Chapter Four
I concede I may have misjudged the duke. He has more substance than I gave him credit for.
—Roslyn to Fanny
Roslyn felt tears of happiness blur her vision as the Freemantle barouche carried her away from Danvers Hall. She and Winifred were among the last to leave, since she had stayed behind to direct the household staff and spare Arabella the task, and Winifred always delighted in closing down a ball.
Two hours earlier, the sisters had said farewell privately to each other. It was a poignant moment, full of love and tears. This was the last evening they would really be together as sisters, the three of them standing against the world. Now that Arabella was married, she would have a doting husband to love and care for her.
A half hour after that, Lily had left to spend the night with Tess. It was well past midnight, however, before the enormous crowd of wedding guests took their leave and the long line of carriages thinned out.
Most of the remaining family and close friends had departed moments ago, heading for London. The Marquess of Claybourne had escorted Marcus’s lively sister Eleanor home, along with her aunt, Lady Beldon. Fanny was accompanied by one of her wealthy gentleman friends. And their mother, Victoria, had left with her French husband, since the Vachels planned to stay in the town house of Henri’s English relations for another fortnight before returning to his home in France.
As Roslyn stood in the entrance hall, saying a final good-bye to the bride and groom, she had spied the Duke of Arden behind her. But she hadn’t wanted to suffer another encounter with him, so she embraced Arabella and Marcus warmly and then hurried down the front steps to the waiting barouche to join Winifred, who had kindly agreed to drive her to Tess’s.
Settling back against the velvet squabs, Roslyn gave a sigh of weary contentment. She had promised Arabella she would oversee running the estate and the academy while the newlyweds were on their wedding trip, yet she couldn’t imagine encountering any trouble. The summer school term had already begun, so most of their pupils had gone home and classes for the rest would be minimal. And now that the wedding was over, Roslyn was looking forward to a few weeks of peace and quiet and the hope of making Lord Haviland fall madly in love with her—or at least the opportunity to nurture the intimacy of their burgeoning friendship.
Winifred heard her sigh and responded with a pleased sigh of her own. “It is good to see Arabella so happy.”
“It is indeed,” Roslyn agreed softly.
“I vow your mother is happiest of all,” Winifred expounded. “Victoria was vastly relieved to see at least one of her daughters well married. She feared the scandal she caused would destroy all your chances for decent futures.”
It very nearly had, Roslyn thought before giving a light shrug. She had never allowed herself to bemoan her fate, and she wouldn’t start now. She was glad, however, to finally have some brighter prospects for her future. “It is all over now, Winifred.”
“Not by a long chalk, my dear.” Shaking her head smugly, Winifred chuckled. “It is only beginning for you and Lily. I have high hopes that you will both be able to make good matches now.”
Trying to hide her exasperation, Roslyn returned a bland smile. “You know Lily’s feelings about marriage.”
“She will change her tune if she meets the right man.”
Roslyn remained skeptical, doubting that her high-spirited younger sister would ever alter her opinion about matrimony. After the acrimonious example their parents had set, Lily had vowed never to be subjected to the kind of battles they had waged against each other for years.
Roslyn was just as fiercely determined never to be locked in a hostile marriage of convenience, which was why she had sworn she would never marry without love. She had no desire, however, to be the target of Winifred’s meddlesome assistance, any more than Lily did.
“Perhaps so,” Roslyn said pointedly, “but Lily will have to make her own decisions about marriage without any outside interference, no matter how well intentioned.”
At that arch reference to her matchmaking efforts, Winifred looked a trifle guilty. “I just want you both to be happy.”
“I know, Winifred, but you must allow us to be responsible for our own happiness….”
Her words trailed off when she became aware that the carriage had begun to slow. Moments later she heard a shout from outside.
“Hold there, I say!”
“What the devil?” Winifred muttered.
Just as puzzled, Roslyn peered out the window. There was enough light from the carriage lamps to make out the mounted horseman by the side of the road. Her heart started thudding in alarm when she realized the rider was masked and armed with a pistol.
“Stand and deliver!” he commanded, waving his weapon at the coachman.
The two ladies looked at each other in shock and dismay as the barouche lurched to a shuddering halt.
“I believe we are being held up,” Roslyn murmured.
“And me wearing all my best jewels,” Winifred said worriedly.
When the highwayman shifted his aim toward the rear of the coach, Roslyn knew he was addressing the footman perched up behind the boot.
“You there, fellow, climb down and open the door!”
The servant must have jumped down from his perch since shortly the door swung open. Through the opening, she could see their assailant more clearly as he sat upon his bay horse. He was ginger-haired and wore a dark coat, but despite his smallish build, the pistol in his hand looked large and deadly.
The footman obviously thought so, too, for after letting down the step, he raised his hands high and sidled away from the door, keeping a wary eye on the weapon.
“Now come out, your ladyship,” the brigand called.
He was ordering them out of the carriage, yet Winifred seemed disinclined to obey. “I will not!” she exclaimed mutinously.
“You will, or I’ll shoot your man here.”
The highwayman’s voice was surprisingly unsteady but determined enough to suggest he would carry out his threat if thwarted.
“We should do as he says, Winifred,” Roslyn said, not wanting to risk the servant’s life.
Gathering her courage, she stepped down first, then assisted Winifred. As she turned to face the highwayman, Roslyn drew her cloak a bit tighter around her silk-clad shoulders. The June night was warm enough, yet she couldn’t help shivering at the danger they faced.
“What do you want, sir?” she asked, trying to keep her own voice calm.
“What do you think I want? Your money and your jewels.”
Her reticule was looped around her wrist, but it was empty except for a bit of pin money. And she had no jewels other than a lovely pearl necklace and earrings given to her by Marcus. Winifred, however, was practically dripping in diamonds.
The highwayman seemed to know it, for he only had eyes for Winifred.
“Hand over your jewels, Lady Freemantle,” he demanded, brandishing his pistol.
He sounded rather nervous, or at least he didn’t seem to be enjoying his villain’s role. Roslyn wondered vaguely if this was his first foray into crime. Regardless, she thought it wiser not to argue.
When she reached up to remove her pearl necklace, though, the thief shook his head. “Not you, Miss. Her ladyship’s is all I want.”
Scowling, Winifred fumbled with the clasp of her diamond necklace, but the fellow again shook his head. “Give me the brooch first.”
“What brooch?”
“The one pinned to your bodice under your shawl.”
Roslyn wondered how the thief knew what Winifred was wearing under her satin shawl and decided he must have seen her earlier this evening. Winifred, however, was evidently unwilling to hand over her prize possession, for her spine went rigid. “I won’t give it to you!”
“Damn and blast it, do as I say!” he demanded.
“You needn’t curse at me, you devil.”
When he aimed his pistol at Winifred’s ample chest, his hand shook, as did his voice, yet the dame seemed finally to realize the danger. “No, please, take all my other jewels. Just leave me this piece.”
Hearing the tremor in her friend’s plea, Roslyn understood. Winifred would dislike surrendering her expensive baubles, but she positively couldn’t bear to part with her brooch, since it held a miniature of her late husband.
Seeing Winifred’s distress, Roslyn stepped forward protectively, hoping to reason with the highwayman to leave the brooch. “Surely you could be content with her diamonds. They are far more costly. The brooch is not particularly valuable. In fact its value is mostly sentimental.”
“No matter, it’s the brooch I want. Now give it to me!” he insisted, just as they heard the rattle and accompanying thud of hooves of an oncoming carriage and team behind them.
The highwayman froze. Another vehicle was bowling down the dark country road, Roslyn realized. When it rumbled to a halt behind the barouche, she recognized Arden’s coach from the ducal crest emblazoned on the door panel.
Cursing, the highwayman clenched his horse’s reins, sending the animal prancing as he debated what to do.
While his attention was thus distracted, Roslyn acted on sheer instinct: She slipped her reticule off her wrist and threw it with all her might at the footpad’s face.
At the same time she lunged toward his horse, hoping to seize his weapon and possibly disarm him.
The unexpected blow made the highwayman flinch violently and jerk his pistol upward, causing it to discharge harmlessly over Roslyn’s head, yet with a report loud enough to frighten not only his mount but the Freemantle team as well.
To her horror then, the highwayman abruptly fumbled in his coat pocket and pulled out another pistol, which he started to point at her.
Roslyn halted in her tracks, just as his attention was captured again by the shout Arden gave behind her. The duke had leapt from his coach and was sprinting toward them, his own pistol drawn.
When the brigand swung his weapon toward the new threat, the duke took aim and got off a deterring shot first.
The thief cried out in pain and slumped forward, clutching his right arm. Awkwardly then, he whirled his horse and galloped away, apparently having lost his combative appetite.
Watching the fleeing bandit disappear into the darkness, Roslyn felt weak with relief—and so apparently did Winifred, for the older lady sagged against the barouche.
Concerned, Roslyn went to her side and took her arm to support her heavy weight. “You weren’t hurt, were you?”
Winifred shook her head while clutching her brooch possessively. When the duke reached her side, she said in a trembling voice, “Thank you, your grace. You saved us. I thought that cutthroat might murder us.”
“He didn’t seem intent on murder,” Roslyn said, trying to calm her friend.
“No?” Arden’s tone held a hard note of skepticism. “Then why did he shoot?”
“Because I threw my reticule at him.”
“Indeed.”
He was eyeing her narrowly, Roslyn saw. “I hoped to wrestle his pistol away from him,” she explained.
“That was foolhardy of you. You could have been killed.”
“I decided it worth the risk. He was so agitated, I didn’t think his aim would be very accurate.”
“Which made him all the more dangerous.”
Roslyn grimaced impatiently. “We shouldn’t be standing here debating, your grace. We should ride after him.”
The duke’s mouth curled sardonically. “And what do you expect to accomplish in the dark?”
“We could at least attempt to find him.”
“Her ladyship’s servants could search the countryside tonight, but it would be pointless. He’ll be long gone by now.”
“So we should simply do nothing?” Roslyn asked in frustration.
The duke’s eyes, cool and green, met hers. “A thorough search can be conducted in the morning. I wounded him, so there may be a blood trail to follow. But for now there is nothing to be gained by trying to chase after him.”
The duke directed his gaze toward Winifred’s coachman, who was still attempting to calm his jittery team. “You will take her ladyship home and see to her safety.”
“Aye, yer grace.”
Roslyn wanted to argue, yet she knew Arden was right. It was pointless to search for the wounded highwayman until morning.
“I would like to go home,” Winifred murmured in a weak voice.
She looked about to swoon, which alarmed Roslyn even more than the holdup had done. Her friend was one of the strongest women she knew and never succumbed to the vapors.
“You need to sit down, Winifred,” Roslyn urged, guiding her to the door of the barouche.
Arden helped her inside, then handed Roslyn up beside her.
He was about to step back to allow the footman to close the door when Winifred leaned forward to address him. “Please, will you accompany us, your grace?” she implored. “I would feel ever so much safer with your presence.” When he hesitated, Winifred patted her bosom with a fluttery motion. “Please…my heart is beating so hard, I think I might faint.”
Roslyn shot her friend a highly suspicious glance. Winifred had never before suffered heart palpitations either, and the possibility that she was feigning weakness in order to secure the duke’s time and attention was too strong to dismiss.
Arden, however, nodded in polite agreement, perhaps because he was too much of a gentleman to question her motives. “Let me direct my coachman to follow us.”
Roslyn was not overjoyed that the duke would be riding with them, for she’d expected to be rid of him by now. Yet she could hardly object when Winifred claimed to need his comforting presence to soothe her frayed nerves.
When he turned away, Winifred sagged back against the seat, fanning herself weakly. In the glow from the interior lamp, her complexion was as ruddy as ever. Her voice, too, was steadier when she said, “You were very brave, my dear. I am grateful that you tried to save my brooch, but it wasn’t worth your life. I am so thankful you weren’t shot—and that Arden was there to rescue us.”
“I am as well,” Roslyn murmured.
The duke returned just then and climbed in to sit opposite them. He was still armed, she saw as the barouche began moving.
“I always carry a brace of pistols when I travel,” he said, seeing the focus of her gaze.
“Thank heavens you did,” Winifred said. “You are a capital shot, your grace, and quite heroic. Was he not, Roslyn?”
“Yes, indeed,” she admitted reluctantly.
His mouth curved. “You managed to stay calm, I noticed, Miss Loring. Some young ladies would have given way to hysterics.”
“I am not the hysterical sort.”
And yet she was more unnerved by the holdup than she’d realized. They all could have been injured or worse. Roslyn felt herself shudder, remembering how the bandit had threatened to kill Winifred’s footman. No doubt she was suffering from a delayed reaction, but she was indeed grateful for the duke’s presence.
“Bloody coward,” Winifred muttered, “accosting two unarmed ladies.” She glanced at Arden. “I hope you will stay the night at Freemantle Park, your grace. We need you to protect us.”
“I had already decided as much.”
Roslyn shifted uneasily in her seat. “Surely it isn’t necessary to impose on his grace.”
His eyes held a gleam of amusement. “Are you so eager to be rid of me?”
She felt herself blush at his perceptiveness.
“Someone,” Arden continued, “must organize a search and speak to the local authorities tomorrow. Perhaps set up a watch to try and prevent future robberies. You have a bailiff or a steward, my lady?”
“A bailiff.”
“Then I will meet with him in the morning and make arrangements.”
Roslyn still was reluctant to involve the duke in their affairs. “You needn’t put yourself to such trouble.”
“I have no wish to tell Marcus about the attempted robbery, do you? If I handle the matter, he won’t need to know.”
She hesitated, acknowledging his point. If Marcus thought there was a highwayman at large threatening the district, he would likely postpone his wedding trip, and Arabella deserved to enjoy her newfound happiness uninterrupted.
“I suppose not,” Roslyn finally said. “But still—”
“I will deal with it,” Arden stated, cutting off any further protest. There was an implacable note of finality in his tone, as if he was unaccustomed to having his decisions questioned. But he was a duke, after all.
“Now tell me what happened tonight,” he suggested. “What exactly did our highwayman say and do?”
Roslyn gave a brief account of the attempted robbery, and Winifred chimed in with a detail or two.
“I could scarcely believe it was happening,” the elder lady added at the last. “Ours is a very quiet neighborhood. And this is not the main road to London.”
“I think,” Roslyn said slowly, “that he waited for us to leave Danvers Hall and then followed us.”
Arden’s interest sharpened. “Why do you say so?”
“Because he knew precisely what jewels Lady Freemantle was wearing. He must have seen her earlier today.”
“Or perhaps he was informed by someone who did see her,” Arden observed.
“But it is curious that he only wanted her brooch.”
“Brooch?”
Winifred drew aside her shawl to display the piece. “This was the only item that devil demanded. I can’t imagine why he would want my brooch.”
“Did either of you recognize him?” the duke asked. “Anything familiar about him? Any identifying characteristics?”
“Not that I noticed,” Roslyn said thoughtfully. “Although I realize now that he was surprisingly wellspoken.”
His speech was not of the lower classes, Roslyn was certain. In fact, Winifred’s accent was much rougher than the brigand’s.
“Well,” the duke said, “we can do our best to find him, but I doubt we will have much luck.”
Roslyn had to agree. Finding a small, red-haired, well-spoken footpad who had tried to rob Winifred would likely be impossible. The only detail that might lead to his identification was that he was likely wounded, perhaps in the arm, but they couldn’t even be sure of that.
Falling silent, she settled back against the squabs, wondering how the special evening had suddenly turned so grim.
Drew was regretting the turn of events almost as much as she. This was precisely what he had hoped to avoid—becoming further entangled with Roslyn Loring. He would rather be halfway to London by now. Yet he couldn’t leave the ladies without protection. And he owed it to Marcus to stay and see to matters.
Barely an hour before, he’d promised his friend to keep an eye on the two younger Loring sisters. He and Heath had remained late at the ball in order to say farewell to Marcus and share a brandy to mourn the demise of his bachelorhood, even though Marcus had soundly rejected their condolences and claimed to be wildly content with his love match to Arabella.
Drew found himself swearing at the wretched timing. It was the devil’s own luck that the highwayman had struck so soon after his making that promise.
He had to admit, however, that Roslyn had borne the danger with aplomb. He’d been impressed by her courage and resourcefulness, even if it had sent his heart to his throat to see her in danger of getting shot. Most females of his acquaintance would have fainted dead at the threat.
Simply because he could admire her mettle, however, did not mean he wished to spend the night with her under the same roof. He didn’t want to be tempted by her, or to be subjected to Lady Freemantle’s annoying attempts at matchmaking. But it looked as if he would have no choice.
When the coach drew up before the Freemantle mansion, her ladyship wouldn’t hear of Roslyn going on to stay with her friend, Miss Blanchard, and insisted she remain at the Park to provide solace and company.
Roslyn’s cheeks colored with chagrin, Drew noted, and she sent him an embarrassed glance, yet she didn’t argue with her friend, merely nodded with a wry sigh of resignation.
Lady Freemantle seemed to have recovered from her weakness as she swept into her entrance hall, where she was greeted by her butler. The elderly servant looked distressed when she quickly explained about their frightening experience, but she assured him that the Duke of Arden would handle matters.
“The duke and Miss Loring will be our guests for the night, Pointon,” she added. “Show them to the green parlor, if you please, and bring them refreshments while you attend to their accommodations. His grace has no luggage, but I believe passable attire may be found for him in Sir Rupert’s wardrobe.”
“As you wish, my lady.”
“Oh, and his grace wishes to speak to our bailiff in the morning. Will you have Mr. Hickling summoned at the duke’s convenience?”
“Yes, my lady.”
“Thank you, Pointon. And please send a footman to Miss Blanchard’s house to let Miss Lily Loring know her sister will not be coming this evening.” Lady Freemantle turned to Drew then with an apologetic smile. “I hope you will forgive me, your grace. I am still feeling rather faint and believe I must retire to bed. Roslyn, I trust you to entertain my guest. At the moment I am still too unnerved to be a hospitable hostess.”
Roslyn did protest at that. “Winifred,” she began, her tone tinged with vexation.
Her ladyship held up a hand. “You should have a glass of wine, my dear. I’m sure your nerves are a trifle distraught after that dreadful upset. I will see you in the morning.”
With that, Lady Freemantle turned to ascend the sweeping staircase, leaving Drew alone with the butler and a very irritated Roslyn Loring.