by Sandra Heath
They managed to persuade the horses to negotiate the turn into the drive, and soon the welcome lights of Oakgrove House swung into view. There was no one behind them as they led the team toward the door.
* * * *
The footpads thought themselves safe, and now strolled quite openly across the highway toward Halfway House. There were still carriages passing to-and-fro, and they didn’t hear the single horseman riding swiftly up behind them. The first they knew was when they reached the verge on the other side of the road, and a cool voice commanded them to halt or know the consequences.
They froze in a pool of light from a lantern on the corner of a building, and as they slowly turned they saw the gentleman on his thoroughbred, his pistol leveled at them. He had detected them in the meadow, and had overheard enough of their unguarded conversation to know that they were the ones who had robbed the carriage in the lane. He had had only to wait until they were out in the open, where there were sufficient lights to see them accurately…
The ringleader spread his hands in a gesture of innocence. “What d’you want wiv us, guv’?”
“The earrings you stole a few minutes ago,” replied the gentleman, slowly cocking his pistol. The sound carried ominously to their ears.
“Earrings, guv’?” said the ringleader, shifting his position uncomfortably.
“Don’t play the innocent with me, for I’ve heard enough of your conversation to know you did it. Hand them over.”
The footpad’s eyes darkened with anger, but he didn’t want to risk the squeezing of any trigger. “We meant no ‘arm, guv’,” he said, taking the earrings from his pocket and holding them out in the palm of his hand.
“Bring them to me,” commanded the gentleman, swinging the pistol toward the man’s heart. “And no tricks, my friends, or it will be the worst for you.”
“No tricks, I promise, guv’,” murmured the man, walking slowly toward him, the earrings still in the palm of his hand.
The gentleman was no fool, and guessed that the man meant to throw them. He took very careful aim with the pistol. “One swift move now, my friend, and I’ll put an immediate end to you. Move very slowly indeed if you know what’s good for you.”
A nerve flickered at the man’s temple, and he thought better of trying anything. “You’ve got the better of me, guv’. I won’t do nothin’, I swear it.”
“Don’t be foolish enough to test me,” breathed the gentleman, reaching down carefully with one hand, while still keeping the pistol trained upon the man’s heart.
The man slowly dropped the earrings into the outstretched hand, and then backed away. He reached his companions, and they all hesitated, wondering what would happen next.
The gentleman’s swift glance went toward the surrounding buildings. It was a warren of villains, and one shot would bring them all pouring out. He wanted no further trouble, for he had got what he had come for. He pushed the earrings into his pocket, and then backed his horse slowly away, the pistol still cocked. He could hear another carriage approaching, and he waited until it had drawn alongside him, then he sharply turned his horse, kicking his heels and urging it across the highway behind the carriage.
The footpads gave a shout and began to give chase, but then halted again, for he had vanished into the shadows at the far side of the road, and they knew that he had got away.
* * * *
With a satisfied laugh, the gentleman rode easily back across the meadow toward the gate into the lane, but as he drew near he could not see the telltale glow of carriage lamps. Reining in in the gateway, he glanced up and down the now deserted lane. Then he saw something small and white lying on the ground, and he dismounted to see what it was.
He picked up a lady’s handkerchief, embroidered with flowers and trimmed with lace. Instinctively he raised it to inhale the perfume of lavender, and then he smiled a little. Who was she, his mysterious lady in distress? Well, maybe he would never know now, for she had flown.
Remounting, he urged the horse back up toward the highway, and then continued on his way as if nothing had ever interrupted his journey.
Chapter 6
Isobel stood at her bedroom window overlooking Hyde Park. The morning sunlight was cold and clear, and the trees were still white with frost. A constant stream of carriages drove in and out of Grosvenor Gate, and there was a cavalcade of elegant and fashionable riders enjoying the display of Rotten Row. She was sure she could hear the distant laughter and shouts of the people skating on the ice-covered Serpentine.
She glanced back at her reflection in the graceful gilt-framed cheval glass in the dressing room behind her. She was dressed in modish walking clothes, an amber woolen pelisse trimmed with white fur and a matching amber gown that was embroidered with white rosebuds. Her hair was twisted up beneath a white fur hat, and on her feet she wore neat little ankle boots that were laced at the back. A brown velvet reticule was looped over her wrist, and she flexed her slender fingers a little impatiently in her gloves as she returned her attention to the scene outside. Her gaze raked the traffic approaching from the southern end of Park Lane, seeking one carriage in particular, Alexander’s town vehicle, for Elizabeth had said that they would be driving in the park this morning, and she, Isobel, meant to turn the occasion to her own advantage, just as she had made full use of the Ackermann’s exhibition the evening before.
A faint smile played upon her lovely lips as she thought of the previous evening. How good it had been to spend so long alone in his company, and how flatteringly attentive he had been. No one could have been more helpful and thoughtful, going to endless lengths to make sure that the perfect print was chosen for her father. A sliver of guilt touched her for a moment, and she lowered her glance to the windowsill. It was very wrong to pretend that her father was much more ill than he really was, but so strong were her feelings for Alexander that she had not thought twice about employing such a reprehensible device. She was far from proud of herself, but where Alexander was concerned she was prepared to ignore such minor complications as pangs of conscience. Taking a deep breath she looked outside again, determined to proceed with the plan she had embarked upon at the Duke of Devonshire’s ball. She was going to win Alexander, and she could still tell herself that there was nothing wrong with such a course because Elizabeth did not really love him as he should be loved.
She began to hum softly to herself, and again the tune she chose was the melody from L’Echange. She was going to make the new cotillion come true, and was going to supplant Elizabeth as Alexander’s partner.
* * * *
At that moment Alexander’s carriage was approaching the southern corner of Park Lane. The team of beautifully matched grays stepped high, harness jingling, and the gleaming dark green vehicle swayed as its bright yellow wheels rattled over the stones. Inside there was an awkward atmosphere, with both occupants gazing silently out of the windows.
Elizabeth was close to tears, for it was upsetting to have fallen out with Alexander so quickly after the frightening events of the night before. Her hands twisted disconsolately in her peach fur muff, and she bit her lip, determined not to show by so much as a single tear that she was really far from composed. She had awoken that morning in an extremely unsettled mood, filled with reservations about her forthcoming betrothal, and still distressed about the robbery. She felt guilty, too, wondering if her gallant rescuer had returned as he had promised. How ungrateful he must think her.
Opposite her, Alexander was also feeling far from happy. He gave a silent sigh, shifting his position slightly on the seat. He wore a wine-red coat, green-and-white-floral brocade waistcoat, and pale gray breeches, and his tall-crowned hat was tipped back on his dark hair. He rested one arm along the window ledge of the carriage, and his gloved fingers drummed restlessly as he stole a secret glance at Elizabeth.
She looked lovely in a stylish gray velvet pelisse and peach gown. There was peach embroidery on the pelisse, gray embroidery on the gown, and on her head she wore a g
ray straw bonnet adorned with delicate peach-and-gray gauze scarves that were tied in a huge bow beneath her chin. Soft dark-blond curls edged her face, which looked rather pale and tired; she had not slept well the night before, and prior to that there had been the ball, which had gone on until dawn. He wanted to reach out to her and take her in his arms to comfort her, but words had been exchanged and he was angry. He was also plagued with remorse, for when she had been terrorized while at the mercy of footpads, he had been laughing and enjoying himself with Isobel at Ackermann’s. To salve this remorse he had told himself that he could hardly have been expected to know what was happening, indeed he had not known anything until this morning, when Wentworth had informed him. Elizabeth should have sent for him the night before, or at the very least she should have sent word telling him what had happened, but she had not done either. He was very concerned for her, but he was also angry that he had been excluded in her hour of need. It was anger that had bubbled to the surface as soon as they were alone in the carriage.
He closed his eyes for a moment, recalling the conversation. He had begun on an unbecoming note of which he was now ashamed. “Elizabeth, do you not think it would have been courteous to have let me know about last night?”
“There was nothing you could have done.”
“I could have come to you, or did you perhaps think my comfort was of so little consequence that you could not be bothered with it?”
Her gray eyes had flown reproachfully to his face. “Oh, Alexander, you know that that isn’t so.”
“I don’t know any such thing. Why didn’t you send for me?”
“Because the whole business was over and done with, and I saw no point in ruining your evening. You’d been looking forward to examining all those prints, and I didn’t want to spoil it for you.”
“I would have preferred to have been with you when you needed me, Elizabeth. Besides, Isobel and I…”
“Isobel?” She had looked quickly at him. “Isobel was with you?”
He had felt unaccountable color rush into his cheeks. “Er—yes. At least, we did not accompany each other there, rather did she seek me out to help her choose a print to take to her father. We spent some time deliberating, and in the end decided upon a particularly handsome likeness of a Newfoundland retriever. I understand your uncle is particularly fond of gun dogs.”
“I have never known him to display such a decided fondness, but that does not necessarily signify since I have not visited Southwell Park very frequently in recent years. Did you escort Isobel home afterward?”
The color had remained on his cheeks. “Yes. Actually she expressed a wish to sit with me in my phaeton, and so her carriage followed.”
“You should not have done that, Alexander. My aunt would not be best pleased to learn that Isobel was with you without her chaperone. I take it that she did visit Ackermann’s in company with her maid?”
“Yes, of course she did, and the maid could see us all the time. Elizabeth, we did not offend propriety in any way last night, I assure you.”
“I do not for a moment imagine that you did,” she had replied. “I am just pointing out that it would have been wiser to have insisted that Isobel return in her carriage.”
“And as far as you and I are concerned, it would have been wiser if you had sent for me last night,” he had replied, the words slipping out almost before he knew they were in his head.
Her lips had parted in surprise. “What do you mean by that?”
“Simply that I no longer know where I am with you, Elizabeth. In recent days you’ve been withdrawn and almost unapproachable at times. You insist that all is well, but I know it isn’t. Are you going to confide in me, or not?”
“There is nothing to confide.” But she had not met his eyes.
He had fallen silent for a moment, not wanting to continue in the same vein, but unable to help himself. “And what of this mysterious Sir Galahad?”
“Sir Galahad?”
“Your dashing rescuer?”
She flushed a little. “That is all there is to tell. He came when I called for help, and then he rode off to try to retrieve my earrings. We thought the footpads were returning, and so Violet and I led the carriage back to the house. I do not know who the gentleman was, and I don’t even know if he returned to the lane as he promised. I wish now that we had stayed there, for it was hardly courteous to run away as we did.”
“He didn’t introduce himself?”
“It wasn’t a time for observing politeness, Alexander,” she had replied a little shortly.
“So it seems. Tell me, Elizabeth, why was it acceptable for you to turn to this unknown fellow for assistance, but a little questionable for me to help Isobel choose a print for her father?”
She had stared at him, totally taken aback. “Alexander, I haven’t even remotely suggested that it was not in order for you to assist Isobel.”
“No? It seems to me that you are reading more into the matter than there is to read.”
“If that is how it seems to you, then I can only repeat that you are wrong,” she had replied sharply. “And as to my having turned to a stranger for assistance, perhaps you think it would have been better if I’d remained silent and allowed the footpads to do as they wished? I do not think that they had just robbery in mind, indeed I am sure they did not, and that if it had not been for my so-called Sir Galahad, then I fear to imagine what fate might have befallen Violet and me.”
Contrition had descended over him then. “Elizabeth, I—”
“Please don’t say anything more, Alexander, for I would prefer not to argue further. So far this morning you have done nothing but find fault with me, and now I simply wish to complete this disagreeable drive in silence.”
That was where the matter had been left, and nothing could have been more unsatisfactory. In his heart he knew that the fault had been his, but it was still true that she had been in an odd humor recently. Sometimes he felt that a great chasm separated them, and it was a feeling that was beginning to affect him. He loved her, the Lord knew he loved her, but her withdrawal made it very difficult indeed…
The carriage was approaching Grosvenor Gate, and was forced to slow as it joined the many other vehicles that converged on the same spot in order to take part in the fashionable daily turn around Hyde Park, the “lungs” of London. Neither Elizabeth nor Alexander glanced toward Aunt Avery’s house opposite, nor did they see Isobel’s figure in the window. The carriage negotiated the turn through the gate, and Isobel gathered her skirts to hurry down through the house to where her maid was waiting in the vast marble entrance hall. A moment later they emerged into the cold morning air, quickly crossing Park Lane to enter the park.
Meanwhile, the carriage had passed the famous Gloucester Riding School, which lay just inside Grosvenor Gate, and was now driving south with all the other vehicles making the circuit of the park. The thud of hooves and jingle of harness filled the air, as did the excited yelping of the elegant greyhounds that loped at the heels of their masters’ glossy Arabian horses, for it was very much the thing for gentlemen of fashion to keep such horses and hounds simply for the parade in the park. Lacquered carriage panels gleamed in the sunlight, and perfectly matched teams tossed their fine heads as London’s haut ton took the air.
The park was famous for its avenues of oaks, chestnuts, and elms, and was cool and leafy during the hot summer months, but there were no leaves now, just frosty branches forming a lacework against the cold blue sky. The waters of the Serpentine were now a sheet of ice upon which countless enthusiastic skaters endeavored to show off their skill, or lack of it, and a great crowd had gathered because a rather tipsy young blood was causing havoc by driving his cabriolet over the frozen surface. His whip cracked and the horse picked up its heels in a spirited trot as the light vehicle skimmed over the ice, occasionally slipping from side to side and threatening to overturn.
Elizabeth sat forward, her eyes widening as she watched the breathtakingly reckles
s display. “Is he mad?” she gasped, her heart almost stopping as the young gentleman turned his horse sharply to the right, and the cabriolet slid alarmingly to one side.
Alexander had been observing as well, and now he nodded. “Well, since he happens to be the Honorable Horace Skiffingworth-Smythe, I think one may safely say yes, he is totally mad. I believe that last week he won a wager that he could drive his cabriolet up the steps of St. Paul’s Cathedral.” He smiled at her.
She was glad of the olive branch, and returned the smile.
He reached out, putting his gloved hand to her pale cheek. “Please forgive me, my darling,” he said softly.
“If you will forgive me.”
“With all my heart. I’m sorry I’ve been behaving poorly this morning, but I was truly alarmed when I heard what had happened to you. I felt guilty for having been enjoying myself at Ackermann’s when you were in such danger.”
“I should have sent word to you. I did not mean to hurt your feelings by not doing so, you do know that, don’t you?”
“Of course,” he whispered. He sat back then. “It will do us both good to escape to Lincolnshire for a while, for London can be very tiring.”
“When will we be able to leave?”
“The day after tomorrow if you wish.”
“Of course I wish.” She smiled again.
“But what if Isobel isn’t ready to leave then?” he asked suddenly.
“She will have to be ready,” Elizabeth replied firmly.
“I’m sure she will be,” he said after a moment. “She is really very charming, so charming that I find it hard to believe that you and she are not close.”
“Well, as I said, she appears to have turned over a very new leaf since last she and I met.” Elizabeth grinned a little impishly. “Do you know, I am quite convinced that Isobel has noted your astonishing likeness to Childe Harold. She probably believes you to be all that is romantic and wonderfully wicked.”