My Lord Highwayman

by Valerie King

  He kissed her then, for Henry and Sarah had disappeared into the woods—again. Her heart leaned toward him in the same way her body was pressed against him. She no longer doubted that she had fallen in love with Treyford and that every day she spent in his company was deepening that love.

  As his lips played over hers, a thought intruded, from whence she would never know. Was Treyford truly capable of loving her in return, or did his heart belong forever to Lady Chandos?

  Thirteen

  Treyford walked beside Abigail just outside the Mermaid Inn. Sarah was at the linen-draper and Mr. Lavant was inside the taproom, enjoying a tankard of ale. He was engrossed in a conversation with her about the latest inventions of Humphry Davy, when a masculine voice called out, “Abigail. Abigail Chailey.”

  “Good God,” he murmured, lifting his gaze to a striking gentleman on horseback whom he recognized. “Geoffrey Ferrers. Abigail, do not tell me—”

  “Yes,” she responded, sighing deeply. “I was betrothed to him in London.”

  He stopped in his tracks and stared at her. “But he is heir to one of the largest fortunes in England.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “And you brought him up to scratch.” He was dumbstruck.

  “I beg you will not use that most unfortunate expression.”

  “I am sorry. It is merely that . . . Abigail, I know at least a score of ladies who tried to win his affections.”

  “I am not at all surprised. He is a man of many fine abilities.” She turned in Mr. Ferrers’s direction. “I only wish he had not come to Devonshire.” When the rider drew near, she addressed him. “Oh, hallo, Geoffrey. What brings you to Three Rivers Cross? Do you have business here?”

  With great difficulty, Treyford kept from smiling. He had come to know Abigail well enough to comprehend that she was attempting to deflect Mr. Ferrers’s attentions before he had even begun, but she possessed so much sweetness of temper and was so beautiful to gaze upon that no man would willingly believe he was being spurned. Even to his own ears she sounded adorable and inviting.

  Mr. Ferrers leaped from his horse, and before Abigail could protest, he had lifted her into his arms and was whirling her in a wide circle.

  “Do put me down. Geoffrey, have you gone mad?”

  “Yes!” he shouted so that all the passersby stopped mid-stride to stare at the Bedlamite.

  “No, please, please, Geoffrey, I beg you will put me on my feet—this instant.”

  At last, Mr. Ferrers obliged her, though she immediately began to weave unsteadily. Treyford caught her arm and steadied her, but this act won for him a rather scathing glare from the acknowledged Corinthian some ten years his junior.

  Treyford, however, had not acquired his own degree of Town Bronze without having learned a thing or two, and immediately wrapped Abigail’s arm tightly about his.

  “How do you go on, Ferrers?” he began calmly. “Treyford. You remember. I believe I was introduced to you at Almack’s several seasons past.”

  “Treyford? Good God, is this your country? Devonshire?”

  “Yes,” he returned.

  Mr. Ferrers glanced around him with a critical eye. “Pretty enough, but then, so much thatch on the roofs usually is. Well met, only I wonder if I might have a word, in private, with Miss Chailey?”

  “You do not need to ask me,” he returned. “The lady must answer for herself.”

  He heard Abigail sigh depressively. “I suppose I will not be rid of you until you have told me why you’ve pursued me here.”

  Mr. Ferrers’s expression turned dark with passion. “I have something of exceeding import to tell you, something I believe will give you great pleasure.”

  All that was missing, in Treyford’s opinion, to create the effect in Mr. Ferrers of Lord Byron’s Corsair, was a Belcher neckcloth and the man’s brown hair rumpled a little more a la cherubim. He knew the ladies of his acquaintance tended to swoon whenever he but entered a room.

  And Abigail had jilted him, he thought happily.

  “Why do we not adjourn to the inn,” Treyford queried. “I have bespoken the parlor for nuncheon, but we are early. You may have a comfortable cose, and I shall join Mr. Lavant for a tankard of ale.”

  “A very sensible suggestion,” Ferrers said, holding his elbow up for Abigail to take.

  Treyford, however, was not of a mind to release her just yet. “No, no, Ferrers,” he said. “I escorted Miss Chailey up the street, and I intend to see her safely delivered to a comfortable chair before I relinquish her arm.”

  Mr. Ferrers, quite used to having his way, was a little astonished but recovered swiftly. “Yes, of course.” He backed up, permitting them to pass.

  Abigail gave his arm a squeeze, and he smiled down on her. “Courage, my dear,” he whispered.

  She gave him an answering smile that served to work strongly on his heart. He had spoken truly when he had said he was half in love with her. Since having professed his intention of courting her, he found himself thinking about her more and more. He was not even certain Marianne had caused him to long so intensely merely to be in her presence.

  His thoughts turned to her obvious enjoyment of “the highwayman.” Several times, he had been tempted to tell her the truth. If he expected her to view him as a potential spouse, he knew that one day he would have to confess all. What would she say, he wondered, or was it possible she had already guessed at his identity? A large, more critical question surfaced—would she understand his decision to play the role of a Devonshire Robin Hood, or would she find his conduct wholly unacceptable?

  These were not simple matters, he realized. It was entirely possible that once she was informed of the truth, she would reject him out of hand, just as she had rejected the man now following them into the inn. What was it she had said of Ferrers, that his disinclination for society made it impossible for him to give her what she desired most—a connection to a community.

  He did not precisely fear Mr. Ferrers, that he might have the power to take Abigail away from him, but he did fear the precarious nature of his own situation at present. Somehow, he would have to resolve the conflict between himself and Lady Waldron if he hoped to make Abigail his wife, and at the same time end his days as the highwayman without putting his neck in a noose.

  Once more, he regretted that he had not previously made an effort at reestablishing his place in Three Rivers Cross society. However, now that Lizzie and Sophy were residing at the Hall, and he might be inclined in the next few weeks to marry, he knew the time had come to make peace with Sir Christopher and his wife. Only, how the devil was he to do that?

  He finally released Abigail to Mr. Ferrers, though he was not entirely content when that gentleman actually closed the door upon him. Lavant’s laughter in the taproom served to irritate him further. He turned around to face his good friend and found Sylvester eyeing him with some amusement, a tankard in hand which he held aloft in salute.

  “I intend to join you,” he said, moving to the bar.

  “You had better do that,” he said, slapping him on the back, “only tell me, who the deuce is that jackanapes with my governess.”

  “Heir to the Ferrers fortune,” he returned, taking the frothy tankard of ale Mr. Pennymoot offered him.

  This was too much for Lavant, who suddenly lost command and spit his mouthful of ale across the bar, soiling Mr. Pennymoot’s blue apron.

  “Eh, Lavant, have a care.” Mr. Pennymoot scowled at him.

  “Mr. Pennymoot, I am that sorry, I am, but, good God, did you hear who Miss Chailey has in her pocket? Ferrers, a family nearly as rich as Croesus, second only to Golden Ball Hughes in the kingdom.”

  Mr. Pennymoot’s eyes grew very wide. “Is he one of her suitors as well?”

  Treyford said, “Her last betrothed.”

  Mr. Pennymoot whistled softly. “She gave up a fortune to be a governess? I am now fully convinced she is addled in her beanbox. I’ve the direction of an excellent physician in Portsmouth
if you think it would help.” There was such a playful light in his eye, Treyford did not take him seriously. Lavant merely laughed loudly. Afterward, the men drank deeply.

  * * * * * * * * *

  Abigail held her hands clasped tightly on her lap. She was determined not to become entangled in Geoffrey’s arms as she had been with both Laurence and Frederick. She planned to remain seated and to keep her hands pressed together so that at the very least, if Geoffrey meant to assault her, he must fall to his knees, in which case, surely, he would have a great deal of difficulty in finding her lips.

  As it was, he paced the floor in front of her chair. “I have done it, my darling Abigail. I have done the very thing you wanted me to do. Nay, what you told me to do when you quit London. I have made peace with my mother. Yes, it is true. Well, not peace exactly. But I have spoken with her three times since April, and I am persuaded that given a few more months, we will be able to converse as old friends. Well, perhaps not friends, but at least as acquaintances.”

  Abigail stared at him. Was this what he had come to tell her, that he had mended his ways? Oh, dear. She knew quite well what would follow. “I am happy for you, Geoffrey, truly.”

  “You were so very right. I have not lived as I ought. I have shunned my parents and I will do so no longer.”

  “And what of your friends with whom you frequent the East End hells?”

  He shook his head. “You meant for me to give them up as well?”

  “I never desired for you to do anything you did not believe would bring pleasure to your life. My complaint was not that you enjoyed gaming necessarily, but that it seemed to preclude a larger tonnish life.”

  He dismissed this by throwing up a hand. “Of course I have increased my acquaintance, just as you suggested I should. Only last week, when Horace Welter approached me at Vauxhall during the masquerade, instead of planting him a facer, I asked after his health. He was half-foxed, and I was vastly amused by hearing his lisp while he was in his altitudes. Still, I am making progress, which is all a woman ought to ask anyway.” He smiled broadly. “Will you do me the honor of renewing our engagement?”

  How certain he was of success.

  Abigail propped her elbow on the table and stared bewildered at her former betrothed. The wonder of it to her was that he considered his conduct so greatly improved that she would now be willing to renew their betrothal.

  “Geoffrey,” she began somberly. “I never meant for you to believe that were you to initiate any of the changes I recommended to you that I would be willing to become your wife.”

  He stared at her, perplexed. “I do not understand. Then, why did you so specifically state the reasons for leaving me if not to give me a hint as to how I might be able to approach you again?”

  “If you have made changes to better your existence, they should have been conceived for the strict purpose of bringing you happiness.”

  “But they do bring me happiness, for they have brought me here.”

  She sighed heavily. “Geoffrey, allow me to speak plainly. I will not marry you. I intend never to marry you.”

  “You are just funning,” he stated, incredulous.

  Intending to end the conversation, she rose to her feet, which quickly proved to be a ridiculous mistake, for he grabbed her and hauled her forthwith into his arms, afterward planting kisses all over her face.

  “Geoffrey, no. Please, desist at once.”

  “Kiss you at once? Of course, my darling.” He covered her mouth with his own and wrapped her so tightly in his arms that she could not breathe. She tried thumping his arms, but he was so caught up in his passion for her that he held her more tightly still, until she knew the air was completely squeezed from her lungs.

  “Geoffrey,” she panted when at last he drew back.

  “Oh, my darling, I feel precisely the same way.”

  She had had barely sufficient time to take in enough air to keep from swooning when his lips pounced on hers again.

  A moment later, and she was suddenly freed from his troublesome embrace.

  “I say, Treyford,” Geoffrey cried. “Whatever do you mean by coming in here?”

  Abigail sank onto the chair and took in several deep breaths.

  “The lady was not content with your attentions, sir.”

  Geoffrey scowled. “I beg to differ. Only look at her.”

  Abigail was slumped over as she sat on the chair, shaking her head at Geoffrey.

  “What?” Geoffrey said. “Did you not enjoy my kisses?”

  When had he become such a coxcomb? she wondered absently. “No, Geoffrey, I did not,” she gasped, still trying to catch her breath. “You were horridly precipitous. I do not remember you being so when we were betrothed.”

  “I . . . I love you,” he stated. “I would never have hurt you nor importuned you had I not thought, not believed, that you were desirous of my attentions.”

  “I am not desirous of your attentions. Whatever led you to believe I would be?”

  He seemed completely dumbstruck.

  Treyford addressed him. “Come, Ferrers. Have a tankard before you leave Three Rivers Cross.”

  He frowned. “I have no intention of leaving just now,” he said, “nor will I be forced to do so by you or anyone.”

  Treyford drew himself up and faced the man squarely.

  From the doorway, however, Mr. Lavant intervened in his entirely odious manner. “Come, Treyford, what manners are these? Miss Chailey has another suitor arrived to entertain us. Her suitor much break bread at my table this evening.”

  Abigail groaned. “Pray, Geoffrey, do not accept of his invitation, I beg you.”

  Geoffrey drew near to her. “My dear Abigail, you have taught me many things in the past twelvemonth, in particular not to be hasty or rude. I would on no account, therefore, refuse this man’s invitation. Do I perceive he is your most recent employer?”

  “He is,” she responded, acutely aware that she would not be easily rid of her most recent betrothed, at least not until Mr. Lavant had been thoroughly amused at Geoffrey’s unwitting expense.

  The invitation was accepted, but this did not in any way discourage Mr. Lavant from making certain that Geoffrey took up a place at their table for nuncheon.

  Lavant laughed through the entire meal, since Abigail was experiencing a great deal of discomfiture at nearly every opinion Geoffrey ventured. When at last the meal was concluded, her employer drew near her and whispered, “I congratulate you again, Miss Chailey, for having gotten rid of this fellow as well, for though he has more money than Croesus, he has the brain of a simpleton, only how did you happen to become engaged to him in the first place?”

  She could not help but answer in kind. “I was blinded by his fortune, of course.”

  “Now, now, you need not come the crab. I am only teasing you a little.”

  “A little?” she retorted. “Then God help me do you ever choose to tease me a lot.”

  He merely laughed, which made her wonder yet again why it was that the gentlemen of her acquaintance, including Mr. Lavant, seemed to insist on disbelieving her or at least on disregarding her opinions and wishes.

  Ah, well. There was nothing for it but to endure the dinner tonight and to get rid of Geoffrey as soon as she could.

  Mr. Lavant was unable to contain himself, however, and because it pleased him, he not only invited Treyford to dine but sent for Mr. and Mrs. Marisfield and Mr. Ditchling to join in what for him was a great festivity.

  That evening, when Geoffrey finally arrived at Oak Hill, he was much more subdued than he had been during their initial encounter that afternoon, affording Abigail to breathe a sigh of relief. Here was the man with whom she had so warmly tumbled in love. He was much better behaved, perhaps having been chastened by her cool conduct toward him when she left the inn earlier that day.

  He greeted her with a whispered apology. “I am sorry, Abigail, if I trespassed upon our friendship at the inn. I fear my love for you entirely overshadow
ed your feelings of the moment. My conduct was unconscionable.”

  She was greatly pleased with this speech, but Mr. Lavant, having drawn close enough to overhear his comments, unfortunately was not so content. “Come, come, Mr. Ferrers. This will not do, not by half. If you wish to win the lady, you must never apologize to her.”

  “Do not listen to him, Geoffrey. He means to provoke you into unbecoming conduct in order that I might look the fool. Nothing pleases him so much as seeing me mortified on any score.”

  Geoffrey, to her great pleasure, smiled easily and turned to offer his apologies, this time to Mr. Lavant. “I should never have addressed Miss Chailey as I did today. Since she resides beneath your roof, I hope you will forgive me.”

  Mr. Lavant grunted his displeasure at Geoffrey’s finer turn of manners and ordered the servant to refill his wineglass.

  “You have made me very happy in this moment, Geoffrey, for I have never seen my employer so disgruntled before. If you must know, both Mr. Carter and Mr. Pomeroy arrived earlier and also pressed their suits. You can have no notion how much amusement this afforded Mr. Lavant.”

  “I can well imagine,” he said, a slight frown between his brows. “So, both Carter and Pomeroy were here? No wonder you were so overset by my conduct in town.”

  Abigail found herself relieved that something of the nobler parts of his character had at last surfaced. She drew him into the room in order to present him to Lavant’s other guests.

  Lord Treyford felt odd prickles on the back of his neck as he watched Geoffrey Ferrers. The fellow now parading around the room on Abigail’s arm, and doing the pretty at present with Mrs. Marisfield, was not the gudgeon he had handled roughly at the Mermaid earlier that day. This was a man who had obviously reconsidered his conduct and altered his course. This was the man who had won Abigail’s heart so very recently and who was intent on winning her again.

  Good God. If he kept up this conduct, he would succeed. Already, Abigail was much friendlier to him, though far too friendly in his opinion. She was asking for trouble if she was not careful. He would mistake her politeness for interest, and she would become trapped in his arms again.