Highway Revenge
By Nadine Millard
Blue Tulip Publishing
www.bluetulippublishing.com
Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2015 NADINE MILLARD
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.
HIGHWAY REVENGE
Copyright © 2015 NADINE MILLARD
ISBN-13: 978-1-942246-74-9
ISBN-10: 1-942246-74-9
Cover Art by Jena Brignola
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINTEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
EPILOGUE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
ALSO FROM BLUE TULIP PUBLISHING
For my wonderful dad; I’ll always be a Lee girl at heart!
And for my niece Kayla, thank you for the inspiration.
PROLOGUE
“Do not slouch, Evelyn, for heaven’s sake.”
Evelyn Spencer sat straighter, her spine rigid, her posture above reproach.
She didn’t care a whit about good posture. She did care about her ears and had no desire to have them bleeding with her governess’s scolding.
“Sorry, Miss. Tate,” she said automatically.
Generally speaking, it was better to just apologise. Sometimes, if Evelyn was very lucky, it stopped the sermon in its tracks.
There was no such luck today.
“Young lady, for too long you have been allowed to run riot, indulging in behaviours that are unbecoming of a lady of good breeding. And although your father was far too soft, even encouraging these things, your uncle certainly will not be.”
Miss Tate was gathering steam, her spectacles slipping down her hawk-like nose as she spoke, but Evelyn was barely listening. The lance of pain that went through her at the mention of her father was acute, and most of her concentration focused on not bursting into noisy sobs.
Miss Tate didn’t allow her to cry.
“You must remember, Evelyn, that your uncle did not have to take you in. He is doing so out of the goodness of his heart, and he is not going to allow you to act in the manner that you have been doing. He has his own children to raise and cannot waste his time pandering to your ridiculous antics.”
Evelyn listened to Miss Tate berating her and did not speak, for there was no point.
Father had been indulgent; it was true. But Evelyn had never been badly behaved. She climbed trees instead of sewing, learned Latin along with Jon, though she had passable French too. And, worst of all to Miss Tate, she had an unrivalled talent with a sword. She could shoot and ride astride, though she had learned to ride side-saddle too.
Basically, her father had taught her everything he would have taught a son. Evelyn felt that she was the all the better for it. What harm in a young lady knowing how to defend herself, after all?
Especially now.
Because Miss Tate was right in what she said. Uncle Geoffrey had no reason to take her in; he could just leave her to her own devices.
He was trustee to her inheritance, yes. But that didn’t mean he had to give her a roof over her head. When she became adult, she would be very well-provided for. Her inheritance was large enough that she would live very comfortably. But he could have left her to her own devices and hadn’t, which, she supposed, was a good sign. It meant that he wanted her, perhaps.
It was true. Uncle Geoffrey could have abandoned her after father’s carriage accident. Instead, he had sent for her, and was going to allow her to live at his estate in Surrey, even have siblings of sort, which was a novelty to her. Her cousins, Jonathan and Anna, would be welcome distractions for her.
“Evelyn,” Miss Tate barked, causing her to jump, “are you listening to me?”
“I am, Miss Tate,” she mumbled obediently. “I am very grateful to my uncle and aunt.”
Miss Tate squinted at her as though suspicious of her sincerity, but, after a moment, she nodded her head.
“Very well. Now, I am going to sleep for the rest of the journey. Do not…” She glared. “…awaken me.”
Evelyn nodded her understanding then turned to gaze at the passing countryside.
She missed her father desperately at times like this. Times when she didn’t know what was happening, where she was going, and how her life would be.
Her Aunt Millicent was a hard woman, and Uncle Geoffrey had always frightened the life out of her. He was cold and harsh and everything her father wasn’t.
And the fact of the matter was Evelyn didn’t know them, not really. They had sent the occasional letter on birthdays and Christmas, but that had been it really.
Time ticked on until finally the carriage rolled to a stop in front of a beautiful red-brick manor house. Evelyn knew it from frequent visits when her grandfather had been alive. But it had been some years since her father had brought her here.
Uncle Geoffrey had inherited the estate as the eldest son. Her father had received a hefty sum as the only other child but hadn’t remained at the family seat, or even near it. He’d bought a small estate in Norfolk, and Evelyn had been very happy there.
Miss Tate awoke with a start when the footman opened the carriage door and placed the steps at it.
Evelyn stepped out, a mixture of grief and apprehension giving her butterflies. She hoped very much that she would be happy here. And it was good, she supposed, that Miss Tate would be the family governess. Evelyn might not like her very much, but at least she was familiar.
“Now, you remember your manners,” the woman hissed now to Evelyn as she took her by the hand and led her toward the entrance of the manor house.
They stepped inside and were greeted by a starchy and formidable butler. At least, he was formidable to Evelyn, but then, she was only ten. Miss Tate didn’t seem in the slightest bit intimated.
“I am Thornton, the butler of the house,” the man said with a perfunctory bow. “The family are in the green drawing room. If you will follow me, I shall take you there at once.”
Evelyn gripped Miss Tate’s hand tighter as they began to walk through the massive house toward the green drawing room.
Miss Tate, to her surprise, squeezed right back.
“Stiff upper lip, Evelyn,” she said before stopping altogether and turning Evelyn toward her. “You will do very well, child, if you learn to curb your adventurous nature. Ladies of Quality act a certain way at all times. You will, no doubt, be a beautiful young woman, but you will never catch a husband with your wild ways.”
Evelyn resisted the urge to make a face at the word husband. That was the last thing she wanted. B
oys were positively disgusting.
Instead, she nodded obediently and continued on with Miss Tate.
The butler was awaiting their arrival outside a closed door. The sound of conversation filtered out, and Evelyn had to bite her lip to stop from crying at what she heard.
“Well, her mother was a weak, snivelling nobody. Couldn’t even survive childbirth. The brat will probably be the same.”
“Then why offer to have her live with us, Geoffrey, for goodness’ sake?”
“What else was I to do? What if word got out that I hadn’t taken her in? Bad show, that. What would we say in London?”
Aunt Millicent sighed as though the weight of the world was on her shoulders.
“Yes, you are right. And she will have to receive the same education as Jonathan and Anna for the same reason.”
“Yes, she’ll have to have a Season too, though we will obviously make quite sure Anna is taken care of first.”
“Let them come out together. I have no fears of anyone outshining Anna.” Her aunt laughed, and Evelyn felt her cheeks burn with humiliation.
The butler seemed unsure about whether to announce them after such a conversation, but there was nothing else for it.
Evelyn thought she detected a flash of sympathy in the man’s eyes as he glanced at her before knocking and opening the door.
“Miss Evelyn and Miss Tate, sir,” he said with a bow.
Evelyn took a deep breath.
It seemed fairly obvious, even to her child’s mind, that she wasn’t wanted here. But she was here now, and there was very little she could do about it.
CHAPTER ONE
Ten years later
“It feels strange to be home.” Jonathan Spencer looked out the window of the rolling carriage, moving ever closer to Spencer Park, the estate that he would one day run.
He dearly hoped that day was a very long time from now. His work was dangerous and sometimes utterly soul-destroying. But, for all that, he loved it and would not wish to give it up.
“I imagine it is,” his companion answered.
Unlike Jonathan, Lord Andrew Ashdon, future Earl of Downsbury, was already in charge of the running of his estate. His father, the current earl, was completely infirm and so, although the title had yet to pass to him, the responsibility of the earldom’s estates and holdings were already on the shoulders of the viscount.
It didn’t stop him leaving the country on one of their assignments at the drop of a hat, however. If Jonathan enjoyed the thrill of their missions, Ashdon was mildly addicted to it.
“Stranger still that you’ve somehow persuaded me to come along.”
Jonathan looked over at his friend and partner and grinned.
“Come now, Ash. It won’t be so bad.”
“Says the man who had to be blackmailed into coming back by a hysterical mama.”
Jonathan grimaced at the truth in Ashdon’s words.
“You know that right now we could be in White’s enjoying the finest whiskey, planning a night of gambling, wenching, general hell-raising…” continued Andrew.
“Yes, I know.”
“…yet here we are. On our way to a crumbling pile of bricks occupied by no one but your mother, father, and that mousy little cousin you spoke of. Emma, was it?”
“Evelyn. And Anna will be visiting too.”
“Ah, the delectable Anna. Hasn’t she gone and married that dullard, Peter Grant?”
Jon sighed and ran a hand through his golden-blond hair, his usually bright amber eyes dulling.
“Yes, she bloody well has. What was she thinking? I’ve never met him without wanting to shoot him within five minutes.”
“I’m sure nobody has.”
“If I’d been here when she did it, there’s no way I would have let it go ahead.”
“You couldn’t have stopped it, Jon.”
“No, I don’t suppose I could have.” Jonathan’s eyes dulled even more as they flashed with pain. “It seems I’m making a habit of letting down the women in my life.”
Andrew opened his mouth to refute Jonathan’s words, but a shake of Jonathan’s head was enough to communicate that he didn’t want to speak of it any longer. A silence fell between them as Jonathan tried his best to battle the demons who never seemed to leave him alone, and Andrew wondered how he could help his friend and how the hell he was going to survive the sheer boredom of weeks in the country.
Andrew looked out the carriage window at the passing countryside and tried not to worry overly much about the man opposite him. Opposite in all ways, come to that.
Jonathan was blond where Andrew was dark, his hair a deep black. Jonathan’s eyes were a light, bright golden brown, Andrew’s a dark, moss green. And where Jonathan was always the life and soul of the party, cheery and fun-loving, Andrew was of a more sarcastic, acerbic nature.
Both were charming, both were famously popular with the fairer sex, but they were as different as night and day. Their roles were set and worked well for them. If they wanted information, Jonathan either charmed it out of people, or Andrew scared it out of them. If they needed something done, Jonathan achieved it with a smile, Andrew with a glare.
Yes, they were opposites. But it worked well for them. And in the world they lived in, full of danger and intrigue, it was important that it did.
And then Paris happened.
“Almost there.” Jonathan’s voice, sounding mercifully happier, penetrated Andrew’s thoughts.
Andrew groaned. “Tell me again why I’m doing this?”
“Because it is good to recuperate after a particularly intense mission.”
Andrew merely raised a brow.
“Because living in cities being debauched all the time is very wearing on one’s soul.”
He scoffed.
“Because…” Jonathan’s voice dropped, and Andrew suddenly felt helplessly uneasy. “…because Paris almost killed me, Ash. And I need this. I need some normality. Even if it’s only the pretence of it.”
Andrew knew that Jonathan was suffering. One didn’t become a spy for the Crown without a certain amount of suffering. And yes, Andrew had almost died in Paris, had, in fact, been saved by Jon. So he’d suffered physical pain and even fear, though he would never admit such a thing. But he hadn’t had to watch the woman he loved be killed. And he hadn’t been forced to leave her behind.
These events could be the thing that finally broke Jonathan’s spirit, that sent him home to live the quiet, relatively uncomplicated life of a well-off gentleman and heir. And Andrew thought it would be a crying shame if that were to be the case. Not only would he lose a colleague, but he would surely lose a friend.
Andrew was not cut out for a life of quietude in the country. In fact, he’d never even been to Jonathan’s home. He’d met the family in Town, but never the meek little cousin.
Apparently, she’d had a come out the same year as Anna, but Andrew had been away at the time. Spain, if memory served him.
Anyway, it had been one Season where Anna had shone, unsurprisingly. The cousin had hardly been talked of and had gone scurrying back to the country never to be seen again.
Andrew survived on a lifestyle made up of debauchery, flirtations, and an excess of whiskey from time to time. This stay in the country would likely be the end of him.
He looked again at Jonathan and saw that the other man’s mood remained as sombre as ever. That simply wouldn’t do. He wouldn’t let his best friend slip into a depression, no matter how understandable it would be.
“So,” Andrew stretched out, injecting his voice with a joviality he didn’t feel, “who will there be to entertain me then, if your sister is wed?”
As Andrew had hoped, Jonathan’s amber eyes took on a dangerous glint. Danger was better than melancholy.
“Entertain you?” he repeated softly.
Andrew merely grinned unrepentantly.
“Don’t we have a rule about sisters?” Jonathan asked, his tone still hostile.
“S
ince I don’t have a sister, I would say no.”
“Well, we do now.”
“Ah,” said Andrew, his grin wider still, “and what’s that?”
“That if you touch my sister, I shoot you.”
Jonathan, Andrew knew, was a crack shot. Just as he was.
“But I’m your best friend,” he argued.
“You are,” said Jon, “and I’ll remember you fondly.”
Andrew laughed aloud and was pleased to see that even Jonathan produced a smile.
“And that goes for cousins, too,” the other man continued now.
Andrew scoffed.
“The quiet little church-mouse cousin who couldn’t even survive a full Season in Town? Trust me, my friend. She is entirely safe.”
Jonathan nodded, as though he were serious in his warning. As though Andrew would ever consider a dalliance with a timid country cousin!
He looked out of the window and thought fondly of the gentlemen’s club, the gaming halls and, most fondly, the mistresses he’d left behind.
This was sure to be the most boring, uneventful period of his existence.
“Evelyn, do not slouch.”
It was ironic really, Evelyn thought, that after ten years she managed to get herself scolded for the same things, the same number of times.
No matter how hard she tried, how straight she sat, how quiet she remained, she somehow always got it wrong. She looked up and caught the sympathetic look of her cousin, Anna.
“I’m sorry, Aunt Millicent.”
“Yes, well enough time and blunt has been spent to try to get you to at least appear as a lady should.”
Evelyn felt the familiar sting of humiliation burn her cheeks. Sometimes she wanted to rail at her aunt, scream that it was her father’s money, now her money that paid for such things.
But of course she would never actually do such a thing.
For one thing, ten years of criticism and insistence that she was as inconvenient as she was unwanted was enough to silence even the very sturdiest of spirits. For another, Evie’s recent discoveries were enough to ensure she stayed as quiet as the mouse she was believed to be, if only until she figured out what to do with the devastating news she’d uncovered.
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