My Lord Highwayman

by Valerie King

  “How do I look?” she asked, turning back to Abigail and pinching her cheeks so that by then they were nearly the shade of strawberries. “Mr. Ditchling is come.”

  “So he has,” Abigail murmured, stunned by the sudden change in her pupil.

  Miss Lavant was utterly distracted, at once smoothing out her skirts, another moment sticking her head yet again out the window and waving, another moment tugging on the curls dangling at the nape of her neck. Finally, she simply ran from the room.

  Abigail felt as though a whirlwind had exited the chamber. She could not help but move to the window to see for herself this paragon who had so captured Sarah Lavant’s fancy.

  She glanced down into the drive and saw that the men were dismounting. Neither gentleman immediately entered the house. Lord Treyford stooped down to gather up his horse’s front leg. Together, they peered into the hoof.

  Mr. Ditchling rose up first, removing his hat and scratching at his forehead. His brown hair was thinning a little, and why shouldn’t it be, for he was nearly forty. His eyes appeared to be brown at this distance, and his face, though not nearly as handsome as Treyford’s, contained so much good humor that she could see why Miss Lavant was drawn to him. What was it Mr. Lavant had said about him, that he had supported his friend all these years, even in the face of local censure. He was a man to be much admired, for many reasons.

  Treyford stood up and turned toward the window. He smiled and waved. She returned the gesture, waving also at Mr. Ditchling, who seemed surprised by her presence in the window. Had he been expecting to see Miss Lavant again? Probably.

  The men glanced sharply toward the front door, and even at the distance of the schoolroom from the drive, Abigail could hear her pupil’s voice distinctly. “Uncle Trey. Mr. Ditchling!”

  She fairly catapulted herself into Mr. Ditchling’s arms. He received her warmly, giving her a tender embrace. Yet for a fleeting moment something very sad crossed his features as he released her.

  “Did you bring me a present from Bath?” Miss Lavant inquired without the smallest reserve. She could not hear Mr. Ditchling’s response, for he spoke in a normal tone of voice.

  Abigail withdrew from the window to ponder what she had just witnessed. Had she been in any doubt of Miss Lavant’s love for Henry Ditchling, her pupil’s recent conduct would have erased it entirely. She recalled how tenderly she had spoken the name ‘Henry’. Clearly, Henry Ditchling comprised the sun, moon, and stars for Miss Lavant.

  Her heart ached suddenly, for so it would seem Mr. Ditchling was in love with a young lady he must have known was no more fit to be his wife than a mouse.

  Well, wasn’t this a pretty kettle of fish.

  * * * * * * * * *

  Trey watched Abigail walk down the stairs, his gaze fixed unwaveringly to her face.

  Was this the woman he had kissed four days ago?

  His heart swelled powerfully in his chest. Faith, but she was beautiful and she carried herself in a manner that was as noble as it was elegant. Were he meeting her for the first time, he would not believe for a moment she was a mere governess. She was as much a lady as the queen’s own daughters.

  As he watched her, he could sense her reserve. Her obvious concern for Miss Lavant was reflected in the rather strained expression in her soft brown eyes.

  She ought to be concerned, he thought as he glanced toward Sarah, who was presently unwrapping a small gift Henry had brought her from Bath—a small glass unicorn, neatly done. A narrow pink velvet ribbon was tied about its neck. Miss Lavant cooed her appreciation and even placed a kiss on Henry’s cheek as a warm expression of her gratitude.

  Henry’s color rose. He looked down on the brown, bouncing curls. Trey watched him scratch his head again and grimace.

  He stepped forward at once and addressed Abigail. “Do let me make known a very dear friend of the Lavant’s. Henry Ditchling, Miss Chailey.”

  Abigail reached the floor and crossed readily to Henry, extending her hand in a friendly manner. “How do you do, Mr. Ditchling? I have heard a great deal about you since my arrival and am very happy to have finally made your acquaintance. Was your journey to Bath profitable and did you take the requisite three glasses of water at least once a day?”

  At that, Henry burst out laughing. “Many years ago, I took a sip of the waters and vowed never to do so again. My health is in excellent order, so I have never felt the smallest need to revisit the Pump Room, except, of course, to meet friends on occasion.”

  “I enjoy the Pump Room myself, though I must say the statue of Beau Nash is a little daunting. One feels obligated to go immediately to the subscription rooms and pay a fee to the Master of Ceremonies.”

  “Precisely. So you are Sarah’s new governess, and how did you find your first day?” His lips curved awaiting her response.

  “Rife with pests of every sort. However, I must confess Miss Lavant was rather quick to take pity on me and soon revealed the precise location of all the remaining little creatures.”

  Trey watched Abigail in some bewilderment. How easily she spoke to Mr. Ditchling, as though they had been friends forever. He marveled at her composure.

  “What a rapper,” Sarah said, stepping forward to flank Henry. She turned toward him and continued. “You would have been most proud of my dear Miss Chailey, for she no more than took a cursory glance about the garret-room than she drew the covers back on the bed, which was where I had hidden the garden snake. I could see at once that she would not have been in the least overset by any of the other pets, and so I revealed their locations. Blinkers surprised us both, however, for he had been stuck in the wardrobe, but I never once took pity on Miss Chailey. Indeed, no one must need ever take pity on her.”

  Trey heard Sarah’s words of praise, for such they were, and glanced again at the governess’s strong profile. She was smiling and did not seem in the least bit stunned or overwhelmed by her pupil’s speech.

  “You have done remarkably well,” Henry said, smiling down at Abigail. “The last three quit on the same day of their respective arrivals, and the two prior lasted only one night. Sarah can be incorrigible.”

  He turned to meet Sarah’s affectionate gaze, his own scarcely concealing the nature of his feelings.

  “Come,” Sarah said jauntily, taking up Henry’s arm and guiding him past the stairs. “You must see the garden from the conservatory, for the roses have become a jumble of color, and then you must tell me all about your trip to Bath. Do but think. In scarcely a month, I shall have endured my come-out ball, and then I can be presented in Bath to the Master of Ceremonies.”

  “You will cut a dash, no doubt.”

  “In Bath. Can anyone cut a dash in Bath these days? All of my friends who have been there say it is dreadfully dull or thin of company.”

  “They have merely learned to say what is fashionable, but I have always found that the pleasures of a place are one’s own creation.”

  “I believe that too,” she said. “I do love my unicorn. You have added so much to my collection of figurines in the past several years that Mr. Upcott has promised to make me a special glass case in which all the animals might be displayed. I fear the entire arrangement has become the scourge of the undermaids. No one wishes to dust my bedchamber anymore for fear of breaking one of them.”

  Their voices drifted down the hall. Trey watched them go, a frown between his brows. What a hopeless tangle.

  Abigail turned back to him. “I presume you have both had nuncheon?” she queried politely.

  “Some time ago at the Mermaid.”

  “Then I shall have Stockleigh send refreshments to the conservatory if that would please you and Mr. Ditchling.”

  “Very much. I take it very kindly in you.”

  He was with her when Stockleigh arrived at her summons. He marveled at how cheerfully the butler approached her and how readily he acquiesced to her request for refreshments. Good God. Miss Chailey had been at Oak Hill little more than a sennight and was already
in the good graces of the house’s butler.

  “How did you manage that?” he asked, when Stockleigh disappeared from view.

  “Manage what?” Her eyes widened in surprise.

  “To turn him up sweet,” he said, laughing. “And that so quickly.”

  “Who? Stockleigh? Whatever are you saying?”

  “You are a governess, yet you gave him an order as though you were the mistress of the house, and he was more than happy to do your bidding. You amaze me.”

  He watched the color rise on her cheeks. “You are speaking nonsense.”

  “I do not think so,” he returned. “You are an employee in Mr. Lavant’s house, yet the moment you ordered a platter of fruit to be brought to the conservatory, Stockleigh was prepared to jump at your request. I heard the whole exchange myself.”

  “Then, you did not hear correctly,” she said, smiling. “First, I requested food on behalf of Lord Treyford and Mr. Ditchling. Secondly, I asked for the good man’s advice. I hope I know better than to order any servant about.”

  He stared at her for a moment. “You are saying Stockleigh was quick to obey on my account?”

  “And on Mr. Ditchling’s. He is very fond of both of you. He remembers when you were barely out of leading strings. I have already heard numerous accounts of your wickedness, my lord, which is a very good thing for me, since now you do not seem such an awe-inspiring creature.”

  He chuckled. “As though you ever saw me as that.”

  “Well, perhaps I did not.” Her answering smile charmed him. She then led him to the conservatory, which was quite at the opposite end of the house and opened onto an expansive rose garden.

  There was nothing so pleasant as Lavant’s home, Trey thought as they moved through the various hallways and antechambers. There were always fresh flowers in every room, the arrangements made with fragrant herbs or beautiful spikes of ferns, and he had never slept in one of the beds except that the sheets had been properly aired. Mrs. Nympton was an exemplary housekeeper.

  All of these most valuable attributes notwithstanding, he realized they were not what was bringing him to Oak Hill more frequently than was usual for him. The lady walking beside him was the reason.

  He was grateful he had not seen Abigail Chailey during the past several days, since it had taken this long for him to gain even a particle of composure after having been with her on Friday evening. Kissing her again had affected him deeply, arousing something dark and predatory within him, something he had never felt with Lady Chandos. Abigail, for he could not think of her merely as Miss Chailey, had rarely been far from his thoughts, and if she stole into his dreams every night, he tried not to think about that.

  In truth, he was trying to be very sensible about Miss Chailey. She was, after all, a governess, as he reminded himself over and over. He had little doubt that were he to begin probing, he should discover some quality or other, so typical of those in her profession, that would alert him to her true nature. Riding over to Oak Hill, he had become determined to do just that.

  When they arrived at the conservatory, a footman had already begun setting up a table and chairs with which to enjoy the refreshments Abigail had so recently ordered.

  “Do you care to join Mr. Ditchling and Miss Lavant out-of-doors?” she asked. “The day is very fine.”

  “Ordinarily, I would,” he responded, “but I was hoping for a little private conversation with you. Besides, the two of them have a great deal to discuss since Henry has been absent from Three Rivers Cross for nigh on four weeks.”

  At that, she turned to watch them. Sarah was laughing loudly, and even her words could occasionally be understood with unusual clarity. Henry’s voice was indiscernible.

  When the footman had gone, he addressed a subject he felt certain would reveal at least one or two flaws with which he might be able to balance his opinion of her. “I suppose you would disapprove of such a match,” he observed. Of course he already suspected what her answer must be. She would never disapprove because Henry Ditchling was an excellent match for any young lady hopeful of finding herself mistress of a fine house and property.

  She turned toward him and met his gaze, her own full of concern. “Of the moment,” she responded, lowering her voice, “Yes, I would disapprove. Of course. How could I do otherwise?”

  He was greatly surprised. “You do not have a very great opinion, then, of Mr. Ditchling?” he asked, pressing for elucidation.

  She chuckled. “How could I ever think badly of such a man? He is thoughtful, amiable, and from all that Mr. Lavant has said, an excellent husbandman of his property, intelligent in conversation, and has the distinct characteristic of remaining loyal to his friends, which your own circumstances have proven most particularly. I have neither seen nor heard anything that would prejudice me against Mr. Ditchling. Quite the opposite, I assure you.”

  He was gratified to hear her speaking admiringly of his dearest friend from childhood. However, he was not entirely content with her answer. “Henry is a very great soul,” he said. “But if you approve of him, then why not the match? Surely you cannot have any objections because of his age?”

  “Not in the least,” she stated. “I object because of Miss Lavant’s age or, rather, her lack of maturity. I adore my pupil, but there is a dreadful wont of discipline in her of the moment, and I seem to be having a great deal of difficulty in inspiring her to embrace knowledge.” She turned and gazed out the window. “I cannot help but wonder just how many years it will take for her to be worthy of a man so well established as Mr. Ditchling. Even if they were to act on their mutual affection, what would they discuss on a cold winter’s eve in, say, a year or two, when that affection has already mellowed, as affections do?” Again, she returned her gaze to him.

  He took a deep breath. She was very pretty today in her yellow gown and her auburn hair piled atop her head in a scattering of curls. He just wished she would not speak with such great good sense, for he found himself powerfully drawn to her.

  “I take it you have given this subject a great deal of thought,” he observed.

  “I have. I am not so young as to believe that a violent tendre would do little else than provide an equal degree of misery later were not a number of proper elements combined to nurture and support such an infatuation.” Her gaze became rather clouded as she added in a softer, sadder voice, “Indeed, a lady should be most sensible of what she requires from the married state, else disaster must surely follow, as rain from dark, heavy clouds.”

  Treyford was stunned by her words, as though she had been addressing some remote part of his own experience. He felt almost ill in recalling something Marianne had said to him so many years earlier. But would I really make you happy, Trey? I am very stupid, you know. He had protested. Oh, yes, how he had protested, for he had loved her maddeningly and she was not in the least stupid. She had a lively wit that had captivated him from the first. Perhaps that wit had been rather simplistic in nature, but surely it had meant that beneath her worldly life she had the potential of discovery and learning. Surely.

  Treyford repressed a sigh. It was all so long ago after all. Of what use could it possibly be to dredge up such remembrances? None at all.

  “So you think Sarah an intelligent girl?” he asked.

  “Exceptionally so.” She smiled suddenly. “How else could she have thwarted the efforts of a score of governesses over the years? I may have been able to pass her childish initiation rite, but I have yet to find a way to inspire her, even a little.”

  When Stockleigh arrived bearing a heavy tray laden with fresh summer fruits, biscuits, a variety of cheeses, ratafia for the ladies and Madeira for the gentlemen, Treyford gestured for her to walk the length of the massive conservatory. The air was rich with the humidity of trees and shrubs growing bountifully in the even temperature of the lofty glass-framed structure.

  He spoke quietly. “It has been my experience that most governesses do not have a particularly wide knowledge of the world
, of life. Perhaps this must account for your inability to inspire.”

  She glanced at him, but he was surprised to find that he had not offended her even though he had intended to nick her with his sword a little. Her composure ruffled him.

  “You have known a great many governesses?”

  “Who has not? One meets with them everywhere.”

  “I suppose you are right. Have you conversed with so many, then?”

  “Of course, for it has become a matter of curiosity to me. Or did you think my prejudice was founded merely on the one or two incidents I mentioned to you a sennight past?”

  “I suppose that is what I thought.”

  “Will you at least admit that there is a narrow-mindedness among your profession?”

  She chuckled and he was again surprised.

  “Why do you laugh?” he asked.

  “Because my father was used to say much the same thing, only not just of governesses—though his opinions of them were especially harsh, just as yours seem to be—but of women in general as well as of a great many men. He was a studious man and loved his library more than anything. I think, at times, even more than he loved me. By the time I was twelve, he was heartily sick of the insipidity of the usual creatures who applied to become my governess and undertook my education himself. He drew the line at Latin, however, for he did not wish me to ever be known as a bluestocking. He felt that would inhibit my chances of marrying a suitable gentleman.”

  She chuckled again, and he wondered at her once more. He did not understand her. Why did she not rail at him as most women would have done? Why did she have to be so reasonable? Really, she was the most provoking female.

  She continued. “However, though he might have rejected Latin, he made up for it in languages. I speak Italian, German, French, and a spattering of Arabic, though I am considering taking up the Spanish tongue as well.”

  “Spanish?” he queried, his mind drifting back to holding her in his arms and kissing her soundly. He strongly suspected by the faraway look in her eyes that she was remembering the occasion as well.