The Highwayman (Rakes and Rogues of the Restoration Book 3) (16 page)

The tower is built just by ye Thames, In one part is kept severall Lyons wch are named by ye names of ye kings, and it has been observ'd that when a king has dyed ye Lion of ye name has alsoe dyed. There are also other strange Creatures kept there, Leopards, Eagles wch have been brought from forreign parts. In another place—

Interrupted by a jubilant Caroline, Arabella cursed as she spilled her ink.

“My Lady!” the little maid exclaimed with excitement as she blotted the stain. “You have been invited to read at the salon of Lady Ferrar!”

~

A summons to Lady Ferrar’s salon was one of the most sought after invitations in London. Both men and women gathered in the lady’s bedchamber to enjoy the art of conversation as the countess mediated and directed, reclining on her bed. In that intimate atmosphere the talk might be social or political, though literary topics were the most preferred. At times a guest might read from their own works, and Arabella was pressed to share some of her writings about London. It was a relief from the seemingly endless questions about her encounter with Gentleman Jack, which she had learned to answer with nothing but a sphinx-like smile.

It amazed Arabella how little most Londoner’s knew of their own city, but with their eagerness to hear her observations, her confidence in her own voice grew. Although Lady Ferrar and Miss Buckhurst had taken a liking to her, it was clear Lady Grantham had not. The more attention Arabella garnered from male guests, particularly Lord Stanley, the more obvious her hostility grew. It was she who broke the news about Robert, her eyes alight with malicious glee.

“Arabella, my dear. How anguished you must be! And how brave of you to grace us with a recitation when most in your position would be dying of shame.”

“Excuse me, Lady Grantham? Perhaps you should have a seat. One fears you may have over-imbibed on stimulating conversation—or too much wine.”

The countess stiffened at the familiarity and Arabella gave her a cold smile.

Heads swiveled to listen as Lady Grantham raised her voice so it might carry through the room. “Why, I refer to Sir Robert Hammond of course. He is a relation is he not? And if I am not mistaken, he is your betrothed. Perhaps you have not heard. He was arrested for robbing the Earl of Berkley. It is carried in all the broadsheets. It is rumored he fell irretrievably in debt from an excess of gambling. I do hope he hasn’t gambled your fortune away, my dear.”

Jack might have warned her. The Earl of Berkley? Such an illustrious victim was bound to cause a stir. How had he managed such a thing? Arabella managed to keep her voice calm and cool, despite her shock. “Indeed you
are
mistaken,
Mary
. Although you might be forgiven, I suppose. If your literary fare consists of London broadsheets, one can hardly expect you to be well-informed.”

Lady Grantham gasped in outrage, Lord Stanley nearly choked on his drink, and there were titters and appreciative laughter from the other guests.

“You deny it then?” Lady Grantham’s voice shook with affronted rage.

Arabella answered with the only words they were certain to accept and believe. “Of course I deny it, Lady Grantham. What you say is ridiculous. How could we possibly be betrothed? I am a countess in my own right, and he, after all, is only a baronet.”

The next day Lady Grantham repaired to the country, leaving her lover, Lord Stanley, behind. Arabella wasn’t proud of it, but the woman’s intent had been to attack her, and it was not her fault the woman had instigated a battle of wits armed only with malice. It gave her no pleasure to humiliate her, and she certainly wasn’t after Lady Grantham’s man. The only man she wanted was Jack, and if any of them ever guessed she would be ruined.

~

Arabella’s brawl with Lady Grantham at Lady Ferrar’s salon produced an unexpected effect. People stopped talking about Miss Hamilton who bested a famous highwayman, and started to speculate about Lady Saye, the heiress to a very respectable fortune who had yet to be betrothed. Within days she was besieged with invitations from matriarchs, fortune hunters and eligible bachelors. Stepping from the shadows had certainly been an adventure, but it had also placed her in a situation she’d been trying to avoid.

As for Jack, she was beginning to think she had imagined him. Or at least imagined that any feelings he had for her were real. He was a man who risked his life for nothing but the thrill of it. She knew he could make the ride from Newark in two days if he wished to. It was two months now since he’d come to her room.

Excitement and anticipation had first changed to frantic worry—but if he’d been captured, wounded, or killed, the news would have spread the length of England by now. It had been kind of him to reassure her about her cousin and she would always be grateful he’d returned her necklace, but it seemed her kisses had not been enough to keep his interest, after all.

So be it. He was wild and incorrigible and despite a certain scapegrace charm, they were completely unsuited. An attachment would have been disastrous. Thank God one of them had used commonsense, though it was galling to think it was him and not her.
That
was a mistake she would not repeat.

Yet something had happened to her while galloping over the moors and it was more than being swept off her feet by Jack. Having slipped free of the tether she wanted to do so again. Exploring London had been exciting at first, but already it felt too confining. It wasn’t wild rides, dark nights and dangerous men that terrified her. It was endless rounds of tea parties and cards, promenades through the park and a legion of determined suitors. Despite her new friends, she often felt lonely and was always restless and bored.

Determined to live a life in its own way as free as Jack’s was, Arabella set out to escape the trap she had inadvertently set for herself. First, she gave Mr. Butcher his notice and a month’s pay, which she ought to have done straight away. Next, she closed her windows and locked them, and put her pretty dresses away. No more breathlessly waiting for a tap on her window. No more sighs and sadness and hidden tears. She cut Jack cold every time he entered her thoughts, and refused to indulge the fancy that bade her return to Shooters Hill.

Caroline was commissioned to search the city for every guidebook and map she could muster, and Arabella retired from the public eye, claiming her run-in with highwaymen, her previous illness, and a naturally delicate constitution had resulted in a debilitating attack of the vapors.

Fie on Robert, fortune hunters and Lady Grantham, and fie on that insincere trifler, Jack Nevison, too. They all gave her a megrim. She was going set out on a journey of exploration and travel, with Ireland as her ultimate goal. As spring approached and she finished her preparations, her excitement grew. But even so, a treacherous voice kept whispering...
what if he comes, only to find me gone?

‘My Journeys as they were begun to regain my health by variety and change of aire and exercise, soe whatever promoted that Was pursued; and those informations of things as could be obtein'd from inns en passant, or from some acquaintance, inhabitants of such places could ffurnish me with for my diversion, I thought necessary to remark’

After leaving instructions for her London staff, Arabella returned to her estate to consult with the local farmers, tradesmen and manufacturers for a list of questions to ask, new ideas to investigate, and successful enterprises to visit that might be of benefit to them all. She understood crop yields and the importance of crop rotations, was at least familiar with the new developments in mining such as test boring and chain pumps driven by waterwheels, and had seen for herself the new advances in wool preparation and dying that were bringing great wealth to Essex. The Great North Road connected the capitals of England and Scotland. At four hundred miles long there were plenty of mine’s, mills, and wool farms along the way. It seemed the obvious to begin her travels.

Despite her responsibilities, it was unheard of for a respectable unmarried woman to head off on such a venture far more suited to a man, and certainly wildly inappropriate for her to do so on her own. She heeded her father’s advice about practicality and discretion. No one could object to a spinster travelling to take the waters for her health.

She was very excited to visit some of the famous wells and spa’s she’d read about. Some were well known, and some were thought of as almost magical places whose roots were lost in the beginnings of time. As she read chapbooks and the accounts of other travelers, some over one hundred years old, she grew more excited to visit them as well as the great houses, the many curiosities, and the great natural wonders that were said to wait along the way. In truth, it was these things that excited her the most.

Well...perhaps not the most. In those quiet minutes that sometimes caught up to her amidst the whirl and bustle of hectic preparations, she felt an aching need that almost brought her to her knees. York lay to the North. The North Road was
his
hunting grounds. And despite his desertion, what she longed to see above all else, was Jack.

She hadn’t chased after him, he had come after her. She hadn’t taken him for the sort of man who played with women, but if he had been doing so it was cruel. Surely he owed her an explanation, at least. If things were as they seemed, and she’d been naught but a diversion, she wanted to hear it from him. Then she could learn her lesson, deal with her hurt and anger, and finally let him go.

But there was a voice in her head she just couldn’t silence. Not with her preparations, her plans for a new life, or her determination to embark on an adventure.
What if...?
What if there was some other explanation for his behavior? He could be dead, imprisoned or in some kind of trouble. She knew he used other names and it was possible such a thing had happened without her being aware. For her own peace of mind, she needed to know.

~

Having been raised in the country, Arabella was no stranger to the hazards of country roads. She was a more than capable horsewoman, and well aware of the pitfalls of travel by coach. Other than those rare sections of road kept in good order with fine gravel and sand, one could expect, for the most part, a bone-jarring ride. In the summer one had to deal with suffocating dust. In spring and fall hard-edged ruts filled with water, and in winter roads and ditches were often impassable due to snow or thick and treacherous mud.

Travel by horseback seemed far more more appealing. Bad roads and miry patches could be avoided by cutting through fields and over heaths, much as she’d done when traveling with Jack. One could stop where one wished and take as much time as one wanted, but a person on horseback couldn’t bring more than what fit in two saddlebags, and a traveler who didn’t know the country might easily get lost. Outside of villages the forest encroached and one wrong turn might take a person far afield, landing them in a bog or some isolated destination from which they might never be seen again.

As this was her first journey and she knew little of the country beyond what she could glean from a sparse collection of travelogues and a larger collection of almanacs, she decided to hire a coach. A reputable driver who knew the way would serve as both protection and guide, and she and Caroline could bring a few extra comforts to enjoy along the road. The snows melted and the roads dried and in mid-April they set out.

The coachman she hired was a careful sort, but his determination to avoid the heath and its highwaymen put them on a narrow trail behind thirty packhorses with no room to turn around or pass. It was not an auspicious start to a grand adventure. It took them six hours to cover the first nine miles after leaving the city, but fortunately the weather was fine and the road much improved the next day.

Over the next couple of weeks Arabella got in the habit of taking the coach from inn to inn, and then hiring a horse to ride out for the day. Burghley House, near Stamford, was known as the greatest house in England and was easily visible from the road. Massive in size, stunning in its architecture, crowned with cupolas, pinnacles and spires, it looked more like a town than a house. She was pleased to find the house open for tours as the lord and lady were in London.

She toured the rooms with an open-mouthed Caroline, who had certainly never seen anything so grand. They were both wide-eyed as they walked through bedchambers hung with gorgeous paintings by Italian masters. There were cherubs, biblical themes, and themes from history and myth, but what made Arabella flush, and what she couldn’t tear her eyes from, were all the voluptuous, white-and-pink fleshed naked women. Modestly posed or stretched in languorous glory, there was a nonchalant power in their gaze the equal of any sword-wielding warrior’s.

Her heart beat faster than was its wont, and she felt a little shiver, as if Jack rested his chin on her shoulder and spoke in a sinful whisper, ‘When you press your soft womanly parts, against a fellow’s hard manly ones, it makes him swollen and excited, right next to thing he wants most.’

She snorted and stamped her foot. “That’s quite enough of that!”

Caroline and the housekeeper turned to stare, and she stalked from the room, mortified when she realized she had spoken out loud. How could it be that he still had the power to steal into her thoughts? How could she be so fascinated by the seductive beauty…the sensual power, of such unseemly paintings? If
she
had that kind of power, Jack would not have kissed her and walked away.

Later that night, in a room at the inn in Stamford, she finished updating her journal.

Much fine Carving in the Mantlepieces, and very fine paint in pictures, but they were all Without Garments or very little, that was the only fault, the immodesty of the Pictures, Especially in My Lords appartment."