by Lauren Smith
We do? Adam wondered. Everything had been presented as complete. The final settlements were even now being hammered out between the two families’ solicitors, the result of which was that Adam would ask Lady Amelia to marry him and she would agree. His father was already making arrangements for the wedding in London – St. George’s, Hanover Square, of course. No lesser place would suit Sir Emmanuel. There should be nothing that needed to be talked about between the Earl and Adam, though he would much rather have tried to talk to Lady Amelia alone rather than be closeted in the library with a gambling-mad Earl, disgusting brandy and the reek of cheap tallow candles.
Adam was right. As soon as Lady Amelia set her feet upon the stairs after a lackluster wish for a good night the Earl all but dragged Adam back into the library. The card table was flanked with two chairs as it had been before. The decanter, filled to the brim with what Adam hoped was not more of that revolting brandy sat beside two glasses on a small table within arm’s reach of his lordship. A pack of cards sat squarely in the middle of the table.
The Earl was rubbing his hands together in anticipation. “Nothing like a game of cards after a good dinner! Will you cut?”
Chapter 4
“So what is he like, Miss Amelia?” All but twitching with excitement, Martha was waiting in her ladyship’s room, her fingers instantly busy removing the heavy dress.
“Very nice, very handsome,” Amelia replied off-handedly. “But not very interesting.”
“He’s too rich to have to be interesting,” Martha replied, lugging the dress back to the clothespress. “I’ll air that in the morning and then pack it away again.”
“Please do, or better yet make it into pillow covers or dusters. It’s as heavy as a suit of armor.”
“Tsk, my lady, that was your grandmother’s favorite dress. Wore it to Court, she did.”
“That was a long time ago, Martha. We have to deal with now.” Free of the burdensome weight, Amelia stretched luxuriously, her sullenness momentarily vanished in the joy of freedom.
“You deal with the now by being happy and grateful that you’ve a rich man wanting you.”
“Yes,” her ladyship said sadly, “a rich man wants me, and even though I accept my fate I wish I knew more about him.”
“You are so silly, Miss Amelia. Indeed, I have been worried about your future since you were but a wee babe, and now it’s working out better than I ever could have dreamed. You’ll be a wealthy woman, my dear one. When I think of all the wonderful things you’ll have…” Martha sighed, lost in the raptures of dreams fulfilled.
“I’ll just be married to a wealthy man,” Lady Amelia replied with brutal honesty, then sighed. “That does not necessarily mean I will be a wealthy woman.”
Martha looked at her mistress, astonished. “Now don’t be so silly. Marriage makes a man and a woman one. Of course you will be a wealthy woman.”
“Don’t you mean the property of a wealthy man?”
“Miss Amelia!” Astonishment turned to scandalized amazement. “How can you say something like that? Surely he’ll appreciate what a jewel he is getting. He’d be mad not to.”
“And if he is mad?”
“Now you are just being silly. I cannot credit that you’re talking like this. You never were fanciful as a child.”
“You know I always dreamed of meeting a wonderful man who loved me… me, not just the daughter of an Earl. Is that fanciful?” Her ladyship sighed morosely. “Not that any of it means anything any more. Pappa has seen to that.”
“You always were a dreamer, Miss Amelia. Just know our dreams are often answered in strange ways,” Martha said gently. “You say the young man is well-featured. Love can grow between the two of you.”
“And just as easily it cannot.” Her voice harsh, Lady Amelia scraped up the golden cloud of her hair and ruthlessly twisted it into a tight bun on the top of her head, stabbing at it with old-fashioned hairpins. She refused to acknowledge even to herself how attractive she found Adam Ferrour. “Especially when they find out about Pappa. Love has to grow between two people to be right. I can’t imagine anything worse than being married to someone you truly dislike… except maybe loving someone and it not being returned.”
“Do you really think they don’t already know about the Earl? The young man’s father is reputed to be a very canny man in his business dealings. Remember, his solicitor came here to talk to his lordship himself when their negotiations began. I’m sure that the senior Mr. Ferrour – Sir Emmanuel, that is – knows everything about this family.”
“You’re right. When a property is sold everything must be carefully investigated. And when we are gone to London – assuming he will take us there – who will take care of Pappa?”
“There are those you can hire to look after his lordship.”
“And once there is money in the family, and a house in London that we can actually inhabit, exactly how long do you think Pappa will allow himself to be ‘looked after’?” Lady Amelia asked bitterly. “And what guarantees do we have of how we will be treated? Sometimes I wonder if it would be best for everyone if I simply refused young Mr. Ferrour.”
“Miss Amelia!” cried Martha, scandalized. “You would not. You could not. Just think of all we here have suffered – ”
“Please do be quiet,” Lady Amelia said wearily. “You know I could not do any such thing. Pappa would never allow it. I just hope that young man and his father know what they are doing.”
The Earl was cheating, systematically and quite openly.
Adam watched in astonishment as the older man chattered on like a magpie as his fingers clumsily manipulated the cards. Such behavior would have resulted in his being immediately expelled from any of London’s clubs, including the lowest of gaming hells, if not outright challenged to a duel. His lordship had imbibed enough of that foul brandy that his speech was beginning to slur, which doubtless contributed to his lack of dexterity. If this was his regular behavior, small wonder that he had not been in London for years.
Although the game had started for mere farthings, Radston had constantly suggested that they make play ‘more interesting’ by raising the stakes. After the first game Adam had refused, saying that playing for more than peppercorn stakes made the game unappealing to him, a heretical sentiment which garnered him a look of astonishment and disbelief from the Earl. His lordship continued to play, though, gleefully and dishonestly.
After a good hour or more of play, much to the dismay of the Earl, Adam called an end to it. Even though they had kept the stakes quite small, he still owed several pounds, a sum the Earl received greedily and with great glee. Adam paid, shuddering at what might have happened had he agreed to raising the stakes. One thing he knew was that the Earl must never be allowed to come to London… or perhaps even never be allowed to leave the estate.
Adam’s head was pounding as he slowly climbed the stairs. He had imbibed sparingly of the brandy and probably would have had none without the Earl’s constant urging, but the foul air produced by the tallow candles had soured his stomach and given him a headache. He had never known anyone with any pretension to gentility using tallow candles anywhere in their living areas; they were a staple of the poor. Personally had it been necessary Adam would have preferred a chill of oil, smoky though it might be.
Seeing his master’s foul mood John Coachman said nothing, only helping him out of his fashionably tight jacket. After that heroic struggle it was the work of but a moment to help his master into his nightshirt, slippers and robe.
“That’s enough, John. Go on to bed.” Adam waved his hand vaguely. “Pity we didn’t bring any decent spirits. I need something to clean this taste out of my mouth. Before you go, open those two windows.”
The coachman-cum-valet blinked. “Are you sure, Mr. Ferrour? It’s a well known fact that the night air – ”
“The night air is very much preferable to the foul fog I’ve been breathing since we got here. Open the windows, then go to bed. By the way,
his lordship announced that Lady Amelia and I are going to go riding tomorrow, so lay out my habit in the morning.”
The older man’s jaw dropped. “Riding? On what?”
“One presumes on a horse.” Adam studied him with sudden intensity. “Why do you ask?”
“Mr. Ferrour, I went to the stables to check on the horses – they’re only job animals, I know, but they are horses and I didn’t like the look of the old man who took them away. Sir, they’re the best beasts in the place. There are only a couple of old ‘uns and a plough horse, but there’s nothing in the stable worth throwing a leg over.”
Adam’s heart sank. John Coachman knew horses better than any other man living, and if what he said was true, he was in for a miserable ride. “Well,” he sighed, “it appears as if I am going to have a very – memorable – morning.”
“I wish we could go home and tell the master about this. Surely he doesn’t – He wouldn’t – ”
“Oh, he would and he does. You’ve been with him long enough to know that.”
“He is a – a strong minded man, Mr. Ferrour.”
Adam laughed. “Indeed he is, and he knows it. Get to bed, John, and get some rest. Tomorrow is going to be interesting.”
Chapter 5
Adam had no idea of how long he had been asleep, but suddenly he was awake, all senses tingling as they had been during the worst days of the War, when seconds could make the difference between life and death. The faint wash of moonlight filling the room showed that there was no danger, at least not in the shabby chamber with him, so Adam crept from bed with a due caution and walked silently to the window.
Below the scene was an etching in crisp black and white. His room looked over a wildly overgrown plot that might have once been a formal garden and, beyond a rise and screen of untrimmed hedge, the roof of what had to be the stables. What actually interested Adam, though, was the sight of a large horse – the same horse he had seen that afternoon – being led by a slight figure in flowing black.
The highwayman!
Anger flowed through Adam. How dare this wretch utilize the land and stables of the Earl? It would be even worse if Radston with his hunger for money knew of this. Or perhaps it could be that this was his lordship’s way of paying off a gambling debt, of which Adam would wager he had many.
Adam made a quick decision; it would be foolish to try to pull on his boots or his jacket; even with Gaston’s expert help that was a lengthy process, longer still with John Coachman’s, impossible on his own. Instead he contented himself with just his slippers and dressing gown before letting himself out of the room and, with very little trouble, out of the castle.
Outside the night was chill, but even though the stables were a decent distance from the castle the gentle breeze carried on it the scent of horses, an indicator of its location as tangible as a signpost. Even though the distance was a fair one, the odor was strong, meaning the stables had not been cleaned in what Adam regarded as an unacceptable amount of time. His own stables, both at Ferrour House and in Town, were cleaned twice a day.
Sheltering behind a venerable and untrimmed tree, Adam watched as the figure in black led the horse into what was obviously the decaying stable. Now what was the highwayman doing taking his horse into the Earl’s stables? Adam wondered if Radston even knew about it and decided that probably he didn’t, as it was obvious he didn’t care a thing about his beasts or their housing. The highwayman’s mount, though, was a different thing. Large, obviously good blooded and well set up, it looked like something Adam himself might ride. He did not remember the horse being so good during the holdup; of course, then he had been concentrating on the gun pointed at him. The slightly built highwayman must be a simply bruising rider if he could manage a beast like that, Adam decided.
The small stable door opened and then closed with no sound, making Adam think it was carefully cared for. Obviously the miscreant wanted no one to know of his presence. Now Adam knew, though, and he wanted to capture this scofflaw. The Earl might have ordered his stableman to shoot the blackguard on sight, but either he was deaf, dumb and blind, or he was working with the highwayman.
Adam sprinted down to the stables, then slid inside, pausing a moment to let his eyes grow accustomed to the deeper darkness.
Obviously the Earl paid no attention to the comfort of his beasts. There were holes in the ceiling, some as big as a pudding bowl, and the faint light from outside dappled the dilapidated interior. Adam frowned. If he treated his horses like this, what on earth did his tenants’ cottages look like?
The big horse was tied to a large pole in the center and a small dark lantern hung above its head. The highwayman, his hat now removed to reveal a curiously misshapen head, was reaching to unsaddle the beast. Adam crept forward until he could grab the miscreant and whirl him around raising his fist preparatory to planting him a facer.
Although taller than he had realized, the highwayman was even smaller than Adam had expected. The shoulder beneath his fingers was delicate, almost fragile. Neither was his head misshapen. It was hair, piled high and so carelessly secured that when the figure was jerked around it fell down in an almost liquid spill that glowed palely in the moonlight like white fire.
“You – you are a woman!”
In spite of an initially fearful reaction the woman laughed. “Most perspicacious of you, sir,” she said and wriggled free of his grasp to stand a pace or so away in an audaciously strong posture, as if she were thinking of attacking him.
“And a highwayman?” Adam’s brain was slow, processing this until now impossible juxtaposition. A woman who not only wore breeches and rode astride, but who was fearsomely adept at holding up carriages.
“If you must speak of me, you might as well call me such,” she replied with a low chuckle, “because I disbelieve that there is such a word as highwaywoman.”
“Obviously there should be. You stopped my coach and stole my ring.”
“And a trumpery thing it was, too.”
She was making no move to run away or attack – and the very idea of a dainty creature like this attacking him made Adam smile. He relaxed slightly. “Perhaps, but I was fond of it. Had I known it was expected of me I would have worn something better.”
“You should. After all, highwaymen – even if we are women – have to live. One would think that such a wealthy man as the son of Sir Emmanuel Ferrour would wear a better class of jewelry.”
“You know who I am?” Adam took a small step forward, which made the woman take a larger step back and her hand slid to rest on the gun carelessly stuck in her waistband. The one step was enough, though, and just as Adam had planned the light from perhaps the largest hole in the ceiling fell directly on the creature.
She was a beauty, he realized with a start. Put her in the proper clothes and she would take the Ton by storm. He realized something else, too, something that shocked him. She bore a strong resemblance to Lady Amelia – that is, if one took away her ladyship’s sullen expression and refusal to look one in the eye. She appeared half-dead compared to this vibrant, enchanting creature. Adam remember the strong resemblance between the Earl and his butler Bentick; it would be interesting to meet some of the cottagers and villagers in the area. Apparently someone in the Earl’s line believed heartily in droit du seigneur.
The highwaywoman’s hair floated about her shoulders like a silken cloud and glowed white in the moonlight, but Adam would have wagered that in the light of day it was a pale gold. He wondered how it would feel to have that pale spill flow over his hands, what it would look like splayed over a pillow…
He gave himself a mental shake and brought his mind back to the present. The woman before him had a pistol and probably knew how to use it quite well. He was also very painfully aware that he wore only a nightshirt, dressing gown and soft leather slippers.
“You are related to the Earl?” he asked in a conversational tone.
“And does that concern you?” she replied, a smile teasing at her
mouth.
“I am merely curious. As I am to marry Lady Amelia, I am wondering if I should be calling you cousin.”
She laughed softly, a sound that somehow reminded him of music. “That poor drab specimen of humanity?” she asked. “What makes you think of her?”
“You do resemble her… slightly.”
“My ill fortune. And you… A man of your wealth and standing could wed almost any woman in the country. What made you pick on a sad creature like Amelia?”
Adam shrugged. “My father. He has long been wanting to be allied with a noble family.”
“And so you bow to his will?”
That barb hurt, but Adam didn’t show it. He had thought the same thing many times. “I like being a rich man’s son, and such things are expected of us just as much as from the aristocracy. Besides, if I were cut off I’d have to earn my way, and I’m no good at that.”
“You think I was born a highwaywoman?”
“You, my dear rapscallion, are a remarkable woman no matter what your profession. I am a far thing from remarkable.”
“Yet you came out to the stables on a strange estate wearing nothing more than your nightrail. What if there had been a band of criminals in here?”
Adam could tell she was teasing him. Even in the poor light he could see her eyes sparkling with amusement, and he would have wagered that they were blue.
“Why, I would have milled them all down, of course,” he replied with a smile. “Just like a hero in an opera.”
“And singing all the while?”
“No… unfortunately, there is a limit to my talents. If they had to listen to my singing they would have run away without my having to mill them down.”
“Then I will make sure never to ask you to sing,” she said in a voice that sounded almost like a purr. With the sure, slow step of a cat on the stalk she moved forward until not even a shaft of moonlight could have come between them, and placed her hands on either side of his head.