My Lord Highwayman

by Valerie King

  She turned toward the entrance, ready to make good her avowed intention of departing, but suddenly he was there, his arms akimbo, his cape spread to block her path.

  “Oh.” she said, startled.

  “I did not mean to frighten you, senorita.”

  The timbre of his voice was like a waterfall against rocks, smoothing her worries to nothing.

  “I must go,” she whispered. “I should not be here. I do not know why I came, nor why you risked coming to Sir Christopher’s home as you have. All of this is madness.”

  “You cannot leave me now.” His voice was a husky abyss into which she instantly tumbled. “I came only for you. I do not care about the danger that awaits me out there. Tell me you will stay. I could not bear it if you left me now.”

  A trembling came to her. She did not understand the power this man had over her. “I am not leaving,” she murmured. “But I should.”

  “Why should you depart?” he asked, quitting his post by the doorway and slowly approaching her.

  “Because . . . I fear that in my coming here I will have led Burwash to you and because—”

  “Because what, daughter of the moon?”

  “Because this is utter foolishness, to meet when the future is so uncertain.”

  He chuckled very softly, his accent carrying each word like the slow pull of a boat on a lake. “Then, in what better place to conduct a piece of foolhardiness than in a folly.” He gestured with a sweep of his arm to the ruins about her.

  Abigail smiled, for he was right. “I am afraid,” she said.

  He reached her and took her hand in his. “I can see that you are, for you are trembling.”

  “No, I am not afraid in that way. I am speaking of you, of your ridiculous game of thievery.”

  “You despise me, then.”

  “No,” she answered quickly. “How could I, when you have been building the orphanage through your robberies?”

  “You should despise me. I should never have begun this terrible thing. To steal in order to build anything is a sin.”

  “Yes,” she agreed, smiling up at him. Her heart then faltered. “But why did you come here tonight? Surely, Mr. Clark warned you of Sir Christopher’s plan to entrap you?”

  “Si. He told me, of course. He is a good man, Senor Clark.”

  “Then, why did you come?”

  “To see the beautiful Abigail once more. I could not resist, nor could I resist taunting the good Sir Christopher, the man who would not see an orphanage built because of his hatred of Lord Treyford.

  Abigail leaned back and eyed him curiously. “Are you acquainted with his lordship?”

  He shook his head. “I am only a friend to Mr. Clark.”

  “Then, it was he who asked for your help in this way, robbing the wealthy?”

  “No, I heard of the need and believed it was the right thing to do at the time. Now I am not so sure.”

  * * * * * * * * *

  Lord Treyford looked down into Abigail’s face, lit by the sliver of the moon and an abundance of pale starlight. She was even more beautiful, if possible, in such a ridiculous setting as the false ruins of Lady Waldron’s home.

  She was smiling, and though he knew he was being careless in tempting fate in this manner, for Burwash was no fool, the very notion of being able to see Abigail in these circumstances was something he had not been able to resist, just as he had said. Besides, for days he had been hoping to kiss her again, and there was nothing in her face that indicated she would reject him.

  He took a step nearer and slid his arm fully around her waist, drawing her close. “Will you give me a kiss, my beautiful Abigail?”

  “I should not,” she responded, leaning into him.

  “Would you deny me when I have risked so very much tonight just to be with you?”

  “No . . . yes. I do not know. I feel very confused. In truth, I do not even know why I am here.”

  “Perhaps you are beginning to love me as I am beginning to love you.”

  “I do not understand what is happening,” she whispered.

  “Must everything be understood or explained?”

  “I do not know.”

  “I think that there are times when a beautiful night sky and a summer’s breeze should dictate whom we love. You stole my heart, Abigail, that first night, when I stopped your coach by mistake.”

  He waited for no further argument on her part, knowing that she would soon insist on being returned to the soiree. “I will kiss you,” he said. He placed his hand at the back of her neck and drew her to him. He let his lips drift tenderly over hers and was delighted to find that not only did she not attempt to struggle away from him, but a soft cooing sound escaped her throat.

  As the kiss deepened, he realized just how much he had been longing to kiss her, ever since holding her in his arms on the moors almost two weeks past.

  “I leave for Spain very soon,” he whispered against her ear. “The tides, they call to me. Will my beautiful Abigail come with me? To my estates in Spain?” He didn’t know why he posed such ridiculous questions.

  “I wish that I could,” she whispered, “or even that regardless of how content I am to be in your arms, there was actually some way in which we could enjoy a life together, whether here or in Spain, but how could we?”

  “I do not know,” he murmured, drifting kisses along her cheek until he found her lips and took possession of her mouth once more.

  She held him tightly. Was this truly a governess he was embracing? How very much Abigail Chailey had surprised him, over and over again, since her arrival at Oak Hill, not less so than how restlessly her hands moved over his back even now as she gave herself so completely to the passion that obviously burned within her.

  “I should go,” she said, kissing him again and again. “I will be missed at the soiree. I would not know how to explain my absence.”

  He chuckled against her lips and kissed her deeply once more until she was clinging to him and murmuring her wish that he would go on kissing her forever.

  Something about the strength of her desire began to work within him. He felt as though he might never let her go if he did not encourage her to leave. What a strange sensation this was. Good God, was it possible he truly was falling in love with Abigail? He didn’t know what to think.

  “I wish, too, that you might kiss me forever, but you must go, just as you said. I will come to you again, Abigail, I promise you, I will.” He guided her to the entrance to the folly and kissed her one last time. He saw tears brimming in her eyes as she bid him good-bye, touching her gloved hand to his cheek.

  “Are you just a dream?” she queried softly.

  Before he could answer her, she ran lightly away.

  He slid back into the shadows and watched until she rounded the lake and disappeared into the grove beyond. Only then did he remove his costume and begin his long journey to the border of Sir Christopher’s property, to his horse, Daedalus, and onward to the safety of his home some eight miles distant.

  Eleven

  Just past two o’clock in the morning, Abigail crossed the threshold of Oak Hill, along with Mr. Lavant and Sarah. Abigail was beyond fatigued and would have immediately crossed to the stairs and begun her ascent, but a figure in a crumpled coat leaped from a chair near the study door. “Abigail,” he said. “I have found you at last.”

  Abigail stopped in mid-step and whirled to face the familiar voice. “Frederick,” she cried, astonished. “Whatever are you doing here? How . . . How did you learn I was at Oak Hill?”

  Mr. Lavant was close on her heels. “What’s this? Another of your suitors?”

  “Yes,” she responded, completely dumbfounded.

  Stockleigh, who had awaited the return of the family to Oak Hill, stepped forward. “I am that sorry, Mr. Lavant, but I did not know precisely what to do with him. He arrived but a half hour past and was rather frantic to speak with Miss Chailey.”

  “You should have sent him to the Mermaid,”
Mr. Lavant growled.

  Abigail was unwilling for Stockleigh to become the brunt of Mr. Lavant’s erratic humors and immediately intervened. “Mr. Lavant, allow me to present a good friend of mine, Frederick Pomeroy.” Completing the introductions, she added, “He has a fine property in Lincolnshire.”

  “The Lincolnshire Pomeroys?” Mr. Lavant said.

  Frederick bowed.

  “Good God. You are not the heir, are you, by any chance?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “And I suppose you were once betrothed to Miss Chailey?”

  “I was, I hope to be so again, if only I can persuade her.”

  Mr. Lavant bellowed his laughter, which to Abigail’s ears seemed to rise to the roof and return a hundredfold in intensity. She rolled her eyes.

  She ignored Mr. Lavant and asked Frederick how it had come about he had found her.

  He was quick to explain. “I was in Bath just a few hours ago, when I heard there was a Miss Abigail Chailey serving as governess in a small manor in Devonshire. I came at once. How could I do otherwise, when I have been searching for you these three years and more? I was at the Pump Room, and a Miss Lilstock of Three Rivers Cross mentioned your name. I made all the necessary inquiries and, well, here I am.”

  “Oh, Frederick, I wish you had not come. Indeed.” She could think of nothing more to say, particularly with Mr. Lavant ready to laugh as loudly as he could.

  Sarah observed, “So, you have been journeying most of the night, then, Mr. Pomeroy?”

  “Indeed, I have.”

  “You must be greatly fatigued. Do you care to stay at Oak Hill for the night? We should be happy to accommodate you.” She lifted a sudden quelling hand just as Mr. Lavant opened his mouth. “No, Papa, not a word. Mr. Pomeroy is a friend to Miss Chailey and as such deserves our attention.”

  Abigail was infinitely pleased by this show of Sarah’s maturing graciousness. Mr. Lavant stared at his daughter with his mouth agape.

  Without waiting for his acquiescence, she addressed Frederick. “Will that suit you? To stay the night?”

  “Indeed, I was hoping for the very thing.”

  “Excellent. Stockleigh, you will see to it, then?”

  Stockleigh wisely refused to meet Mr. Lavant’s gaze. “Yes, miss, at once.” After advising Frederick that he would be sending a footman to fetch him when his room had been properly prepared, he quickly left the entrance hall.

  Sarah took up her father’s arm. “Come, Papa. You may escort me to my bedchamber. I fear I am so fatigued that I find myself in need of your arm at the present.” When he stared in an astonished manner at her, she added, “Well, I am nearly come-out and I ought to be managing things a little, don’t you agree?”

  He nodded dumbly, then, as one who had been adequately chastened, ascended the stairs with his daughter.

  Abigail, much chagrined by another of her betrotheds’ sudden and unexpected appearances, led Frederick into the drawing room.

  “You should not be here,” she began in dampening accents. “This is my place of employment.”

  He smiled at that. “I know where you were tonight, Abigail. At a soiree. As usual, the house in which you are employed has taken you under its wing. Mr. Lavant clearly sees you as a daughter rather than a mere governess. In this, I applaud him, but I am not surprised.”

  “You have not answered my question. Why are you here?”

  “To win you back, of course. I told you I would find you, and so I have. How happy I am that I went to the Pump Room today. Oh, I daresay, I mean yesterday. When I arrived at Three Rivers Cross, Mr. Pennymoot at the Mermaid Inn was quite helpful. Of course, I learned a great deal about the entire countryside. Mr. Pennymoot is a garrulous man. Have you resolved yet the conflict between Lady Waldron and Lord Treyford?”

  “What?”

  “Never mind. You will. I have little doubt of it. These are your true abilities, you know. The reconciliation of opposing forces. But this was not what I had come to tell you. Dear Abigail, I wish you to know more than anything that I am no longer so disinclined to take your advice as I was. I can see now that I have lived apart from the world and I have undertaken to develop stronger friendships. You told me this was what I must do. I think you will find me a new person entirely, one more worthy of your hand in marriage. So, to answer your question, I have come to beg you to reconsider our betrothal.”

  Abigail was distressed. “I . . . I am happy for you, Frederick, indeed I am, if this is true. But I beg you to believe were you to acquire a thousand new friends, I should not change my mind about our engagement. I desire more than anything to live in a society that is closely knit. You have given your life, your work, to the furtherance of radical causes. I cannot be part of that.”

  He was very solemn. “I can see that you are quite serious and almost you persuade me, but I am not convinced.”

  Abigail glanced at the clock and saw that the hour was nearly half past two. She was greatly fatigued and felt unequal to the task of helping him to see that his suit was hopeless. “I must seek my bed,” she said. “Ah, here is the footman Stockleigh said he would send to you. We can discuss this more tomorrow.”

  “Very well.”

  She thrust out her hand to him. “I shall say good night, then.”

  “Only a handshake?” he asked, his expression rueful. She had not realized before how sure he was of himself, and of his success in any venture.

  “Yes, Frederick, only a handshake.” He took her hand but did not hesitate to lift her fingers to his lips.

  “No,” she stated crisply, pulling her hand away. Remembering how Laurence seemed to misinterpret everything she said and did, she did not want Frederick to be in the least confused about her intentions. “This would not be proper.”

  At that, he smiled. “As you wish, but I shall at least escort you up the stairs.”

  Once in her bedchamber, Abigail closed the door solidly upon Frederick and the waiting footman. She could not credit yet another suitor had arrived to torment her. Three years. She could not believe Frederick had been in pursuit of her for three years.

  She had ended her betrothal to him for much the same reasons she ended her betrothal to Laurence. Frederick lived in a world of his own making, a world in which she knew she would never be happy. She was not as strong a proponent of radical causes as was Frederick, who had more than once been denounced as a Jacobin, a sympathizer with the horrible French revolutionaries. She was certain government spies kept a log of his movements about the country as well as his activities, particularly in company with Leigh Hunt, who had been imprisoned for his radical ideas.

  As she pondered her suitor, she realized how similar he and Laurence were. Add to these Geoffrey Ferrers, and she was reminded forcefully that she was in a dreadful habit of loving the wrong men. When she thought of the highwayman, she knew she was repeating this wretched habit of hers yet again.

  Recalling the kiss she had so recently shared with the Spanish thief, she felt very weak of a sudden. In the midst of it all, with his arms holding her so tightly, she had nearly begged him to take her to Spain, that all she desired was to be with him.

  Now, as she reflected upon that particular impulse, she thought the notion so laughable that she could only drop down on the side of her bed and throw her hands in the air at her absolute stupidity. Spain? She could never be content in any other country than her beloved England. What was wrong with her? Would she be forever doomed to become attached to a man who could never bring her into a warm, supportive community?

  * * * * * * * * *

  Nuncheon on the following day, Saturday, was a lively affair, if somewhat uncomfortable for Abigail because of Frederick’s presence. Lord Treyford had arrived along with his sister and niece, and Henry Ditchling had, of course, been included. Mr. Lavant called for the picnic to be enjoyed near the trout stream at which any who wished for it could try their hand at a bit of angling.

  Servants arrived and went with regularity to se
e that the nuncheon was everything it ought to be. Sarah once more gave evidence of her change of heart as she took charge of the general flow of the day, speaking frequently to Stockleigh, keeping the ale and iced lemonade flowing generously, and seeing that each of the guests was comfortable and reasonably well entertained.

  Abigail became quickly engaged in conversation with Mrs. Stawell, in whom she soon detected a kindred spirit. They conversed for over an hour on every topic imaginable, until Treyford approached and begged to know if he could interest her in taking a walk. She agreed readily.

  She strolled along the bank of the stream with him and let herself be drawn into what became another pleasurable hour of conversation. He was an agreeable companion, she realized, knowledgeable on many subjects and yet not so arrogant as to feel he must press his particular point of view endlessly.

  Having returned to where the party was gathered, he said, “Your friend Mr. Pomeroy is quite versed on the subject of reform. I must admit I am impressed.”

  She glanced in Frederick’s direction. “He is an admirer of Hunt’s.”

  “He is a handsome enough fellow, and I presume he enjoys at least a competence.”

  “I can hear the next question in your voice, but I tell you now that if you ask it, I shall not give you an answer.”

  Treyford turned and offered her a very warm smile. “I do not intend to come the crab with you, if that is what you fear. Merely, I am curious. After having understood your reasons for rejecting Mr. Carter, I wish to know what failing Mr. Pomeroy enjoys that you broke off your engagement to him.”

  She met his gaze and oddly enough found she was no longer disinclined to answer his query. “I begin to think I must be too nice in my requirements.”

  He leaned close and whispered, “Only tell me why you turned him away and I will tell you whether or not you are too nice in what you desire in a husband. You would not be the first female to have set her standards far too high.”

  Abigail felt herself flush, yet it had nothing to do with the subject, but, rather, that Treyford’s whispering had struck her ear and she was suddenly conscious of how close he was standing to her. She felt breathless of a sudden.