can manage.” He pushed himself upright to disembark.
Larissa pulled his greatcoat over his shoulders, covering the traces of his injury.
“You might need to steady me. I’m not sure how well I am able to remain upright.”
“That’s all right.” She coaxed him closer, slipping her right arm around his back, taking some of his weight. “Just lean on me as much as you need.” Larissa could feel the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.
“How are you to explain my condition?”
“I imagine I shall think of something.” It was the least of her worries. What concerned her more was what awaited her inside. With Sir Randall draped over her shoulder, Larissa moved forward.
The front door opened and they entered.
With the light of the foyer, she could see the loss of blood had made Sir Randall pale. The Marquess of Melton and Lord William emerged from the parlor. The trill of Lady Brookhurst rang through the hall, permeating the air.
“What has happened?” Larissa asked. The shock on her face could only be equaled by the shock on Lord William’s when he saw Sir Randall.
“We’ve been held up by Bussin’ Billy.” Lord Melton mopped his brow with a handkerchief.
“Was anyone hurt?” she asked, concerned beyond measure since Sir Randall had been wounded.
“Lady Brookhurst is suffering from spasms, the physician is attending to her now.” Lord Melton pocketed his fine linen handkerchief. “It was Dorothea,” the marquess explained. “The scoundrel called her for a buss and she shot the cur. Had a pistol hidden in her muff. It was horrible! Horrible! I saw it all with my own two eyes.”
As if on cue, Dorothea emerged from the parlor, joining them.
“Dorothea was so brave. She saved us all!” He planted a kiss on her outstretched hand.
Dorothea seemed quite calm with all that had happened. Her wide eyes inspected Sir Randall’s crumpled form. “Whatever is the matter with Sir Randall?”
“Nothing nearly so tragic. He has once again overindulged.” Larissa gave him a loving glance. “I best get him off to bed.”
“Let me give you a hand,” Lord William offered. He took up Sir Randall’s left side and bore most of the baronet’s weight up the stairs. Larissa sensed Lord William’s confusion.
Sir Randall had been adamant about their friendship. Larissa knew he could be trusted. Lord William remained quiet until they had reached the privacy of Sir Randall’s room.
They laid the groaning Sir Randall onto his bed. His head lulled back and half fell onto his pillow. It was not the look of someone who’s drunk deep. He had the look of someone who had lost a lot of blood.
Lord William retrieved the light as Larissa made Sir Randall comfortable.
“What ails him?” Lord William asked. Something in his voice told Larissa he hadn’t believed the drinking tale, and now he wanted the truth.
Larissa gave a somber stare and drew aside Sir Randall’s greatcoat, revealing a large red stain on his right arm.
“My God, he’s been shot! I’ll get the doctor. I’m sure he hasn’t left yet.”
“No!” Larissa grabbed Lord William’s sleeve before he could get away.
“Why on earth not?”
“It’s all so confusing, so complicated.” Larissa could not prevent her tears from spilling. “I don’t think they believe what happened to him. Don’t you think it’s a bit peculiar Sir Randall and Bussin’ Billy were shot on the same night and in t
he same place?”
“It would seem that someone would want him mistaken for the highwayman.” Lord William stood his ground. “Do you have proof to indicate otherwise?”
“You know it isn’t true.” She loosened Sir Randall’s cravat. “Please, you must help me.”
Lord William drew his pocket knife and sliced the Weston masterpiece away, exposing the bloodied shirt from the wound. He rolled Sir Randall onto his side to examine his arm. The ball had torn a good chunk of his flesh away, but had not hit the bone. “If we clean the wound and keep him still, he should be all right.”
Lord William moved to the dressing table and dispensed a portion of water into the basin. He slid aside something and set the pitcher down when he finished. Returning to the bed he handed a clean towel to Larissa who had finished removing the blood-caked bandage.
“I don’t know if you’ll ever believe me. We were held up,” Larissa explained. “The highwayman, it was Bussin’ Billy. He stole the necklace and bracelet loaned to me by Lady Brookhurst and he took Sir Randall’s pocket watch and ruby stickpin.”
Lord William glanced over his shoulder, straightened and returned to the dressing table. “You mean these?” Lord William held out his hand displaying several glittering objects. A ruby stickpin, gold studs, and a watch.
Larissa began to feel faint. “It’s impossible, they were stolen.” Her words came out in a gasp.
“Apparently, they have managed to find their way home.”
Larissa did not know whether Lord William believed her or not, but he did not hold disbelief in his voice. “Do you suppose Lady Brookhurst’s jewels have returned as well?”
“I cannot imagine why not,” William drawled with trepidation. “Shall I inquire?”
“No,” Larissa answered in a quick burst. “We must see to Randall first.” A strange feeling came over her. Perhaps she was going mad. She could not have imagined the horrible events of that evening.
“Ah, yes, ministrations to the needy.” He looked down at his friend, to the affected arm in particular, at different angles. “It’s taken out a good chunk but there’s no lead in there. We’ll need to cauterize that wound, though.” Lord William seemed to know exactly what to do.
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