How To Tame a Rake (5 page)
“You have a son?”
Susan put down her cup. “Named John after his father. He and my husband were killed in a carriage accident several years ago. He’d be ten now.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Willy swallowed, reminded again of the precariousness of human existence. She was surprised to see how calm Susan appeared.
“Time passes and we must get on with our own lives.” As Susan handed her a plate of biscuits, Willy saw the pain in her eyes.
After Susan returned to her chores in the garden, Willy wondered if she was lonely here on her own. She appeared to be a very independent person. Pouring herself another cup, she took one of Susan’s biscuits and settling down by the fire with the book. Hours later, she was still engrossed in the vivid descriptions of life at Ravensdale Hall. Willy looked up at the sound of a carriage bearing down on the cottage at great speed. She rushed to the window. At the gate, the horses were pulled to a stop, rearing and plunging, sending the rooster, attempting to round up his hens, flapping away.
Blake emerged from the carriage. Frowning heavily, he strode up the path. Her annoying heart began its usual pit-a-pat as she rushed to the mirror to attempt to straighten her hair. Her face looked so pale she pinched her cheeks.
Blake bowed to Susan and thanked her warmly. He turned to study Willy. “Are you all right?”
“Oh, this is just a scratch.” She touched the bandage on her temple. “How kind of you to come all this way to get me.”
“May I get you some tea, Lord Dangerfield?”
“Thank you again, Miss Gray. My mother waits eagerly for us to return to High Wycombe.”
“I quite understand,” Susan replied.
Willy rushed to give Susan a hug. “Thank you so much for looking after me.”
“I enjoyed it,” Susan said. “Please come and visit me sometime, both of you.”
During the carriage ride to High Wycombe, Blake asked Willy to describe the men. They had not yet been caught. His voice was clipped and his questions terse. She wondered why he was so angry with her. She gave a good description of the men, but found she couldn’t remember much of what happened at the mill house.
When they reached the inn, Lady Elizabeth threw her arms around Willy and kissed her. “You look so pale. Come and sit down, my dear.”
When Blake went off to speak to the Watch, Lady Elizabeth carefully began to quiz her. “Did they do anything, of a personal nature, to you?”
Embarrassed, Willy shook her head. All the questions were taking her back there. It was odd, at the time she’d kept a clear head and now she felt in danger of breaking down. She took several deep breaths to calm herself.
Aunt Elizabeth patted her hand. “It’s all over now, my dear. We’ll go on to London in the morning. Once there, London’s appeal will wipe this from your memory.”
Willy clasped her hands together tightly. She doubted she would ever forget the intensity in those black eyes as the pistol was aimed at her head.
Blake returned and took tea with them.
“I’m sure you intend to travel with us to London tomorrow, Blake,” Lady Elizabeth said.
“I’m afraid not. Matters await me at Hawkeswood.”
“But surely…”
“I will arrange an armed guard to escort you, although I believe the danger has passed.”
Lady Elizabeth pursed her lips. “Another muffin, Wilhelmina?”
“No, thank you, Aunt.” Willy was almost relieved Blake wasn’t to accompany them. She had had enough of him glowering at her. She had to make plans for her future, as she didn’t see it lying in his direction. The very thought of giving up a life with him almost caused her to gasp aloud, and she pressed her lips together.
* * * *
Blake looked across at the pale, silent girl. He felt his muscles unwind a fraction, relieved to find her unharmed and returned to his mother’s care. It was natural for a man to want to protect a woman, wasn’t it? But an icy wedge of fury still lodged in the region of his heart and he was not ready to let it go.
Chapter Six
Late the next afternoon, Willy and Lady Elizabeth and the highly nervous maid Gertrude, arrived in London. Blake had done as he promised. They travelled with an armed guard, a brawny fellow who Willy thought quite fierce.
The first things Willy noticed about London was how grey and smelly and busy it was. The narrow cobblestone streets, wet after the rain were jam-packed with coaches, barrows, traps, riders, tinkers, street vendors and street walkers, performers and workers pushing through the crowds. Women held their skirts aloft above the putrid, gushing gutters.
“The tide is out on the Thames,” Lady Elizabeth said, sprinkling cologne on their handkerchiefs. They held them to their noses. As if the smoking air and stinking roads weren’t enough, the cacophony of noises jangled the nerves, and yet as they rode past the east front of the majestic, newly built Buckingham Palace, there was an underlying excitement that Willy had never known before.
Dangerfield House in Park Lane was a tall, narrow building of four stories forming part of a row. A bridge with an iron railing led to the front steps. A liveried servant assisted them from the carriage before it was driven to the stables in the mews in the lane behind.
Inside, were cold marble floors, a grand sweeping staircase and a snobbish butler nowhere near as nice as Crowley. Willy’s bedchamber had a view over the western aspect of Hyde Park. The Serpentine River wound through it and the Ton drove their vehicles along its southern border in the season, Agnes, her new lady’s maid, informed her. And they exercised their horses at midday in Rotten Row, she added, but didn’t return to London in any numbers until Parliament formed at Christmas. A small girl with ginger hair, she talked non-stop while she unpacked Willy’s trunk, until Willy longed for some peace to gather her thoughts.
The next morning Willy went down to join her aunt in the breakfast room. The day was to be spent shopping in Bond Street and Regent Street and visiting the dressmaker.
“In a day or two, callers and invitations will begin to arrive,” Aunt Elizabeth said. “We shall have to purchase several quality, store-bought dresses and evening gowns to carry you through until some can be made.” She crumbled a muffin onto her plate. “And then, there is your wedding gown to consider.”
A gamut of emotions swirled through her, blurring into worry and sadness. Somehow, she had to protect her very vulnerable heart. “Shall we walk to the stores?” Willy suggested.
Lady Elizabeth looked shocked. “No one of any consequence walks the streets of London. Not unless you wish to be jostled and pushed to pavement and have your pocket picked.” Her hand went to her throat. “I’ve already lost my favorite pearl brooch.”
At the mention of the robbery Willy blushed and her heart beat faster. Lady Elizabeth placed a calming hand on her arm. “My dear, it was clumsy of me to remind you of it—forgive me.”
* * * *
As soon as his mother and Willy departed for London, Blake went straight to join the police posse searching for Joe Gore and his two cohorts. They rode out at dawn the next day, determined to cover as much of the woodlands and the high open ridge of the chalk downs as they could in one day. They were certain that the highwaymen remained there, secreted away in a hide out.
It was a very cold morning. Their breaths turned into steam as they gathered in a huddle to work out a plan.
“In this cold they’ll be forced to light a fire,” said Ben Nye, a tall rangy man with grizzled mutton-chops. He mounted his small roan. “We’ll ride to the top of Dunlow Hill. We can see smoke for miles around from there.”
The men entered the woods. They rode in a tight bunch, pounding along the dirt trails, hurdling fallen trees and dodging low branches, as flocks of birds erupted into the air and deer bounded away through the trees. The path narrowed and Blake slid in behind Ben, marvelling at the skill of the rider and the speed the small horse could maintain. The man and his mount rode as one. The men reached the bottom of Dunlow Hill and began to climb, the horse’s hooves scattering a bevy of rocks behind them. It took them close to half an hour of hard riding to reach the top.
The men dismounted and made their way to the edge of a cliff. They looked down over the sea of treetops below. Minutes passed in silence as they scanned the horizon for any sign of movement.
The weather was changing. Clouds were rolling in bringing mist and rain. “I think I see smoke!” one of the younger riders cried. He pointed some miles away into the distance where a fragile wisp of smoke hovered above the tree tops.
Blake felt the damp mist settle on his face. “We’ll never get there before the weather turns.”
“We can try,” growled another and the men strode to their horses.
Descending the hill was slower. The horses fought to keep their balance, slipping in the loose rocks and damp soil, the men mindful of their horse’s fetlocks. Fine rain blanketed the woods, making it difficult to see further than a few feet in front of them. Once on solid ground, they took off again in their tight pack, riding towards the area they’d pinpointed in their minds. Their knowledge of the area impressed Blake who could only follow.
Another hour of solid riding and the horses were almost blown. The men dismounted beside a stream and allowed their mounts to drink.
“We won’t find them today,” a heavy-set man said grimly. “I know the weather here like the back of my hand, there’ll be driving rain in the next hour.”
The others agreed. Mounting they rode on, but the urgency of the morning seemed to have lessened. The men’s faces had changed from expectation to resignation.
When they reached a cleared area where the wood from the fire still retained a fragile heat, the rain began in earnest, running down Blake’s neck and dripping off his hat. They combed the area for any sign of where the outlaws had gone, but already the wet ground had covered its secrets.
“Let’s head for home,” Ben said in a low voice, mounting and turning his horse’s head back towards the trail.
“We could return tomorrow, if it’s fine,” the younger man called after him.
He shook his head. “This rain has a set-in look to it. That Joe is clever, he keeps ‘em moving. They never stay in the same place long enough for us to catch ‘em.”
“But they must have a camp,” Blake argued. “A sheltered place to keep their food and bedding. They couldn’t survive out here for more than a few nights without it.”
“I’ve no doubt they do,” Ben said. “And one day, soon I hope, we’ll find it, but not til this bout of bad weather runs its course.”
Blake’s shoulders knotted with anger, the depth of which he couldn’t quite fathom. He prepared to return to Hawkeswood, mentally rolling up his sleeves. In three or four weeks he would return to London, if nothing else to appease his parent, and meanwhile Sarah was there to wash his back each night.
* * * *
Dressed in her chemise, drawers, corset and petticoats, Willy stepped into the billowing, lilac silk gown. Agnes began to button her up the back.
“This color does suit you, Miss Wilhelmina,” Agnes said.
“Thank you. You have done a splendid job of my hair.” Willy gazed in the mirror at the coiffeur smoothed over her ears and braided into an intricate design at the back of her head.
“You don’t have need of false hair. Not like some of the ladies I’ve dressed.”
Willy reached in her jewelery box. She chose an amethyst ring and pendant to hang around her neck. Blake had not suggested an engagement ring, and she wondered if he would buy one for her when he came to London. The thought made her hands shake.
“Would you like me to do that?”
“Thank you.”
Agnes did up the clasp. “Perhaps, you should take off the locket,” she said, studying the effect.
Willy fingered the silver locket. “I never take this off.”
“Did someone special give it you?”
Willy smiled. It would be all around the servant’s quarters in no time. “No. I’m a trifle superstitious.”
The maid’s eyes grew large. This she could well understand.
“I believe the Duke of Wellington will be at tonight’s soiree,” Willy said to divert her.
She gasped. “My goodness.”
Willy realized that she no longer felt nervous meeting important people. She had met so many since she first came. They had only been in London for a few days when cards began to appear, ranging from Dukes, to poets to politicians. When Blake arrived, she was to appear before Queen Victoria and Prince Albert. That thought did cause her to catch her breath, but she was not sure if it was Queen Victoria or Blake that produced it.
They were first to attend a play at the Adelphi Theatre in The Strand. It was the season’s most successful production,
School for Tigers
. The critics had hailed it as an unequivocal success and singled out the actress, Sarah Woolgar for particular praise. Willy did look forward to it.
“I’ve heard it said that Sarah dresses as a man,” Agnes had said disapprovingly.
Willy shrugged, feeling rather blasé. “It’s a tradition in the theatre.” A thought struck her. She would find it hard to return to Northumberland now. The post brought a letter from her family that morning. Her older sister was to marry her beau, a businessman from their village. And Amabel had many suitors following her about, moon-faced. But the two younger girls would love to come to London. Mary was very musical and Amelia a talented artist. As Blake’s wife she could do much to help them. At the thought of him, her eyes flashed and her lip trembled. He had not seen fit to come to London in over a month.
Willy came downstairs to find Lady Elizabeth waiting, dressed in a deep violet gown trimmed with jet lace, her lovely black hair, so like Blake’s, swept up in a regal knot with only a sprinkling of grey.
“Oh, you look lovely, aunt,” Willy said.
“As do you, dear.”
“We compliment each other perfectly,” Willy said, giving her a hug.
“You’re a sweet girl, Wilhelmina,” Aunt Elizabeth said. “I do hope…”
Willy gazed at her. “Hope what, Aunt?”
Aunt Elizabeth gathered up her bag and evening wrap. “Never mind. Here is the carriage.”