My Lady Scandal
Kate Harper
Copyright Kate Harper 2011
Published by Kate Harper at Smashwords
www.kate-harper.com
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Chapter One
‘All we need is a clear head and a steady hand,’ Peregrine Marriott said as he looked at his sister, blue eyes gleaming beneath the brim of his bicorn hat, ‘and we cannot fail.’
Nell rolled her eyes, unimpressed. ‘After three months, I think I have grasped the concept, Perry. What concerns me more is that you are getting too forward for our own good. If there is a female in that carriage tonight and you attempt to flirt with her, I will shoot you myself.’
Perry grinned. ‘Nonsense. I have a reputation to maintain.’
‘You are an idiot,’ his loving sister retorted. ‘Let me remind you, what this is about. We stop the coach, we take the valuables from the people inside and we leave as quickly as possible. We do not linger so you can press your lips to some scatterbrain’s hand while she pretends to swoon away!’
Her brother did not appear in the least bit repentant. ‘Harmless fun. They like having their hands kissed by a wicked highwayman. It gives them something to talk about in the drawing rooms the next day.’
‘Perhaps. But we do not have too many opportunities left to us. Another week or two and the coaches traveling this road will come complete with outriders and armed occupants.’ She glanced around her and frowned. They were only two miles from their own home, which was a little too close for comfort as far as Nell was concerned. Not that there would be any chance they would be recognized, but still…
They were waiting in the shadows of some giant beeches set on the top of a rise. Late October leaves crunched under the horses’ hooves as they shifted restlessly, sensing something on the wind. This was their third outing on Shooters Hill; popular due to the fact that the road below was both well travelled and overlooked by gentle inclines on either side. Popular or not, they had avoided it until a week ago because of its close proximity to Holly Oak Hall, their crumbling family home. For the past three months, they had moved from place to place to minimize the chances of being caught and – so far – it had worked. But old Emma, their stalwart housekeeper who had been with them so long she was a member of the family, had fallen sick with a hacking cough and they were unwilling to travel anywhere until she had recovered.
At this moment, Emma’s brother Talbot was atop his great black quarter horse on the opposite rise, waiting, just as they were. Nell found comfort in the knowledge.
Beside her, Perry remained silent. Nell knew that he was mentally preparing for what lay ahead. It was usually that way with her brother; one minute chattering, the other profoundly silent as his thoughts turned inwards.
They had started their careers as amateur highwaymen – or highwaywomen, in Nell’s case – three months before when their financial situation became so dire they were forced to eat nothing but whatever could be found on the estate. Holly Oak Hall, their family home, would undoubtedly be taken from them if they did not do something to pay off the debts that hung about the estate like carrion, eating the heart out of the place. The prospect of being homeless as well as penniless was daunting.
It had been Perry, in a fit of frustration, who had first suggested that, if they could not make an honest living, that just left a dishonest one. Truthfully, he had the background for it. God only knows, their father had used them both to help fleece fools during his card-playing career. Not only that but they had fled countless boarding houses in the dead of night, leaving unpaid accounts behind, on their seven year jaunt across Europe. Stealing, Perry had opined, was in his blood; their history was surely a criminal career in its infancy. At the time he had been half joking, but the idea quickly took root. Of course, he had only meant for himself to embark on the venture, but Nell had never been one to let her impetuous brother fall headlong into disaster, at least not without being close by to catch him and Peregrine, while possessed of many excellent qualities, did not number caution among them.
Nell huddled a little deeper in the great coat that swamped her slight figure. It was a frigid night; there would be a frost before morning. She glanced up at the three quarter moon that was riding high.
‘After this, perhaps we’d better start traveling again, find another place.’
‘We have not been here that long. Three jobs hardly make us permanent residents.’
‘But we are permanent residents, Perry. Home lies just behind us.’
‘And who would think that the Marriotts of Holly Oak would be responsible?’
True enough. They had been back for six months and had kept to themselves, claiming that they were observing a year of mourning after the death of their parents. It was true, in a way, although the last thing either Geneviève or Thomas Marriott would have expected was their children to grieve for them. They had always been far too enamored with life to allow for feelings of sadness or regret. Still, shutting themselves in Holly Oak Hall meant that they did not have to find ways to pretend that they had money. They did not have to entertain, to refurbish the faded rooms, to find the food that guests would need to eat. Nell grimaced, listening as the wind soughed through the branches above their heads. This was a chancy business, even for them. ‘You heard they took Captain Night last week?’
‘Captain Night; a ridiculous name, I always thought so.’
‘That is not the point, Perry. He was on the North West Road.’ They had been planning to try that very road for their next venture.
‘He was all bluff and bluster. Probably did not plan properly, or take proper precautions. It is a bad show and he will swing for it. But you worry too much. We are not like him. We are lucky.’
Nell sighed. Perry and his luck! It was the only thing he had in common with his father, that belief in the magical force of luck. As far as she was concerned, they were just managing to stay a step ahead of the runners or the private guards that were being hired to keep the wealthy safe on the roads. How long could they continue like this?
The wind was picking up and on it came the distant sound of an approaching coach. Nell sat up a little straighter while Perry lifted a spyglass to his eye. He peered through it intently for a while. ‘A barouche pulled by a team of four. I do believe we are in luck.’
‘Attendants?’
‘Two; a coachman and a footman.’
Both would be armed. Fortunately, a blunderbuss was not the easiest of weapons to wield and she and her brother had worked out that if they kept to the shadows for as long as possible, selecting an outcrop of trees as cover, they could be on the coach before the attendants could properly prepare themselves. And, of course, there was Talbot who would ride to meet it from the other side. Their usual practice was for Nell to say several yards back and take the hat off anybody who became too frisky. She was an excellent shot and could pip a playing card at twenty paces, something her brother thought vastly amusing. Nell might not know how to set a competent stitch, but she could outshoot – and possibly outride – any man he knew.
It had come in handy the first time they had waylaid a coach on Finchley Common. The coachman had tried to get clever with a pistol that he had concealed in his pocket and Perry’s life as a highwayman had almost been cut short then and there. Fortunately, Nell had seen the glint of metal in the moonlight and had shot the weapon out of his hand. Later, she had been terrified by how close her brother had come to being hurt, but Perry had laughed it off in his typically nonchalant style.
‘Live and learn. You kept an eye on me!’
But Nell knew that her eyes could not be everywhere.
Perry did the talking during their nocturnal exploits, dropping his voice to a rough, common growl that he had practiced for days. Usually Talbot came in from the other side, which had proved providential on several occasions. The whole thing was generally over within minutes. They demanded the valuables – Perry flirted a little if there was a halfway attractive female on board – and then they were gone. The faster it happened, the safer it was. Less time for those being robbed to think, less opportunity for them to make any kind of identification afterwards about who had waylaid them. Before they had begun, Nell had promised herself that it would only be for a short time, a month or so at the most, just to get past the worst of their problems, but their problems were large and that first night had brought them in enough to get the bailiffs off their backs for a month.
It had been a revelation for two desperate people who had no means to fall back on but their wits. With absolutely no qualifications to do anything but marry well, difficult as neither of them had a penny to invest in such an undertaking, the Marriott siblings had elected to take a more direct route to ease their financial burden.
Uneasily on Nell’s part, as she had craved respectability on her return to England. Enthusiastically on Perry’s, for he had always been a risk taker and had found their precarious life on the Continent a challenge to be overcome.
But the venture had proved successful.
Now, three months after they had begun, they had managed to lose the crippling debt that their careless parents had bequeathed them. Another few jobs and Nell had hopes that they might be able to begin to make their way forward, for Perry needed a wife, while she… well, Nell hadn’t actually thought past Perry needing a wife. She was twenty years of age and should have been presented at court three years ago. She had no genteel skills and doubted that any man would be keen to take on a wife that was a better shot and rider than he was. In the years that she should have been learning to play the harpsichord and embroider, she had been in Paris, then Tuscany and, finally, Florence. At least she could speak four languages.
‘Ready?’ Perry demanded happily, pulling the black kerchief up over the lower part of his face.
She said nothing, merely pulling up her own muffler and turning her big gelding’s head towards the road. As the coach approached at a fair clip, they spurred their horses forward, racing to intercept.
‘I cannot think why we had to wait so long,’ Miss. Viola Durham said plaintively. ‘Really, Grif, we will be there for two hours and then it will be time to leave.’
‘Excellent,’ her companion replied laconically.
His cousin eyed him with resentment. Viola had taken great pains to look her best tonight, wearing her new gown of French rose tulle, with lace adorning the scooped bodice. Her wealth of light brown hair had been simply dressed in the Grecian style, with several fetching curls falling across her shoulder. She had been ready to go by eight; they had set out at ten, which was utterly typical of Griffin. He never pleased anybody but himself and she supposed it was out of the question that he would go out of his way to please her.
But Viola had high hopes for the night ahead. She had heard that Captain Hugo Frame – currently on leave from his infantry regiment - would be attending and Viola particularly wanted an opportunity to speak with him. It had been a week since their last meeting, which had not gone as satisfactorily as Viola had hoped. She was determined that tonight would be different.
It had taken an enormous amount of persuasion to get Grif to agree to take her at all. He had said he was already committed to a party at Kew Gardens; she knew this meant that her cousin would be drinking until dawn with his disreputable friends. Viola, however, could harangue with genuine enthusiasm if the cause was just and Grif had grudgingly agreed. As she pointed out, he could always continue on to Kew after he had delivered her home again and he had vaguely promised his aunt and uncle that he would keep an eye on his cousin while they were in France.
It was not until a shout came from their coachman that either of the passengers knew that something was amiss. There was the sound of a shot followed by the high-pitched, panicked whiny of the horses. The coach gave a sudden jolt as the horses started, but slowed as their driver gained control once more.
‘What is it?’ Viola demanded, alarmed.
On the seat opposite, Grif barely moved, long legs stretched out, slouched in a corner. ‘Highway robbery, I should imagine.’
‘Oh!’ Viola had heard that highwaymen were becoming a real danger on the roads, but she had never dreamed that she would fall victim to one. She felt sick with fear. ‘What are we going to do?’
‘Relax, Viola. Aunt Marianne would be very unhappy with me if I let anything happen to you.’ He sat up and yawned, ‘try not to scream, there’s a good girl.’
All well and good, Viola thought angrily. But they were being held up! She cowered down in her seat, listening to a rough voice demanded they put up their guns or bleed for their courage. Another shot rang out which was immediately followed by a curse.
Grif arched an eyebrow. ‘I trust they have not shot Jenkins. He has a way with my greys.’
Viola gave him a disbelieving look, clutching the seat with shaking fingers as she listened to the sounds outside. What was happening?
The carriage had come to a complete stop now. They could hear the jingle of bridles, the stamp of horses’ hooves. Then the door was wrenched open and a great, black figure filled the doorway.
‘Give us your precious or give us your life!’
‘How poetic,’ Grif drawled. Viola shrank back in her seat but her cousin leaned forward a little, hand in the pocket of his coat. The upper part of his face was in shadow but his lazy smile was visible. ‘I am afraid I do not care for either of those choices. Let us try for a third one, hmm?’
The sound of a shot was hellishly loud in the close confines of the barouche. Viola screamed as the highwayman staggered back, hand clutching his shoulder. Grif removed the pistol from his pocket and reached out to close the door, moving cautiously, reluctant to have his head shot off by any accomplice outside. He had heard that these fellows often worked in pairs.
Sure enough, the rider who had been covering the coachman and the footman was sliding off their horse and hastening forward. When they heard Grif open the window, the gun came up to point squarely at his head. ‘Throw it down!’ Grif stared at the figure in surprise. A woman? What the devil? ‘Throw down that gun or I will put a hole in you. Do it now!’ He threw down his gun. ‘If you attempt to leave that carriage, rest assured I will kill you.’ Somehow, he did not doubt it. There was something very definite in those low, feminine tones. Hurrying forward, she reached her wounded accomplice who was holding his shoulder, half-bent over. ‘Oh, God! Are you all right?’
‘Get the hell out of it.’ The rough edge had gone, replaced by a gentleman’s strained tones.
She ignored him. Turning her head, she raised her voice. ‘Talbot!’
The shout brought a giant figure lumbering around the back of the carriage, leading an equally giant horse. Grif blinked at the size of the man and concluded that sometimes, they hunted in threes. The new arrival must have been all of six and a half feet tall. He had probably been covering the servants from the other side of the carriage, which seemed an excellent strategy. When he spied Grif, he waved his gun at him gently. ‘Stay where you are or I’ll pop ya.’
Grif showed both of his hands, empty of any weapons. This episode was not turning out as he had imagined it would and he had no intention of doing anything more. He watched as the giant strode over to the wounded bandit. ‘What happened?’
‘He was shot!’ The girl had pushed her hat back and Grif caught a glimpse of pale hair and the softly curving silhouette of a female face.
‘I’m all right, dammit! Just… get me to my horse.’ The ragged tone suggested that the wounded man was anything but all right. Grif knew he had shot him in the right shoulder, thanks to the fact that his aim had been off. Firing through the material of the coat had made it a tricky shot. But the ball would have probably gone straight through flesh and muscle at that range, tearing a nasty hole.
Bending, the giant picked up the wounded highwayman as if he weighed nothing at all and slung him over his horse. ‘Hold on, lad. We’re gon’ ta have ta lead ya.’ He glanced at the girl. ‘Quick smart, now.’
She nodded, turning to sprint back to her horse. With a liquid grace that was a pleasure to behold, she was up and moving in one, deft motion, urging the gelding forward gently so that she came up alongside the wounded man’s chestnut. She gathered up her fallen companion’s reigns as the giant turned to keep an eye on the carriage. When the two riders were clear, he took off after them, heading east. Grif watched the small party go with interest, wondering if he had just put a hole in somebody he knew. Maybe it was a bet of some kind. Some of his friends had discussed just such an escapade only a week ago, holding up a coach for the fun of it. The arrest of Captain Night had sparked considerable interest.
‘Griffin, please,’ Viola wailed behind him, ‘what is going on!’
He sat back in his seat and looked at his cousin. She was white faced and shaking with shock. ‘They have gone. It is over Viola. You are perfectly all right.’
The footman Jenson’s face appeared at the window. ‘M’lord!’
Grif looked at the man. ‘Yes?’
‘Should… should we return to London and inform the Watch?’
‘Whatever for? As you see, we were not robbed of anything more than a bullet. Speaking of which, kindly hand me my pistol.’ Jensen looked down, bending to retrieve the weapon. He handed it to Grif. ‘Thank-you. Now, if you please, inform Lennox to proceed. Miss. Durham tells me that we are late and she does hate being late.’
‘Yes, but…shouldn’t we, well…’
‘What? I am assuming that neither you nor Lennox was shot?’
‘No, M’lord. The ruffian was a fine shot, no doubt; took my hat clean off my head.’
‘But not your skull. I am relieved. Drive on, my good man.’
The man hesitated for a little longer but after a few moments, they were moving forward again. Viola sat shivering in her seat. ‘You can’t seriously mean to go on now?’ she said through chattering teeth, ‘Good heavens, Grif… you shot somebody!’
‘I did, did I not?’ he agreed thoughtfully, ‘I wonder who it was…’
‘Lay still, Perry. Talbot is doing his best.’
‘Aye, but it hurts like the devil.’ Perry protested. ‘Man’s a butcher.’
Talbot ignored this, continuing to probe the wound to ensure that there were no fragments left of the metal ball.
Her brother looked dreadful and Nell was more frightened than she could ever remember being. The wound was slowly seeping blood, which Talbot regularly wiped away. Perry was propped up on pillows, his face as white as the linen he was lying on. Nell watched Talbot as he cleaned the torn flesh carefully, waiting for his diagnosis. For all that he had such large hands, his touch was remarkably delicate. Talbot knew more than most physicians about how to heal the human body from his time spent as a medic on the battlefields of the Somme. Nell watched him work on her brother and prayed that his skills would be enough to heal Perry.
From the other side of the bed, Emma stood holding a dish of warm water and some bandages, her expression grim. She was supposed to be resting, but there was no keeping her in bed, not when her two charges were in difficulties.
Perry watched his sister pace and gave a weak grin. ‘Stop fidgeting, girl! You will give me a fever.’
She stopped, holding on to the bedpost tightly. ‘Talbot -’
‘Be easy,’ the big man grunted, ‘young devil was lucky; it missed anything vital. Lad’ll live if infection don’t take hold. Em?’ His sister held out a salve, a mixture of yarrow and comfrey and Talbot wiped the wound clean before patting it dry and spreading the salve around liberally.
‘So he will be all right?’ Nell demanded tightly.
‘He be young an’ strong. Take more ‘n a lump of lead take our Mr. Perry down. Long as we keep it clean.’
Nell released a slow breath. She felt as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. ‘Oh, thank God!’
‘Perhaps now you’ll stop haunting the highways like ungodly heathens.’ Emma snapped. She did not approve of their life of crime. ‘T’isn’t decent, no more than you dressing like a boy and riding about like a wild thing.’
Nell bit back a smile. She suspected that the thing Emma found the most scandalous about their new profession was the fact that Nell went on their nocturnal jaunts dressed in breeches. ‘Well, it will certainly give us pause. Perry must heal. Perhaps it is just as well. This might have happened at any time.’
‘Who got him? Nob in the carriage?’ Talbot asked, winding a clean strip of linen around the wound.
Nell thought back. Her memory of what, exactly, had happened after she had heard that dreadful report of a pistol was blurred, thrown into confusion by panic over her brother being shot. She vaguely remembered that she had threatened some nobleman who had pulled down the carriage window but he could have been anybody. It was unfortunate, apart from anything else, that she had given her sex away but there had been no time to be circumspect.
‘He must have been armed. I think I told him to drop his pistol before I went to Perry.’
Talbot shook his head. ‘It could ‘a been worse.’
‘Aye,’ Emma said brusquely, gathering up the bloodied clothes, ‘you could ha’ been killed. T’is the devil’s work an’ no mistake.’
‘So says the voice o’ doom,’ Talbot muttered, winking at Perry as he eased some of the pillows out from behind him, lowering him gently onto his back. ‘Sleep; I’ll be in yon room tonight to be close by.’
‘Better than a mother,’ Perry murmured, but his voice was reedy and fading fast, exhaustion and shock setting in.
Nell walked around to sit in the chair that Talbot had vacated and watched her brother’s face as he drifted into sleep. It was true; Emma and Talbot had been better parents than either of their own had been. Always there, always reliable. She thought about how the night could have ended and sighed.
‘You should rest,’ Emma said, eyeing Nell with an anxiety her brusqueness could never quite conceal.
‘And you should return to bed,’ Nell replied firmly, ‘I am not the one who has been ill. Go and lay down, for heaven’s sake, or I’ll be sitting with you once again.’
Emma set her lips mulishly but her brother intervened. ‘Off you go, woman! Get you to bed and let the bairns have some peace.’
After she was alone with Perry, Nell settled herself more comfortably; listening to her brother’s breathing, which was comfortingly steady.
It had all been a bit too close. Perhaps it was time to throw in their cards and call it even. They had played a fair hand so far and, really, there had to be other ways of making money. Ways that would not get them killed.
Settling back, she watched her brother sleep and thought about the future.
‘You were actually held up?’ Captain Frame, of the 14th Infantry, stared at Viola in consternation. While condemning her cousin as being an unfeeling beast for not taking her home, Viola had rapidly come to realize that there were definite benefits to be had in being the damsel of the hour. She had been trying to secure Hugo’s exclusive attention for weeks. Had she known it would take her being half scared out of her mind, she might possibly have considered highwaymen before this.
She was seated on a velvet settee in a small antechamber away from the main ballroom, fan in hand while Hugo sat beside her, satisfyingly close. Improper as this intimacy was, she had claimed faintness and he had solicitously led her away from the crush of the dancers. ‘But that was not the worst of it, Hugo! Grif shot one of them!’
Captain Frame frowned. Carlisle had a reputation as a hellion, but this… ‘Good God, Viola, you might have both been killed! These ruffians are a menace to the road. Did he report it to the Watch?’
Viola made a face. ‘No. He said that we were late and we came straight on.’
Hugo blew out a breath and sat back. ‘Did he kill the man?’
‘I do not think so.’
At this moment, Grif himself wandered into the room. He had been looking for his cousin and suspected the minx would have culled Frame from the herd and headed somewhere quiet. He arched a dark eyebrow at the sight of the Captain sitting so close to Viola. ‘Dear me, must I run you through to preserve poor Viola’s honor?’
Viola looked horrified. ‘Good heavens, Grif, do not dare! I was feeling faint and Hugo helped me find a seat.’
Grif looked amused. ‘How very chivalrous of him.’
Hugo had risen to his feet and was looking the man over, expression grave. The Captain presented a fine figure in his red regimentals, black boots highly polished and as neat as a pin. Despite the fact that he was by no means a striking figure – unlike Grif who had inherited his French mother’s dark good looks – he was tall, neatly turned out and possessed an air of quiet confidence. Grif suspected it was for this reason his cousin was enamored with the man, for there was nothing remarkable about Frame. Brown hair, cut a la Brutus, serious grey eyes. He positively oozed calm good sense, unlike Viola’s family, who, it must be admitted, had a flair for the dramatic that rivaled none. That, along with the fact that he did not dangle after her like a besotted fool made the man honey to Viola’s bee.
‘Why did not you fetch the Watch?’ Frame demanded.
‘We were late. They had fled.’ Grif shrugged. ‘What would you have me do?’
‘You shot one of them?’
‘I winged him. He will probably survive the encounter.’
‘Good God, Carlisle. Do you always travel armed?’
Grif’s dark eyes widened in surprise. ‘But of course. You do not?’
‘A ceremonial sword when I am attending a social function usually suffices,’ the older man said dryly. ‘Did you manage to get a description of them? I am assuming there was more than one.’
‘Three of them,’ Grif agreed, ‘and no, I am afraid they were heavily disguised. Naturally, under the circumstances.’ He glanced at Viola, wondering if his cousin had retained her senses enough to have recognized that one of their assailants had been female. He hoped not. He had designs of his own in that area. She said nothing, however. Clearly, trauma had rendered her oblivious.
‘Even so… you know that scoundrel that styles himself ‘Captain Night’ was caught several days ago?’
‘I had heard of it.’
‘And a good thing, too. It is getting so nobody will be safe on the roads anymore. There has been talk of the army starting patrols if it gets much worse.’
‘I feel better already,’ Grif murmured. He looked at Viola. ‘We leave in half an hour. Will that be enough time for you?’
Viola looked at her cousin suspiciously. ‘For what, pray tell?’
‘Why to hook your dainty little talons into Frame, here. Kindly do not take too long about it. I find this gathering inexpressibly dull.’
Viola gasped, coloring up. ‘Really, Grif! I cannot imagine what -’
‘Pay him no mind, Miss. Durham,’ Frame interjected, casting an exasperated look at the unrepentant Grif, ‘he is clearly in one of his moods tonight and determined to be difficult.’
‘So true,’ Grif agreed maliciously, ‘I am difficult. And you, my dear Frame, are an honest, uncomplicated military man. You have my sympathy!’
Hugo and Viola watched him turn and stroll out of the room.
‘What do you suppose he meant by that?’ the Captain wondered, expression doubtful.
‘Devilment! Carlisle always means devilment,’ his loving cousin replied grimly, then touched Frame’s arm. ‘Oh, Hugo! I still feel most dreadfully faint…’
Chapter Two
Two days after Perry was wounded, he was out of bed and walking around, railing against his sister and housekeeper’s insistence that he remain in doors when he wanted to go for a ride.
‘I do not want to rest. I feel fine. I need some fresh air.’
‘You were shot, Perry,’ Nell pointed out, ‘Talbot says there is still a risk of infection.’
‘Rot! Never felt better.’
Emma, sitting by the window while she darned sheets, eyed him narrowly. She finally appeared to be on the mend herself, the wracking cough that had plagued her lessening with every day. ‘Hark to you! Louting about. Ye’d best be getting’ back to bed a’fore you fall in your boots.’
Perry grinned at her. ‘You are a regular Cassandra, aren’t you Em? But, truly… I am going mad cooped up inside.’
‘And you are driving us mad as well,’ Nell decided, laying aside the house accounts and standing up. ‘Come and take a turn around the garden with me. That way Emma can be sure you are not running amok. I wanted to talk to you, anyway.’
Perry surrendered with good grace and they stepped out into the pleasant morning sunlight. It was a deceptively mild Autumn day, the kind Nature turns on to remind you of the lost summer, before the arrival of bitter gusts that shake the leaves from the trees.