Lois Menzel

by Ruled by Passion

  “He is your son, Arelia,” Jack responded. Then, feeling he had been too harsh, offered, “Shall I go? I will, if you like.”

  “No. You are right, Jack. He is my son, and Mr. Pearce has asked for me, after all. But I must leave immediately, or else wait until tomorrow morning. I will need to send a note to my mother, telling her we cannot come on Wednesday.”

  “Don’t do that,” Jack said. “There is no need to disappoint her. If the weather is fine I will borrow Tenbury’s curricle, and Anne and I will drive down to visit with her.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely. Your mother’s cook makes the best macaroons this side of the Channel.”

  “Glutton,” Arelia accused, but she smiled all the same as she planted a kiss on his cheek. “Another thing. There is a small trunk I planned to take along. It holds the fabric I bought Mother for new drawing room curtains. I promised I would bring it Wednesday. She will be disappointed—”

  “We will take the trunk along. Where is it?” Jack asked.

  “In my bedchamber; Barrett will show you. You are a sweet brother, Jack. I am indebted to you.”

  “I am keeping score,” he answered as Arelia bid Anne farewell and rushed off to supervise the packing for her journey.

  Since Lady Tenbury had some affairs of her own to attend to in the country and did not care for the idea of her daughter-in-law traveling alone, she decided to accompany Arelia to Tenton. They arrived at the Castle on Wednesday in the late afternoon. Cold nights had already begun to turn the edges of the leaves yellow and scarlet, giving the forests a permanent frosted appearance. Along the hedgerows, tangled masses of bittersweet, blackberries, and elderberries offered a banquet to a great number of finches. Soon they would gather in flocks to journey to a warmer clime for the winter months. The last of the crops had been gathered, the soil turned by the plow to rest until spring.

  Arelia had been gone only five weeks, yet she was pleased to be back again. She knew she delighted in Dennis’s company; she had not suspected how much she would miss him. When Lady Tenbury retired to her apartments to rest before dinner, Arelia hurried to her own room to wash and change her dress before descending to the salon and summoning Mr. Pearce.

  He came immediately. His smile of greeting was thin.

  “I am sorry to have disrupted your stay in London, Mrs. Saunders,” he said, quite formally, “but as I mentioned in my letter, I felt I needed to speak with you face to face.”

  “I almost asked Tenbury to come in my stead,” Arelia confessed. “But Jack pointed out that Tom’s problems are more mine than Tenbury’s. What has he done now? You might as well tell me with no roundaboutation. I doubt there is much that would shock me anymore.”

  “Late one night, several days ago,” he said, “he and Will rowed across the lake and then walked to Winthrop. There is a comely kitchen maid who works at the Duck ‘N’ Drake. As I understand it, when her chores are finished below stairs, she earns additional money working upstairs. Tom and Will were caught climbing the trees behind the inn, trying to see through the cracks in the curtains.”

  Arelia sat down heavily on the couch behind her, as if her legs could no longer support her. She had been wrong: there was still something Tom could do to shock her. Assailed by a horrifying thought, she asked, “Was there a man?”

  “No. The landlord assured me that on this particular evening the young lady had no … customer.”

  “But what about other evenings, Mr. Pearce? How can we know there were not other times, times when the boys were not caught?”

  “I asked Tom specifically about that. He swore to me—and I believe him—that this was the first time he had ever done anything like this.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I took Will home and turned him over to his father. I intended to have a serious discussion with Tom, but knowing you hired me only to teach academics, I did not feel I had any right to speak until I had conferred with you.”

  “He promised he would do nothing disgraceful,” she said. “Tenbury will be furious.”

  “I was myself at first. But even the most solemn promises can at times be hard to keep, especially when the temptation is great.”

  “There is that word ‘temptation’ again. For a man of the cloth, you seem very understanding of people who give in to it. I am more accustomed to the sentiments your brother espouses: flee temptation, repent, reform, adhere to the straight and narrow.”

  “Anyone with a particle of sense knows it is difficult for boys to avoid mischief.”

  “That may well be, Mr. Pearce. Unfortunately, recognizing that fact does little to ease the present situation. Tom made a promise to Tenbury and Tenbury is miles away. How do I confront Tom with this? How do I tell him not to spy on naked women?”

  “If you wish, I will speak with him,” he offered. “I believe I know why he did it, and I know what to say. But he must understand, and I will tell him at the beginning, that I am speaking for you.”

  “Please, do what you will, say what you will to him. I trust you to handle it in the best way possible. But tell me this, Mr. Pearce. What will I do when the day comes when Tenbury is not here, when you are not here, and Tom needs you? What then?”

  “You could marry again. If Tom had a father, a worthy man to emulate, things might improve.”

  “He has Tenbury. One would be hard pressed to find a better example for any boy.”

  “Perhaps,” he conceded, “but he is Tom’s uncle, not his father. There is a bond between a father and son that is unique. Any other relationship is an imperfect substitute.”

  Arelia rose and walked toward the fire, her back to Dennis. “I have considered remarrying. But since Henry died there has been only one man I have loved.”

  “If you were to marry him,” Pearce suggested, “you would be able to share responsibility for Tom.”

  “It is not so simple,” she said, turning to face him. “First of all, I am not certain he knows how I feel, and secondly, he has not asked me to marry him.”

  “What manner of man is he?”

  “He is a man of high principle. He lives his life without pretense. He is a trusted and unselfish friend, who puts the needs of others before his own.”

  “Have you any hint as to why he has not spoken?”

  She turned away again, unable to keep up the charade with his eyes so steadily upon her. “There could be several reasons,” she said. “He may simply not admire me, or he may prefer his life as it is. But I think it most likely that he disapproves of me and believes I would make a poor job of being a clergyman’s wife.”

  An intense silence followed Arelia’s words. She waited in something approaching pain for him to speak. But he said nothing, nor did he move. Still with her back to him, she closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing evenly.

  She had spoken too soon; she had been wrong about him; she had made a fool of herself. Well, it was not the first time. He could not forgive her dalliance with Wilmington; she did not blame him.

  These thoughts lurched to a halt as she heard him move. Coming close behind her, he reached both arms around her shoulders and pulled her back against him. When she dropped her cheek to brush his hand, the scent of his warm skin sent a frisson of desire racing through her. He rested his face against her hair as he whispered, “I have loved you for months, but you seemed unattainable. I am nothing like the men you appear to admire. When you sought my company, I thought you were merely being kind.”

  She turned within his arms, her doubts vanishing. All that showed in her face and her eyes was a love she had never expected to find again. “Dennis,” she whispered provocatively, “I have imagined a thousand times what it would be like to kiss you. How much longer do you intend to make me wait?”

  After several minutes of satisfying her curiosity on that point, Dennis finally put her away from him. A moment later the door opened to admit Belinda who, hearing of her mother’s arrival, had hurried downstairs to greet her.
Emerging from Belinda’s hug, Arelia met Dennis’s gaze.

  “I will go now and speak with Tom,” he said. “Later we must find an opportunity to speak privately, for we have much to discuss.”

  At five o’clock Anne and Jack left the home of Arelia’s mother and made their way back to the Great West Road. The sun was already sinking, but the fair evening promised a pleasant journey back to the city. Not more than twenty minutes into their drive they came upon a coach that had stopped at the side of the road. As Jack slowed the grays from a trot to a walk, he could see a lady standing in the road while two men stood near one of the carriage wheels.

  “Should we stop?” Anne asked. “If the problem is serious, perhaps we could stop at the next inn and send someone back to help them.”

  “I cannot imagine what could be wrong,” Jack said. “The wheel is not off, as you can see, nor has the axle broken.”

  As Jack pulled his team to a stop he glanced again at the lady and realized his mistake. Her cloak hung a few inches short of the road and on her feet were boots—men’s boots. When the “lady” turned round and took hold of his leaders, Jack reached instinctively for the pistol he knew Tenbury kept beneath the seat, but even as he leveled it, one of the masked men fired first.

  Startled by the deafening report, it took Anne a moment longer than Jack to realize what was happening. When Jack lurched against her and the pistol spun from his hand, she bent to retrieve it, but the second man was too quick for her. She had the pistol in her hand, but he had her wrist gripped cruelly. He increased the pressure until she cried out in pain, dropping the weapon to the floorboards. As he passed it to his companion, she turned to Jack. He had moved his left hand to clutch his right wrist, over which a red stain was rapidly spreading. Anne momentarily ignored the strange men, ceased to wonder why they had stopped the curricle, and why they should wish to shoot Jack. All she could deal with was the knowledge that he was injured.

  “Jack,” she cried in despair, “What can I do?” She looked down helplessly at the tiny reticule hanging from her wrist. She had a flimsy handkerchief, nothing more.

  “My neckcloth,” he said, “Help me get it off.” Anne was only dimly aware that the curricle was being led off the road into the shelter of the woods as she untied the long strip of fabric from Jack’s neck and wrapped it tightly around his wrist.

  He placed his own hand over it. “Good, that’s good,” he said. “Thank you.”

  “Good? What is good? You have been shot!”

  “I am sorry I was not quicker,” he apologized.

  Before Anne could reply, rough hands seized her, dragging her over the side of the curricle. She cried out in dismay. Jack shouted an objection, but was silenced as he was yanked down from the opposite side and thrown to the ground.

  At this cruel treatment, Anne finally turned her anger and confusion upon the three strangers. “What is the meaning of this outrage?”

  “We ‘ad not intended bloodshed,” one man, obviously the leader, offered. “The young fool should ‘ave known better than to loose a barker.” Then turning his back on her, he ordered, “Collect their baubles; we cannot afford to dally ‘ere.”

  The men took Anne’s reticule and the cash from Jack’s coat pockets. They stripped Jack’s watch and rings, as well as Anne’s rings, her gloves, and the silver clasp from her cloak.

  “I’ll ‘ave them pins from your ‘air, missy, if’n you don’t mind. My woman’ll fancy ‘em.”

  “But I do mind, sir,” Anne objected. “I mind a great deal.”

  “Give him the hairpins, Anne,” Jack said, his voice quiet and more severe than she had ever heard it.

  She said nothing more, but pulled the pins out quickly and laid them into the man’s grimy outstretched hand.

  “Could be the lady ‘as a necklace,” one robber told the other, “or mayhap a brooch.” He snatched the fur-lined cloak from Anne’s shoulders before she could object. Her gown was modestly cut, but the round neckline nevertheless revealed the gentle swell of her breasts and her delicate shoulders. She felt Jack stiffen beside her as the second man swore, “‘sblood, but ain’ she a pritty thing?” A gold necklace gleamed against Anne’s pale skin. Jack forestalled the thief by reaching for the necklace himself and detaching it from Anne’s neck. He also took the pearl brooch from her bodice and proffered both to the men.

  “I hope you are content now; we have nothing else,” Jack said.

  “Wouldn’ be to sure o’ that my fine sir,” the leader replied. “I fancy them boots you be sportin’, an’ I ‘spect the lady’s cloak might fetch a coin or two.”

  While Jack sat to remove the boots, the man dressed as a woman spoke. “What ‘bout these ‘orses?”

  “We takes ‘em back to the road and turns ‘em loose,” the leader replied. “They be no use to us. Any o’ us seen with a blooded prad ‘ould find ourselves swingin’ from the nubbin’-cheat in a fortnight.”

  Within a few moments the “woman” entered the coach and the second man climbed onto the driver’s seat. The leader collected his horse and mounted, then paused beside Jack and Anne. “With no boots an’ no carriage you’ll not be reportin’ this little mishap right soon. ’Twas a pleasure, sir, ma’am.” Catching one of the curricle leaders by the bridle he trotted off toward the road while Anne and Jack stood in silence, watching him go.

  Neither of them spoke until the highwaymen disappeared from view, though Jack immediately removed his cloak and placed it around Anne’s bare shoulders.

  “We should go,” he said quietly. “I don’t wish to be here if they decide to come back.”

  “Why would they come back? They have taken everything we have.”

  Jack did not answer. He considered their plight to be grave enough without enlightening her about something a young woman had that three rough men would want.

  Chapter 17

  The landlord of the Blue Swan, a large and prosperous posting inn on the edge of Hounslow, was called to the door by one of his ostlers. The man had managed to stop an empty curricle as the horses trotted down the road past the inn.

  As some people pride themselves on never forgetting a face, Jerry Weaks prided himself on never forgetting a horse.

  “I know this team, Harry,” he said to the young man. “Give me but a moment and I will remember … the Earl of Tenbury … they are his grays, I would wager a shilling on it. Take a horse back along the way they come. See if you find any stranded travelers or any sign of foul play. Ben, help me stable these beasts.”

  As Weaks began unbuckling harness he noticed sticky blood on the edge of the carriage. “Harry!” he exclaimed, “There is blood on the seat here. Best take Ben along with you and a cart as well, should you find the poor soul whose blood this here is. I think I had best drive this team on into London and test my theory about their owner.”

  “They look more than tired, sir,” Ben offered.

  “And a good thing. I doubt I could handle them if they was feeling prime.” Weaks checked the traces to be certain they were clear, then climbed into the driver’s seat.

  Arriving in Mayfair, Mr. Weaks spoke to several pedestrians before one was able to direct him to Lord Tenbury’s residence. It was nearly dark by the time he turned into Grosvenor Square. He tossed a penny to a boy in the street to hold the team and knocked loudly on the door of Tenbury House.

  Already concerned that Mr. Saunders and Miss Waverly had not returned when expected, Kimble did not slam the door in the face of this man, nor direct him to the servants’ entrance. Instead, he asked him to state his business.

  Mr. Weaks gave his name and his occupation before he revealed his reason for being there. “I have a team in the street that I believe to be his lordship’s. Would you have someone about who might know them?”

  Kimble glanced quickly at the horses, then directed the man to the stables and hurried in search of Lord Tenbury.

  “Excuse me, my lord,” he said, finding Tenbury in his bedchamber and interrupting h
im in the delicate process of tying his neckcloth.

  “Yes, Kimble, what is it?” Tenbury asked irritably.

  “The landlord of the Blue Swan at Hounslow has brought a gray team to the stables, my lord. He found them running loose. He believes they may be yours.”

  “Did Jack take the team today?”

  “He drove Miss Waverly to Bedfont. They were due back more than an hour ago.”

  Tenbury was instantly on his feet and out of the room, leaving his valet holding the coat he had been about to put on.

  He ran through the house, down the service stairway, and out the back door to the stables, heedless of the stares of his servants. The team would not be his. Jack and Anne would arrive at any moment; they had merely stayed longer than they intended. He stopped at the stable door as the gray horses stood before him. He did not want them to be his, but they were.

  “Your name?” he demanded of the stranger who stood there.

  “Jerry Weaks, m’lord, of the Blue Swan, Hounslow.”

  “How came you by this team?”

  “One of my lads caught them as they trotted past on their way toward town. They are yours, then? I thought as much. I seldom forget a team as impressive as this. There is blood here on the seat, sir, as you will notice. I sent two of my men back along the road to see what they could find. I assumed you had been driving with your groom, and I thought you would want your people here to know of the loose team right off.”

  Tenbury had not seen the blood. He stared at it now, barely hearing what Weaks was saying. It must belong to Jack or Anne; neither possibility was acceptable to him.

  “Could there have been an accident?” he asked Weaks. “Are the horses injured? Were the traces tangled?”

  “No, m’lord. Not a bit. Looks to me as if the travelers might have been set upon by highwaymen. If they were asked to step down, and the horses not held … well, a high-spirited team like this one might have just walked away. Perchance your friends have been simply left afoot.”

  “That would not explain the blood.”