The Highwayman (12 page)

Jane feared that she knew the reason for this unprecedented visit, but she made her way to the drawing-room with as much polite composure as she could muster. She was all the more certain that she had guessed correctly when she saw Mrs. Micklethorp’s forbidding countenance. Usually that lady was the most amiable of creatures, despite her penchant for gossip.

“My dear Jane,” said Mrs. Micklethorp, scarcely giving her hostess time to shut the door. “I came as soon as I heard, and I must tell you that I was never so shocked in my life! You know how much I dislike interfering in other people’s lives, but in this case, I feel that I should be neglecting my duty were I to remain silent.”

While she drew breath to continue, Jane asked hastily, in the vain hope of postponing the inevitable, “Would you care for some tea, Mrs. Micklethorp?”

“No, no!” said that lady. Then, “Well, perhaps just one cup, and possibly one or two of those delicious little cakes your cook is so good at making.”

Jane walked to the bell-pull, but her guest was not to be put off. She said, “But you must not try to divert me from my purpose, Jane.”

Sighing, Jane moved to a nearby chair and reluctantly prepared to hear the woman out. “I collect you have not come merely for a visit. And that being so, what is your purpose, Mrs. Micklethorp?”

“I think you know that very well, my dear, but in case you do not—Jane, how
could
you take that man into your home and allow him to run tame here for an entire sennight? And, if what I hear is true, he is
still
here!”

“If you are referring to Lord St. Clair,” said Jane with cool civility, “I had little choice in the matter. He was inadvertently shot by my own coachman, so naturally I felt responsible. And since he needed immediate care, and Meadowbrook was so close, it seemed the most reasonable thing to do.”

“So I was told and, knowing you as I do, I would think nothing of it were he anyone else. But, my dear, you
know
his reputation.”

“Certainly I know that he has one, although no one has ever bothered to tell me just what he has done to deserve it.”

“Well,” declared Mrs. Micklethorp, colouring, “for one thing, he is a notorious libertine. And, though you know little of the world despite your years, I am sure you know what
that
means.”

“Oh yes,” said Jane, her smile forced. “I believe the term refers to a man who is noted for his many—” she cast about in her mind for the proper word “—light o’loves. But from the little I
do
know of the world, in that way he is very much like many gentlemen of the ton. The only difference is that he is more open and honest about his affairs.”

Jane was feeling all the dismay and mortification she would have expected to feel at finding herself in a position to be lectured to and gossiped about. What she had not expected, however, was to feel such anger and indignation. But she thought she could safely say that she knew St. Clair better, by now, than Mrs. Micklethorp or any other of her neighbours. And she could not meekly allow him to be attacked in this way.

Mrs. Micklethorp’s colour had risen even higher, and she said, “I see that this is more serious than I feared. He has already begun corrupting you.”

Seeing how alarmingly red her guest’s face had become, and fearing she might be in danger of suffering an apoplexy, Jane decided that conciliation would serve her better than anger. Leaning forward earnestly, she said, “Dear Mrs. Micklethorp, I know that your intentions are of the best and that you speak only out of concern for me, but I assure you that the viscount has not corrupted me. Far from it! I have found him to be most...” She wanted to say “gentlemanly” but found she could not quite manage that. Instead, she lamely substituted, “Likeable and charming.”

“Oh, yes. I do not doubt that. Charm, after all, is a rake’s stock in trade,” said Mrs. Micklethorp scathingly. Then with an air of martyrdom, she continued, “Well, I see there is no help for it. I must tell you the whole truth about him, no matter how distasteful it is to me. You are a maiden lady, Jane, and no one has wished to sully your ears with such a sordid tale. But if that is the only way to bring you to your senses, I must not permit a concern for delicacy to stand in my way.”

Ever since she had first begun hearing of St. Clair, Jane had wondered what he could have done to earn such a reputation. She knew there was more to it than just the fact that he was a rake. During her one Season, she had discovered that London was well populated with rakes, most of whom were accepted into the first circles of Society.

At least they were accepted so long as they were reasonably discreet about their peccadilloes, which, apparently, St. Clair was not. But, even so, the ton, particularly the ladies, had a certain peculiar fondness for the breed, and it was they who ruled Society.

But now that she was about to be told the real reason for St. Clair’s ostracism, she found herself extremely reluctant to hear it. Where the devil was Melrose with that tea? she wondered crossly as Mrs. Micklethorp leaned forward to say with ill-concealed relish, “It happened many years ago, of course, although his youth cannot excuse what he did. I shall not mention the young lady’s name, but I assure you, she came of an excellent family, and St. Clair—”

At that moment, there came a scratching at the door, followed by Melrose’s entrance with the tea tray. Jane was so grateful that she could have embraced him. She was even more gratified when Agatha entered the room on his heels.

Her face wreathed in smiles, Agatha sailed across the room to seat herself beside the visitor. “My dear Mrs. Micklethorp,” she said. “What a pleasant surprise this is. You have not visited us in ages.”

“No,” said that lady in a rather disconcerted manner. “Well, as the vicar’s wife, I have many obligations, you know. And I see you so often when you visit Dunby that there is no need— But I did wish to have a word with Jane.”

“Very thoughtful of you,” said Agatha, beginning to pour the tea. Then, after handing their guest a cup, she looked at Jane. “Should you not be leaving now, Jane? You are already quite late for your appointment.”

“Oh, yes,” said Jane, rising hastily. “Please excuse me, Mrs. Micklethorp. I do appreciate your concern and I assure you that I shall think about what you have said. But I have promised this time to young Alice Brant, and I cannot disappoint her.”

The vicar’s wife opened her mouth, but before she could speak, Agatha said, “Now you just run along, love, and do not worry about us. Mrs. Micklethorp and I shall manage nicely on our own and enjoy a comfortable coze.”

Jane wasted not a moment in taking her advice. Just before closing the drawing-room door behind her, she heard Agatha saying, “Now, you must try one of these new cakes Cook has made. I know you are partial to her others, but this is a new recipe, and...”

Leaning her forehead against the cool wood of the door, Jane released her breath in a small puff of laughter. Poor Mrs. Micklethorp was no match for Agatha. Once her companion set her mind to it, she could outmaneuver and out-gossip even the most accomplished tale-tattler.

She turned, then, to find St. Clair watching her from across the entry hall with answering laughter in his eyes.

He said, “It is about time! I was beginning to think I would be obliged to come and rescue you myself.”

Jane smiled. “I don’t think that would have been a good notion. I am afraid our vicar’s wife has a rather unflattering opinion of you.”

He looked at her sharply but merely said, “Been blackening my character, has she?”

“No more than usual,” said Jane lightly. Then, looking round, she asked, “But where is Alice?”

“Outside, champing at the bit,” he replied. “So you had best step lively, my girl.”

“Oh, my, yes. Just let me get my bonnet and I shall be ready.”

Outside, Jane was somewhat surprised to find Alice mounted on her mare, and more than a little pleased at the thought that just she and St. Clair would be sharing the curricle. She had been wondering how the three of them would manage in a vehicle meant to seat only two comfortably.

There was no question of her being private with him, however, as Alice chose to ride beside the carriage, chattering and flirting outrageously with him most of the time. For all that, Jane was content, speaking only now and then to give directions.

It was one of those idyllic summer days, sunny and warm, with a hint of a breeze. The sky was incredibly blue, dotted here and there with fluffy white clouds wherein one could see all manner of fantastic and magical shapes.

Jane drew a deep breath and marveled that she had never before been so acutely conscious of the myriad and delightful smells of summertime in Yorkshire. But most of all, she was aware of the man beside her, whose scent was so peculiarly his own, and somehow, more pleasing than all the rest.

It did not take them long to arrive at the location Jane had chosen for their outing, a grassy glade beside a small stream. St. Clair glanced round as he handed her down from the curricle, and remarked, “Correct me if I am wrong, but is this not part of my property?”

“Oh dear, you have caught me out. But I must own that I have been trespassing here for a good many years—since long before it was your property. It is one of my favourite places, and I doubt the former owner ever knew of my crime. Are you going to exact a fine from me?”

His eyes gleaming with amusement, he replied, “No, not in a monetary sense. All the same, I think I must claim some sort of forfeit from you.”

But Jane was left to wonder what that might be.

Upon their arrival, Alice had jumped down from her horse without waiting for assistance, and after securing the reins to a nearby bush, she had begun exploring the glade. There was little to interest her, however, and now she was back, demanding, “A forfeiture for what?”

“For trespassing on my land,” St. Clair told her.

“Oh, is this your land? I had not realized it was such a vast estate. Was that old curmudgeon a relative of yours? Papa says he was as rich as Croesus, so you must be very plump in the pocket now. I suppose that will make you a great deal more acceptable to the ton, will it not?”

Jane had to clench her jaw to keep from criticizing the girl, but she was determined not to spoil this day by sending Alice into a temper. To salve her conscience, she told herself that she would find a way later to bring up the subject diplomatically.

St. Clair, however, was looking decidedly as though he were ready to give Alice a severe set-down. Meeting Jane’s eyes, however, he seemed to understand the pleading in them. He turned back to Alice and said mildly, “It
is
my land, and the old gentleman was a relative, although a very distant one. I have no notion of how my inheritance will affect the ton’s view of me, and it is impolite to enquire into a man’s wealth, or lack thereof ...unless you are the father of a marriageable daughter.”

Jane held her breath, expecting a tantrum, but to her surprise, Alice merely said, “Oh.” Then, with an abrupt change of subject, she asked, “May we eat now? We were late in starting, and I am famished.”

There was no opportunity for private talk during the picnic meal, but on the trip back to Meadowbrook, Alice did not remain quite so close to the carriage. Jane guessed that the girl was a little out of charity with St. Clair, for he had treated her with amused tolerance all morning. Now, bored and restless since the promised treat was over, Alice had apparently decided to punish him by depriving him of her company. She took to galloping ahead of them, then waiting impatiently for them to catch up before forging ahead again.

Watching her, and hoping she would not be so imprudent as to go beyond their sight, Jane said ruefully, “I suppose I should arrange some entertainments for her and invite the other young people from the neighbourhood to keep her amused.”

Glancing at her with a grin, St. Clair said dryly, “Forgive me, Jane, but I am heartily sick of the chit and her problems. I don’t wish to talk of her.”

“Oh, of course not. I did not mean to bore you with my troubles.”

“Your troubles do not bore me. It is simply that I would rather speak of other things just now. For instance, I have not told you how glad I am that you have left off wearing those ridiculous caps. You are far too young and attractive for such things.”

Jane wished with all her heart that she did not blush so easily. She said in a slightly strangled voice, “Oh, well, Agatha is forever scolding me for wearing them. I simply grew tired of listening to her. But there is no need to offer me Spanish coin. I am neither young nor particularly attractive.”

“You are younger, by several years, than I,” he told her. “As to the other, perhaps it is true that beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”

It was a good thing that he was not watching her then, for she was certain that her absurd happiness at his compliment showed clearly on her face. Even the knowledge that he must be very practiced at making such speeches could not dampen the thrill she felt. Sincere or not, she knew she would cherish his words forever.

They were silent for several minutes then, and her thoughts returned to Mrs. Micklethorp and what she had been about to reveal. What terrible thing would she have learned about St. Clair if they had not been interrupted? She did not want to know, yet she could not stop wondering.

She could not have known that St. Clair’s thoughts were on the same subject, but, just as they turned into the carriage drive at Meadowbrook, he said, “Jane, I need to speak with you. Not now, for what I have to say to you is private. Will you agree to meet with me later?”

Without stopping to consider, she answered, “I shall come to your chamber tonight.”

“No!” he said sharply. Then, gentling his tone, he repeated, “No. That would not be wise. Besides, Kearny is certain to be somewhere within earshot. It would be better if we met in the rose garden after Alice is abed.”

“Very well,” she agreed quietly, pleased at how calm she sounded when, in truth, she felt oddly excited and rather daring at the thought of such an assignation with St. Clair. What could he mean to tell her?