by Candace Camp
“I said that I was not going to bully you into marrying me. I didn’t say that I had any intention of giving up on your becoming my wife.” Royce stopped in front of the sofa where Lily sat. He turned to Mary.
“But how—I mean—”
He let out a little chuckle and leaned in closer. His breath tickled her ear, sending a shiver through her, as he whispered, “My dear girl, there are other methods of persuasion.”
Mary simply stared at Royce as, with a bow, he picked up her hand, pressed his lips softly to the back of it, and, with a last, glittering look, walked away.
Mary’s sisters went riding the next afternoon, but Mary did not go with them. She told herself that she stayed at home because she did not wish to be around Royce. However, deep down, she knew that there was another reason. She had been unable to get the packet of letters she’d found in the attic out of her mind, and lying awake last night, considering Royce and what he had said, she could not help but think that if only she could look at those letters, she would have a better idea of what Royce and Sabrina had meant to one another. Had it merely been the youthful first love that Royce indicated it was, something he had recovered from long ago? Or was it the love of a lifetime, as Sabrina had hinted and Mary suspected to be true?
As soon as she heard her sisters head downstairs, Mary sprang to her feet and slipped out into the hallway. Glancing up and down to make certain no one was about, she walked quickly along the corridor and up the back staircase, making her way to the attic door. It did not take her long to locate the trunk, and she hovered over it for a minute, torn. But as much as she told herself that looking at Royce’s letters was wrong, she knew that she had not come up to the attic simply to turn around and go back down. Finally, with a sigh, she opened the chest.
There was the bundle of letters, lying on top. Mary picked it up and untied the ribbon, then sat down on the floor, careless of the dust on her skirts, and laid the letters in her lap. Setting her candle on the flat lid of the trunk beside her, she picked up the top letter with fingers that trembled slightly and opened it.
“Darling Royce …” it began. Mary turned over the page, her eyes going to the signature at the bottom: “Yrs. forever, Sabrina.”
They were from her. He had taken Sabrina’s letters and notes and carefully bundled them together, storing them away to keep forever. In all the years since, he had never come back and thrown them away. Tears stung Mary’s eyes.
There was another letter among them, written in a different hand on different paper. When Mary examined it, she saw that it was a letter from Royce to Sabrina. She wondered whether he had never sent it or whether she had returned it to him. Slowly Mary unfolded the letter and began to read.
My Aphrodite,
I called upon you again yesterday, and again your maid turned me away. I waited beneath your window, hoping you would come to look out at me, but you did not appear. I have told myself that you do not withhold yourself from me voluntarily, that your parents demanded it of you, that it is they who force you to marry a man old enough to be your father. Oliver has assured me that is not the case, and I have refused to believe him. But when I saw you in town this afternoon, unchaperoned, with only your maid to accompany you, and you walked away from me without a word, leaving my heart trampled in the dust, I knew that it had not been Oliver who lied.
The letter went on in this manner for a time, declaring his despair over the announcement of Sabrina’s impending marriage to Lord Humphrey before descending into a bitter diatribe against Sabrina’s faithlessness:
Do the vows we made to each other mean nothing to you? When you told me that you loved me and wanted to marry me, were you lying as you spoke, or did you decide only later to make your word worthless?
He spoke of his intention to leave for Scotland, as Oliver and the old earl had arranged, and then finally, as if he could not hold them in, words of love poured forth again. He remembered the way she had looked when he had first seen her, describing her in loving detail. He recalled the things they had said and done, the way his heart beat faster whenever he saw her.
Tears welled up, blinding her, and Mary closed her eyes, letting the tears roll down her cheeks. His words had the passion and emotion of a young man, but they also carried the deep conviction of love. Could anyone who had loved so deeply, cared so much, really come to feel nothing for the person who had captured his heart?
Hastily, Mary folded the letter and put it back with the others, retying the bundle. She could not bear to read any more. She wished that she had never given in to the temptation to read it at all. Picking up her candle, Mary thrust the packet of letters back into the trunk and left the attic. She returned to her room, but she soon found that she did not want to be alone with her thoughts. So, after changing into one of her new sprig muslin day dresses, Mary made her way downstairs, hoping that she would find Charlotte also at loose ends.
She realized her mistake when she ran into Royce at the bottom of the stairs, talking to Charlotte.
“What are you doing here?” The words were out of her mouth before she realized how rude they sounded. She cast a quick, apologetic glance at Charlotte. “I mean—that is—I thought you were riding with the girls, Sir Royce.”
“No, I let them go out with the grooms this afternoon. I was discussing some business matters with Oliver.”
“Oh.” Mary cast about for some excuse to leave, but Charlotte was too quick for her.
“Come with us,” her cousin said, linking her arm through Mary’s. “We were just about to join Oliver in the drawing room.”
Her afternoon was going from bad to worse, Mary thought, as she smiled perfunctorily at Charlotte and followed her into the smaller drawing room at the front of the house. Now she would have to sit and make polite conversation with a number of people, including the very man she least wanted to be around at the moment.
When they entered, Fitz was apparently regaling his brother with the details of a new team of horses he was considering buying.
“But didn’t you just buy a team last year?” Oliver said mildly.
“Yes, of course, but these bays are magnificent. You’d have to see them to understand.”
Oliver smiled faintly. “Yes, I am sure that I would.” He glanced toward the others as they entered, and Pirate, snuggled next to the earl, raised his head and let out a yip of greeting.
“You will have to excuse Pirate,” Oliver told Mary. “He just finished chasing a number of squirrels back into their trees on our walk, not to mention sparrows into the sky, and he is too tired, I think, for his usual dance of joy at seeing you.”
“Royce,” Fitz said, “you’ve seen Parkington’s team, haven’t you? Aren’t they worth the price?”
“I daresay,” Royce agreed casually, going to stand by the fireplace and hooking his arm on the mantelpiece. “If one needed a new pair.”
“You are as bad as Oliver,” Fitz told him with a grimace. “But I will need a new pair, you see, when I purchase that high-perch phaeton I’ve a mind to get.”
Oliver let out a groan. “Another vehicle?”
“You make it sound as if I have a fleet. And don’t”—he held up a hand as if to ward off his brother’s next remark—“don’t start counting them, as you did that time with my pistols.”
Both Oliver and Royce smiled at his remark. “As I remember, you sufficiently discouraged me at the time.”
“It was only a black eye,” Fitz told him unrepentantly. “And you thoroughly deserved it.
“You hit Lord Stewkesbury?” Mary was startled enough to ask without pausing to think about the rudeness.
“Oh, yes.” Fitz shrugged carelessly. “Course he wasn’t Lord Stewkesbury then. It was once when he was down from Oxford. He was a terrible bore, always prosing on about one thing or another.”
“Only because you ran wild here when Royce and I were gone,” Oliver shot back.
“I was the old earl’s favorite, you see,” Fitz said in an aside
to Mary, grinning. “They were always jealous.”
Before his two brothers could start on their versions of the story, Bostwick appeared in the doorway, announcing the arrival of Lady Vivian Carlyle. Both Charlotte and Mary bounced up to greet Lady Vivian.
“Forgive me for calling on you again so soon,” Vivian said to the earl. “But I think that if Lady Sabrina and I had remained together another half hour, there would have been blood on the drawing room floor.”
“You are welcome at Willowmere anytime.” Stewkesbury stood up and bowed formally. “Though I feel sure that your visit with Lady Sabrina will become more harmonious once you have, um, grown accustomed to one another again.”
Vivian let out a little laugh. “Really, Stewkesbury, I know you believe in maintaining a courteous front, but it is a sin to lie, remember. Sabrina and I have never gotten along, and we all know it. There’s no reason to pretend otherwise.”
“I see you are the same as ever,” the earl responded dryly.
Again Lady Vivian chuckled. “As are you.” She turned toward Mary. “Lord Stewkesbury remembers all too well when Charlotte and I were schoolgirls together. He was at Oxford then, I believe, and he found us most provoking. I used to visit a great deal, you see; I was very fond of my uncle and aunt—Uncle Humphrey’s first wife. Charlotte and I would giggle and run through the halls of Willowmere.”
“And play ghastly tricks on everyone,” Royce added good-naturedly.
“Primarily on me,” the earl countered, but he unbent enough to smile. “What hoydens you were. And you encouraged them, Royce.”
“Me!” Royce looked indignant. “It was Fitz who aided and abetted them. I was merely an innocent—” He stopped suddenly and looked around. “Did you hear something?”
For a moment everyone went still, looking at him curiously. Then came a faint, high cry, the sound of a woman’s voice in the distance. Mary leaped to her feet and ran to the window. She had heard her sisters’ voices too many times not to recognize them even at this remove.
A strange sight greeted her eyes. Riding toward the house were her sisters and two grooms. And though her sisters were obviously yelling toward the house, they were not riding with any urgency. In fact, their horses were walking. One mounted groom was leading a second, riderless horse. In his other hand he held a pistol. Next to him the second groom was mounted on a horse with Camellia up behind him, her arms around him. Her hat had come off, and her dark blond hair was loose and streaming down her back. Lily and Rose brought up the rear, and Mary saw that each of them carried a pistol as well.
“What the devil!” Royce exclaimed. He and the others had quickly followed Mary to the window. “Something’s happened to Camellia!”
Chapter 23
“I would say it’s the groom who’s in trouble.” Mary turned and started toward the door. “It’s Cam holding him on the horse.”
She ran down the hall and out the front door, then across the small formal lawn, the others rushing after her. By the time Mary reached the driveway, the riders were only a few feet away.
“Mare! Thank God you’re here!” Camellia called. “Somebody come get Teddy down.”
The other groom sprang down from his horse. His face was stark white, the freckles standing out across his nose and cheeks. When he saw Lord Stewkesbury, he looked as if he might faint. He jerked off his hat and began to jabber. His accent was so thick and his speech so rapid that Mary had trouble understanding him, but the gist of it seemed to be profuse apologies and lamentations.
“Geoff !” The earl’s voice cut through his babbling. “Enough. Help us get Teddy down, and then we’ll hear what happened.”
The groom fell silent and followed the three men over to Camellia’s horse. They lifted the injured man down and laid him on the ground. His eyes were closed, his face even paler than Geoff’s, and he did not stir except for a grimace and a groan when they pulled him from the horse.
“Now, what the devil happened?” Oliver demanded.
“I’m sorry, my lord, I’m sorry. I never saw him—all of a sudden, there he were, and he were shootin’ at us.” Geoff’s speech had slowed down enough that Mary could catch most of what he said, though he still shifted nervously on his feet, twisting his cap between his hands.
“You were shot at?”
“There was nothin’ we could do, I swear. I’m sorry, my lord.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Camellia pushed past the trembling man. “Someone fired at us. Then he rode straight toward us.”
“Teddy was shot?”
“No—at least, I don’t think so. I didn’t see any blood.”
“She’s right. There’s no blood.” Mary had knelt beside the injured groom as soon as they laid him down, and she was carefully examining him for signs of injury.
“When the man fired at us, Teddy’s horse reared,” Lily explained. “And Teddy fell off. That’s how he got hurt.”
Rose picked up the story. “So Camellia jumped off her horse and picked up Teddy’s pistols and started shooting at the man. And he rode away.”
“I wish I’d had a rifle.” Camellia looked regretful. “Pistols haven’t enough range. I don’t think I hit him at all. And I only had the two shots. I started to take Geoff’s pistols and go after him.”
“But we decided we should get Teddy back instead,” Rose put in.
“Anyway, we needed the shots we had left in case he came after us again,” Camellia went on. “We didn’t have any powder and balls to reload, so Geoff’s guns were all we had.”
“My pistol’s just for show,” Lily offered. “It’s empty. Rose and Geoff are carrying Geoff’s guns.”
“Next time we ride out, I think we should all carry pistols,” Camellia declared.
“Next time!” The earl had been gazing at the girls, thunderstruck, and now his brows rushed together in a scowl. “There’ll be no next time.”
The girls immediately set up a protest.
“What!”
“No!”
“That’s not fair!”
“Quiet!” Stewkesbury snapped, and though he raised his voice only a little, everyone fell silent. “You could have been killed today. Next time his aim might be truer.”
“I don’t think he was shooting at us,” Rose said. “I didn’t see him fire the first shot, but the second time, he fired his pistol into the air. I think he was trying to scare us, perhaps hoping to dislodge us from our seats.”
“Rose is right,” Camellia agreed. “He was much too far away to hope to hit anyone, using pistols—especially since we were moving targets. I think he was trying to capture Rose again. Just like last time.”
“And you think I intend to allow him to try that again?” Oliver asked quizzically.
“But if we always ride out together and we’re armed …”
The earl rubbed his hand over his brow. “We will talk of this later. Geoff, take the horses to the stables and send one of the other grooms for the doctor.”
“There’s no need for that,” Mary spoke up from where she knelt on the grass beside the fallen groom. “He’s come around, and I cannot find any lumps or cuts on his head. I think he fainted rather than hitting his head. Probably from the pain. His shoulder is dislocated.”
Everyone except Mary’s sisters simply stared at her. Finally, the earl said, “And why, then, should we not send for the doctor?”
“There’s no need to make him wait that long in pain. I can fix it.”
“Of course you can,” Royce murmured.
“If you gentlemen will but pick him up and set him on that bench—and be sure to fully support his arm.”
The three men lifted the groom carefully from the ground and carried him over to a stone bench at the edge of the driveway. While Royce and Fitz held the boy firmly in place, Mary stepped up, taking the weight of his arm in both her hands. Talking all the while, she positioned the arm just so, then with one swift movement, thrust it up and into the socket.
Charlot
te let out a small noise and fainted. Beside her, Lady Vivian managed to catch her and ease her down to the ground.
“Now, if someone will get me some cloth, I can bind his arm so it’s immobile.” Mary turned around and caught sight of her cousin on the ground. “Oh my. What happened?”
“Fainted, I’m afraid.” Vivian looked up and grinned. “She’s always had a bit of a weak stomach.”
“Mmm. So has Teddy. I don’t suppose you have any smelling salts?”
“No, but I’m sure Charlotte must. Respectable ladies rarely travel without a vial.” Vivian cast a glinting look up at the earl. “And do not remark on what that says about me, Oliver.”
The earl merely raised his brows expressively and turned toward the house. “Bostwick!” He raised a hand and gestured.
Mary looked toward the house and saw that a group of servants had clustered there on the lawn, watching goggle-eyed. The butler now separated himself from the others and hurried forward to get Stewkesbury’s instructions.
As they waited for Bostwick to bring the supplies, Royce began to question Camellia and the others about their attacker. “Could you see his face? Was it the same man who tried to abduct Rose the other times?”
Camellia shook her head. “No. He had on a mask and a hat pulled low, so I couldn’t really make him out. But he was much smaller than the last man.”
“Are you sure?” Stewkesbury asked. “If he was on a horse, he wouldn’t have looked the same.”
Camellia sent him a level glance. “The other man would have looked big on a horse or off. Believe me, it wasn’t the same man. This one was no larger than Geoff.” She pointed at the unhurt groom, who had hung around, watching with awe as Mary fixed Teddy’s shoulder.
Mary touched Rose’s arm, pulling her away from the crowd and whispering, “Was it Cosmo?”
Rose shrugged and answered in the same low voice, “I don’t know. He was about Cosmo’s size, but truly, we could not see his face. It could have been anyone. But, well, it’s not like Cosmo to come charging at a person with a gun, is it?”