One evening, when they were traveling back late from Richmond and her employer was in a worse dither of nerves than usual, Kate had suggested in exasperation that they exchange cloaks and bonnets. Even though Lady Thelma’s were black, their fabric and cut proclaimed their superior quality over Kate’s gray garments. Anyone who might hold up their carriage, Kate had declared, would mistake her for the lady and concentrate his pistol and his demands on her.
Now they had decided on the same ruse. The earl had removed to Barton Abbey a week before. His son and daughter were joining him there. And a week later several of their friends and relatives were to arrive for a house party to last several weeks. The viscount and Lady Thelma were to leave off their mourning when they left London, the earl had decreed. Enough that they had missed two months of the Season. After all, they had never even met their great-uncle. He himself had not seen the deceased earl for more than twenty years, since he married their mother and moved north to the estate she had brought him on the marriage.
Yes, she was a servant, Kate decided again, smoothing out the velvet folds of Thelma’s pelisse, which she wore. As soon as they arrived at Barton Abbey—surely soon now—she would change back into the gray garments that she would wear alternately with brown for goodness knew how many years. And—an even greater sacrifice to her new status—her hair would be scraped back again into its prim bun. She sighed. Life never had been particularly exciting, but from now on she could not even hope for any adventure to brighten her days. Only dull monotony stretched ahead of her.
The carriage lurched suddenly and the coachman was calling to the horses to halt and was dragging back on the ribbons. Thelma stifled a scream, and Lord Stoughton sat up with an oath.
“What the deuce?” he said, peering fruitlessly out of the window. It was quite dark outside, and certainly he could see no cause for such an abrupt stop.
Kate leaned forward, to comfort the terrified girl opposite her.
And then in the quiet that ensued on the cessation of movement, they could hear the coachman and the footman scrambling down from the box outside and a clear masculine voice talking to them.
“Come down slowly, and keep your hands in sight,” the voice said. “I would be loath to harm you. Move out into the middle of the road in front of the horses, where I can see you.”
Thelma’s eyes, visible to Kate above the hand that the girl had clapped over her mouth, were so wide that they looked as if they were about to fall from their sockets.
“Damn it to hell!” the viscount said, regardless of the sensibilities of his female companions. “I do not even have a pistol. Whoever would have thought it necessary in Dorset?”
“Stay quiet!” Kate instructed her employer. “Leave this to me.” Her heart was knocking against her ribs so loudly that it felt as if it would burst through at any moment.
After a short silence, during which the two servants were presumably doing exactly what they had been told, the door of the carriage opened to reveal black night.
“If you have any weapons,” the same cool male voice said, “you would be well to throw them outside now. Then you may jump down into the road. Slowly and one at a time, please. I do not wish to have to use my pistol.” The accent of the voice was faintly French.
“We have no weapons, villain,” Kate said in a firm voice that belied the palpitations of her heart. “And how, pray, do you expect us to jump slowly from such a height? Command gravity to suspend its rules?”
There was a short silence from outside. “The saucy wench can come first,” the voice said at last.
Kate rose indignantly to her feet.
“I say,” Viscount Stoughton said, pushing her back to her seat again with one arm. “Do you wish the ladies to break their necks, blackguard? I come first so that I may assist them to the ground.” He jumped out before the highwayman, or whoever the owner of the voice with the French accent was, could reply. He lifted first Kate and then a shrinking Thelma to the ground.
Kate glared around her as soon as her feet touched the road, until she saw the enormous dark stallion standing very still to one side of the door, its rider looking disturbingly large and menacing. As her eyes accustomed themselves to the darkness, they made out a man wearing a heavy cloak and old-fashioned tricorne. His hair beneath the hat and tied at the nape of his neck gleamed very fair. His face seemed to be in deep shadow, but when she squinted with greater concentration, she could see that it was almost completely hidden behind a dark mask. He held a long pistol trained on them.
“Well,” she said before anyone else seemed inclined to resume the conversation, “here you have us, you cowardly villain. We are entirely at your mercy. I do not imagine you have many likely victims along this road. I suppose you know with whom you deal. Just in case you are in any doubt, I am Lady Thelma Seyton, the Earl of Barton’s daughter. And incidentally, he will see that you swing for this, my man. This is my brother, Lord Stoughton. Now, what was it you wished from us? Money? I have three sovereigns in my reticule. Perhaps my brother has as many more. I also have a pair of pearl earrings of indifferent value in the same reticule. I doubt if my brother has the like about his person. Take what we have and be on your way. And enjoy it while you may. You will be kicking your heels on air before many days have passed.”
Kate really felt as if her knees would buckle under her at any moment. If this highwayman did not get about his business immediately, she was likely to disgrace herself and fall to the roadway. But no! She positively refused to swoon.
To her surprise, the highwayman chuckled. She could see the flash of his teeth when she glared up at him. “And the shrinking little female?” he asked, waving his pistol almost carelessly in the direction of Thelma.
“My maid,” Kate said as Thelma whimpered and hid behind Lord Stoughton. “You would be fortunate to find two farthings on her person. I do not encourage my servants to carry about anything valuable.”
“A word of advice, mamselle,” the highwayman said, leaning forward slightly in his saddle, one elbow resting against the neck of his horse. “Do not say such a thing in future if you have the misfortune to be stopped again by someone of my profession. The first thing that will happen is that your maid will be searched from head to toe and all your jewels discovered. It is not a very subtle hiding place, especially if you protest the poverty of your maid with such studied nonchalance.” He chuckled again.
Thelma continued to whimper and cower behind her brother as if she thought that she could thereby make herself invisible.
“You!” the highwayman straightened up again and pointed his pistol directly at Kate’s heart. “Step over here, if you please.” He grinned. “Or if you do not please.”
“I say,” Lord Stoughton protested. “What is it you do want? If it is our valuables, then take them and be off with you, fellow.”
“There is only one valuable that I have any desire for tonight,” the highwayman replied. “I told you to step over here, mamselle. You would be well advised to obey. Or are you too afraid to step away from your brother’s shadow?”
Kate bristled. “Afraid of you?” she said, injecting as much scorn into her voice as she could. “I would as lief be frightened of a worm beneath my foot.” She stepped boldly to the horse’s side and looked defiantly up at the masked figure, who suddenly looked far more menacing.
He reached down the hand that was not holding the pistol. “Take my hand and set your foot on my boot, mamselle,” he said. “You and I are going to take a ride together.”
Kate felt more seriously alarmed than she had before. “I would not ride one inch with you, you blackhearted villain,” she said, setting her hands on her hips.
