Madrigals And Mistletoe (14 page)

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Authors: Hayley A. Solomon

BOOK: Madrigals And Mistletoe
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Frederick declined the kind offer, but his jaw relaxed into a quick grin. There would be no trouble with this man and he hoped above hope a quite dramatic scandal had been averted. Of course, he would have offered at
once
for Seraphina's hand had damage actually occurred, but as he silently smiled to himself, he preferred to do things in his own time, in his own unique way. He looked at Seraphina and it felt as though his heart would burst in his chest. So lively, such animation, so much potential bottled up beneath the ladylike veneer. He never imagined what a joy it would be to teach her, to unleash some of that potential . . . His breathing grew deeper as he allowed himself to reflect on further potential he might explore with her. His eyes caught hers and he felt, rather than knew, that she was thinking similarly reflective, slightly wanton thoughts. It would be nothing to reach out and stroke that mass of burnished copper . . . to tease her mercilessly with his lips, just a hairbreadth away . . . His fingers unfurled and the pulses in Seraphina's slim wrists and neck were raging. Fortunately, her gloves and her coat preserved her modesty, for if Frederick had seen that rush of desires he would, quite truly, Sir Archibald or not, have been compromised.
Instead, Frederick saw parted lips and high colour, the first flush of youth. The sight both inflamed and cooled his ardour, for Seraphina was a lady, gently born and, despite her mischievous inclinations, utterly innocent. So he sighed and searched around in his head for some dampening thought. The image came easily: dark and handsome and intolerably painful. Rhaz, the fifth Duke of Doncaster and his very best friend. His brow furrowed painfully as he realised that the fruition of his dreams was not meant to be. Rhaz had branded Seraphina with his first claim. Cruel fate! If he had had a notion, even an inkling! But no! He would never know, for on this matter Frederick determined to be silent. If the sentiments were reciprocal, he would stand back for the sake of his great love and his friendship.
Seraphina looked at him quizzically. It was all he could do not to allow her to tumble into his arms and be madly, wildly kissed. He was a gentleman, though, so despite his inner turmoil, he maintained a polite and proper distance. Miss Camfrey's heart slowly stilled as she found him very thoughtful for her comfort and impossibly charming in manner, but nevertheless unexpectedly silent. An unease had descended upon them that made the dark, starlit evening sadly dimmer.
 
 
When Sir Archibald Huffington was duly delivered to his residence, it took both the hackney cab driver and the sadly underpaid manservant to ease him out of the coach and into the house. Their efforts were not made any easier by the baronet's strange predilection for song, nor by his very loud insistence that he was perfectly sober and could manage for himself.
Several candles were lit in the houses alongside of him, a surefire indication that yet again his nocturnal carousing had wakened the genteel neighbours. The hackney coach driver, awake to every suit and in a
particularly
charitable frame of mind given the glittering coin rattling round in his pocket, felt he should earn his keep. Consequently, in a
very
loud voice, he told the under butler that the “gennelman” had been extracted from the King's Head, a well-known taproom at least five miles south of the scene of the crime. If Sir Archibald had any interesting snippets to relate with regard to the well-turned wench, his credibility would be sorely tried, since gossip spread like wildfire among servants. It would not be long before every house in London knew that poor Sir Archibald had been carousing again.
The hackney coach driver smiled grimly as he jumped up onto his perch and took the reins once more. It was not often he had the chance to cast one in the eye to the gentry folk, but tonight he'd done just that. With a little whistle between his teeth, he urged the horses on.
If the King's Head had not
exactly
transacted business with the purple-breeched dandy he'd just dumped on the doorstep, they would nevertheless not miss out. Harry Turkington was about to descend upon them with a half crown's largesse in his pocket. Ah, it was a wonderful night! He
click-clicked
with his tongue and the horses obediently changed to a trot.
FOURTEEN
“Do hurry up, Delia dear!” Seraphina skipped into the luxurious chaise and flung herself against the squabs. “Isn't this heavenly? I declare there's enough space for us all to stretch out with perfect decorum!”
“And since when has decorum been a prime consideration with you, Seraphina my love?” Cordelia dimpled wickedly, her spirits high though she could not, for the life of her, understand why. Perhaps it was the crisp chill of the morning or the prospect of an interesting ride through the picturesque green countryside. Whatever the cause of her animation, she was certain that it was
not
the fact that she was now occupying the duke's own seat, preparatory to a visit to that gentleman's vast country estate.
“I cannot see why Captain Argyll has to sit up with the outriders! Can he not take his place inside?”
Ancilla lowered her head to climb in and caught the last of Seraphina's remarks. “We've been through all this, Seraphina! Captain Argyll is an excellent shot and we can rest secure in that notion.” She refrained from saying that she thought that, if Seraphina wished to further her chances of becoming a duchess, it would be wise not to pursue too active an acquaintance with the good captain. For though his manners were ineffably those of a gentleman, he appeared to hold Miss Camfrey in a thrall that Ancilla deemed slightly concerning, given that he was employed only as a common music master. She held her peace though, knowing her youngest daughter too well to force the point.
“The duke has been most thoughtful and has provided hot bricks for our comfort. He has also attended to a picnic hamper so we should not starve before arriving at our destination.”
“What, ho?” Lord Henry, rather out of breath, climbed the few small steps and waved away the Camfreys' gardener cum groom.
“Lord Winthrop, we thought you were making your own way to Huntingdon?” Ancilla's voice was light, but the dismayed glance she cast Seraphina's way was heartfelt. Cordelia, too, felt a strange sinking of the spirits as her betrothed fussily set himself down and called out orders from the open windows of the splendid well-sprung barouche.
“I was of a mind to, Mrs. Camfrey, until I bethought me of a better plan! Since the duke is sending two carriages over, both of them sporting excellent stallions, I felt it would be a shame—not to mention discourteous—not to avail myself of the opportunity of viewing their mettle firsthand. This looks a fairly well-matched team, I might add. I shall inform his grace.” He looked up with a bland, satisfied smile and remarked benignly that all the ladies were in fine looks. Having dispensed with all his social obligations, he then took a small peek into the hamper and selected for himself a smidgen of carved Westphalian ham, a sliver of pheasant and several helpings of an excellent duck-and-gooseberry tart. Seraphina was hard-pressed not to giggle, but Cordelia frowned at her warningly, so the morning passed without any hurt feelings or further social disasters.
Unfortunately, the afternoon was not as serenely spent. Cordelia found herself wrapped up in a pleasant daydream that had little to do with the man seated opposite her and much to do with a certain, unattainable, striking and magnetic man that seemed to occupy far too much of her thoughts for comfort. She could still feel his strong caress, his burning eyes and his amused empathy from every single encounter she had had with him. Winthrop, sensing her abstraction, attributed it to a maidenly embarrassment at his own splendid presence. Accordingly, he good-naturedly, misguidedly and
excruciatingly
pompously set about drawing Cordelia out of the cocoon she had so carefully woven for herself.
In between odd excursions into the bountiful picnic hamper—Cordelia was now feeling decidedly queasy at the sight—he decided to discourse with her on the horses they were about to view at Huntingdon until even Ancilla was forced to roll her eyes heavenwards and comment that perhaps Cordelia looked tired.
“Tired? Never! Our Miss Camfrey is never peaky! Too much rumgumption and all that! For myself, I have hardly had a day's tiredness in all my life! Brisk walking and plenty of exercise, I always say! Now Dr. Foggarty, he would tell you . . .”
And so it went on until all three female passengers were longing to make their escape. Seraphina kept peering wistfully out of the window, but Captain Argyll was always too far forward to be seen. She sighed and wished something exciting would happen to relieve them of the tedium.
She did not have long to wait. Captain Argyll crossed to their window as the late autumn leaves fluttered to the ground and the mild sunshine was dimming to shadows. He pointed to a crossroad and indicated they were nearing Huntingdon, one of the duke's extensive domains. While it was not his principal seat, most of the hills and meadows that stretched farther than the eye could see formed part of the estate. Cordelia was interested to note how neat everything looked, how the cottagers seemed as robust and as spanking clean as their tidy, thatched homes. The road stretched tantalisingly to the east.
The elder Miss Camfrey could not help feeling a spark of anticipation. Somewhere to the east, his grace was strolling, riding, awaiting their arrival perhaps. She reflected on his brilliant smile, how his cravat would be elegantly but not ostentatiously tied, how his—But no! Such thoughts were unbecoming in her. She flushed and did not notice the teasing interplay between Frederick and Seraphina. Ancilla did though. She sighed, for Captain Argyll was so charming, such a perfect gentleman, so very much everything she could wish for in a son. . . . He had the taming of Seraphina, too. It was difficult to turn a blind eye to the sparkle that instantly appeared in striking coincidence with the captain's presence. Almost, she could swear, there was an attachment . . . Yet that was ridiculous! Captain Argyll was nothing more than a penniless employee. It was unthinkable. Yet such gracious manners . . . She sighed. If only
he
had been the duke! And Cordelia? Despite Winthrop's assertions to the contrary, she
was
looking peaky! What was going on with her girls?
Suddenly, Ancilla was forced to cast this thought aside, as a gunshot caused the carriage to swerve unsteadily across the path and onto the soft, velvety grass verge. The first was closely followed by a second, and as the team in the baggage carriage behind began to gallop in disarray, the two carriages converged upon each other and they were well and truly ditched. There were loud, coarse noises, further shots and an anguished cry from Cordelia. It all happened so quickly that no one could make much sense of anything. Captain Argyll had vanished and Winthrop, as white as a sheet and blustering, was attempting to open the carriage door. It was jammed and his panic was incalculable. Seraphina looked about her and realised at once that they were the victims of a highwayman.
She heard the cock of a pistol and further shots. Cordelia whispered that they ought to remain still. Doubtless the outriders and Captain Argyll combined would overpower them. Seraphina nodded. Her confidence in the captain was enormous. Still, if they were armed . . . Captain Argyll had climbed down from his box. Had he taken his pistol with him when he did so? Perhaps he was lying lifeless even now . . .
“I must get to him!”
“Sit still, Seraphina!”
A long, low whistle, then the sounds of hooves flying across the paddocks. Cordelia, sitting unnoticed in a pool of seeping blood, felt faint and a little sick. She heard fumbling with the door and her eyes widened in fear. If it was a highwayman, then Captain Argyll must be injured at the very least. He would not permit common felons of the road to approach them without a fight. Her muscles tightened imperceptibly and she could see a similar nervousness cross Ancilla's pretty, butterfly-like features.
“Take off your necklaces!” she whispered to both Seraphina and Ancilla before struggling with her own.
“What?” Winthrop sounded outraged. “Hand over your gems to those rapscallions? Never! I shall scold them roundly for their impertinence and so I tell you!”
Neither Misses Camfrey bothered to reply. Ancilla already had her string of pearls dislodged from her neck and was now working at unscrewing the pretty matching earrings. Seraphina was not wearing a necklace, but she silently edged off a pretty little gold bangle that she'd insisted on keeping despite Cordelia's small efforts to economise. Blood trickled down Cordelia's arm, staining her light carriage dress of sprigged lawn as she pulled at the small cameo. A gift from her papa. She put the thought firmly out of her mind.
Lord Winthrop was still protesting loudly that they should not forfeit their gems. The door opened and the stench of sweat and alcohol assailed the occupants' senses. Cordelia felt her heart sinking, for they would surely be overpowered.
“What is the meaning of this?” Winthrop shifted in his chair uneasily.
“ 'And over the pretties and none shall be 'armed. Quickly now!” The man's tone was urgent and he repeatedly looked over his shoulder as if hearing something. Cordelia wondered what had become of the outriders and why he was looking so uneasy. Perhaps they were not dead, just stunned.
The intruder seemed in a tearing hurry, but then, it was twilight and his felony might be witnessed by any passing chaise. Since highway robbery was a hanging offence, she supposed she could understand his agitation.
Perhaps they could make it work for them. If he would only take the bounty, he might be in such haste to disappear that they'd be allowed to pass on their way, or at least live.
When Winthrop moved forward, a blunderbuss was pointed rather inelegantly at his face. “Don't move! 'Urry up, I say!”
Lord Henry looked disdainful. “You shall hang for this! I am a magistrate of the peace! Allow us to continue on our way and I shall dismiss this matter from my mind.”
“Oy! We ‘ave a sense of 'umour! Very good, guv! Now 'and over the stash!”
The womenfolk practically begged Lord Henry to desist from argument and give the man what he wanted. Lord Henry's outrage, though, was growing every moment. Cordelia felt very close to an uneasy faint, for her arm was aching, and though she was only losing blood slowly, the anxiety of the situation was causing an unsteadiness that had her swaying. Seraphina's fingers clenched over a bottle lying discarded from the hamper. If necessary, she would hit the man over the head, though her aim would be slightly off due to the rocking of the carriage.
“Lord Henry, cease being a dolt and give the man the gems!” Ancilla's tone was suddenly imperious and Winthrop was so startled by the unexpected admonishment that he meekly handed over the loot.
The man's eyes narrowed when he noted the paltry takings, but he was fidgety in the dusky twilight and anxious to get on. Disappointing, for the well-appointed carriage had promised of more. Still, a quick glance at the ladies indicated that there was indeed no more to yield.
When the highwayman's eyes rested on Winthrop, they rounded in satisfaction, for the man was wearing several ornate seals and a signet ring that, if not a ruby, was almost certainly a garnet of high calibre. When the thief pointed to them and bade them be removed. Henry turned a spluttering, purplish colour, and Cordelia, in her weakened state, nevertheless feared he might have an apoplexy. She was faintly aware of noises in the background, but she was too riveted on the scene within to give the matter much thought. The man released the safety catch of his overlarge blunderbuss, and at last, with the sharp click, Winthrop stopped dithering. He pulled off his treasures and gingerly proffered them to the highwayman.
“Mighty wise, guv!” The felon nodded approvingly.
Whilst his attention was momentarily diverted, Seraphina raised the bottle above her head. Too late! He caught sight at once of what she was about. Moreover, the noises echoing around him were suddenly brought home to him. Torn between teaching the party a very good lesson and escaping with his hide intact, the highwayman chose the latter. Just as Seraphina was preparing for the worst, his face disappeared from the window. The sound of hooves once again, then a certain eerie stillness before a yell of surprise. Against the darkening sky, the highwayman's henchmen—a threatening, foul-smelling creature—dropped in front of their very eyes.
Then Frederick was upon them, prising open the door with a stick from the meadows. He ordered the outriders—lying impotently sprawled across the ground—to resume their positions. As he did so, the thundering of Arabian hooves, ever steadier, was upon them. His grace the Duke of Doncaster slid off his horse and cast a meaningful, speaking glance at Frederick.
Frederick!
The coincidence was uncanny. He would have laughed had the situation been anything but as dire as it was. How strange that of all the music masters in the world, it was Lord Argyll that the Camfreys had chosen to employ. When he'd offhandedly suggested Seraphina's tutor accompany them, he had little
dreamed
that Frederick would finally land up accepting his offer to be his guest in this ridiculous guise. Was he to be placed in the servants' quarters?
The logistics were fascinating, but the duke did not allow himself to linger on them. He'd instinctively responded to Frederick's call and the blood was still pounding through his veins as in one summary glance he took in the exact series of circumstances that had just occurred.

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