The Summer of You (31 page)

But that was as far as duty bore him.

“Thank you,” Byrne said as he rubbed his wrists, happy to have them free of the manacles, happy to be back home.

That was when Jason decked him. A quick right fist to the jaw, faster than Byrne thought the boy capable of. It connected with his left cheekbone, knocking him into the sofa, and would leave a healthy bruise soon enough, but it was the bones in Jason’s hand that cracked audibly.

“Ow!” Jason exclaimed, holding his hand tightly.

“I have to agree,” Byrne groaned, coming up off the sofa.

“That was for touching my sister,” Jason growled.

“I need to speak with her,” Byrne said, making sure to back up a few steps, out of Jason’s reach. “She shouldn’t have told them, just to set me free, I would have—”

“Damn right she shouldn’t have said anything. Or done anything.” Jason’s eyes narrowed. “But you won’t be speaking to her ever again.”

“You sent her away?” Byrne surmised. “I’ll find her,” he said, grabbing a spare cane as he stalked to the front door. He wrenched it open, only to discover the two burliest footmen standing guard with blunderbusses in hand and pistols at their waist.

“Mr. Worth, I would like you to meet my, er, groundsmen,” Jason replied with a smirk. “Since you own only the house, not the land that surrounds it, if you step foot outside, you are trespassing.” He leaned in, and said with relish, “And they are under strict orders to shoot any trespassers on sight.”

Byrne turned to the smiling face of Jason Cummings. “I know you never liked me, my lord, but just out of curiosity, is it because I told you to grow up all those weeks ago, or because I was right to?”

But as much as Byrne could tell Jason wanted to rise to the bait, and as much as Byrne would have loved a little engagement himself, he was glad to see the boy back down.

After all, there was no time to waste.

“You’ve been exonerated, at the expense of my sister. You’ll forgive me if I don’t wish you a good evening.”

And with that, Jason turned on his heel and strolled out the door to his waiting Midas, who bore him home.

Byrne was alone again in the little house, the one that still smelled of cinnamon and honeysuckle. After a very long afternoon spent in that dirty little cellar, he needed a bath, a meal, a drink. But more than that, he needed Jane. And he needed to take care of some unfinished business.

Dobbs’s hat and coat were not hanging on the hook by the door, like they normally did. Neither was his bag present. He had likely hit the road the moment Byrne had been arrested that afternoon.

But then he heard it. It was the smallest sound, a shuffle of feet on hay from the barn. And he knew what it meant.

Silence fell over the room as Byrne moved with quiet insistence. He grabbed a jar of jam, left from one of Jane’s visits, and a stale loaf of bread. Then, leaning more than necessary on his cane, he ambled to the front door, opened it, and smiled to the two men who stood outside, guarding him.

“I’m just going to go upstairs, go to bed,” Byrne said, his voice cool and calm. Hell, it could be described as nonchalant. “It’s going to be a long night, I wager. Either of you two hungry? I have some blackberry preserves . . .” He held the jar out to the men. The darker, more wide-eyed of the two looked to his partner, then shrugged and advanced.

They never saw the cane coming.

After making quick and quiet work of his two unfortunate guards, Byrne moved silently, like a cat in the night to the small stables behind the little house.

He found Dobbs loading up his horse with all manner of supplies—enough so the man would not have to stop running as long as the horse could carry him.

“You shouldn’t have come back here, Dobbs,” Byrne said, jolting the man out of his movements.

“Oh, Captain!” Dobbs said with a start, his hand going to his chest. “You scared the piss out of me!”

“You should have just run.” Byrne advanced slowly.

“Why, uh, whatever do you mean?” Dobbs smiled nervously. “Say, aren’t you supposed to be in jail? You escaped again—mighty clever of you, sir.”

“Cut the chatter,” Byrne said, his face like granite, his voice deceptively calm. “I know you are the highwayman, Dobbs. I just want to know why.”

“DO I not pay you enough?” Byrne asked. “Is that it?” “Actually, that’s part of it,” Dobbs said, his shoulders dropping. “There was a while there you were taking so much medicine that you forgot to pay me, and the butcher, and the blacksmith . . .”

Byrne swallowed, unwillingly acknowledging his complicit past. “But that’s not how it started, is it?”

“No. It’s not that easy to explain.” Dobbs shook his head. “It began a while ago.”

Byrne waited for Dobbs to settle into his story. While he waited, he casually fingered his cane, knowing Dobbs was watching. And Dobbs knew what he could do with that cane.

“It began in the winter. That night, I was late coming back from Manchester, and you had to go into town for firewood? When I got home, I found you on your bedroom floor, cradling that satchel of stolen medicine in your arms.”

Byrne’s face burned with the very blurry memory. With shame.

“I knew that the town would come for you, so I thought . . . maybe I could distract them,” Dobbs continued. “So I went into Reston and threw a rock through the window of the printer’s shop. Ransacked the place, made sure I put down a mess of hoofprints so it looked like the thief was on horseback. You couldn’t ride very well then.” Dobbs tugged his hat down off his head, played with its edges nervously. “And maybe another storefront or two.”

Only the horses made a sound. A small nickering oblivious to the intensity in the air.

“Anyway . . .” Dobbs coughed nervously, then continued. “Big Jim the blacksmith? He caught me at it. But he dinna turn me in, like I thought he might.”

“Big Jim is your accomplice?” Byrne’s head came up. An image flashed into his head of Big Jim’s imposing figure, muscled and callused through long years of backbreaking work. This might be more difficult than previously thought.

“He said he wanted a little fun,” Dobbs replied. “Tired of waitin’ for what he wanted. And that’s when we decided to try robbin’ coaches. Only in January there ain’t no coaches, so we took the mail . . . and I have to say we did it really badly. Don’t know how we managed to get back to town. We was unloading what we took in the smithy, and Mr. Cutler comes in, sees what we’ve got.”

“Cutler?” Byrne’s head snapped up. “The town solicitor?”

“Aye.” Dobbs nodded furiously. “He’s in a right state, too, says he followed our tracks from where we took the coach. Me and Big Jim are beggin’ for our lives, but Cutler just looks at us and says we have to do it better if we don’t want to get caught.”

“Don’t want to get caught?” Byrne repeated, incredulous. “I don’t understand—did he want a portion of your bounty?”

“No! That’s just it!” Dobbs started talking fast now, his hat flying up and down as he gesticulated wildly. “He dinna want money, he wanted to be magistrate. You see, he recently came into a bit of property and thought Sir Wilton was doing a shoddy job of his offices, and thought his background in the law would make him a better magistrate . . . but he knew Sir Wilton would never step down, so he needed to make him look really bad—and he decided a crime spree would do it.”

It was an unsettling amount of information to receive at once, and Byrne took a moment to adjust to it. But there were still pieces left out. And apparently Dobbs had questions, too.

“When did you know?” Dobbs asked.

Byrne worked his jaw. “Little over a week ago, I decided to analyze the dates of the attacks versus when the men of Reston were in or out of town. I did so by first recalling where I was . . . and then recalled you were out of town during every single robbery. Every last one. I thought that was a little suspicious, so I decided to test you.”

“By asking me to stake out the eastern side of the lake with you?” Dobbs asked, and Byrne nodded in response.

“And it scared you enough that you fell out of pattern. Attacked a carriage and decided to frame me.”

“But it wasn’t me that wanted to frame you!” Dobbs replied vehemently. “Even when you were lost to your medicine, you were still a good man to work for . . . didn’t hit, let me be myself, and I want you to know I appreciate it.”

“Really, Dobbs, you’re not going to escape punishment via flattery.”

“It was Cutler and Big Jim who insisted we use your cloak and cane. They thought you were getting too close, and we needed a way out. You should know . . .” Dobbs coughed, and began again. “You should know that Big Jim—he began to enjoy the money a little much.”

“And you didn’t?” Byrne drawled sarcastically.

But Dobbs just ignored him. “He’s become obsessed with getting a big score. He nearly lost his mind when he saw the inside of the Cottage. All that money, just hanging off the walls, he said. And he went on and on about the diamond earbobs Lady Jane wore to the assembly. Thought the lady must drip with jewels, even on weekdays.”

Byrne paused, became very still. “Jane is being packed in a carriage right now,” Byrne growled, “and about to ride out.”

And since Jane created a scandal at the ball, everyone in a the village would know it.

Byrne looked at the horse, already saddled, ready to go. Ruthlessly, he tossed away all the excess supplies that weighed the horse down and swung himself into the saddle.

“Dobbs—you have been a very good friend to me for a very long time,” Byrne said, as the horse danced, adjusting to him in the seat. “So I am going to do you a favor.”

“You’re not going to tell Sir Wilton about me, are you?” Dobbs breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh thank you, sir. You won’t regret it, I promise—”

“No,” Byrne interrupted him. “I’m afraid he will have to be told. But I’ll give you a head start.”

And with that, Byrne burst out of the stables, his horse attuned to his desperation.

He needed to get to Jane.

Jason paced the length of the carpet in the sitting room. Charles and Nevill were, for once, silent, simply watching him as he walked a hole in the rug. If Jason were feeling himself, he would take this opportunity to get good and stinking drunk. But he wasn’t feeling himself. He wasn’t feeling himself at all.

Jane’s look as he had packed her into the carriage and instructed the second-burliest footmen he had to not let her out of their sight until she was on the ship to Italy . . . she didn’t stare daggers at him or look ready to spit fire, which was her custom. Instead, she just looked disappointed. But not in her actions—in his.

“You’ve done the best thing you can, old boy,” Nevill broached. “Jane acted recklessly. She knew better than to fall in love with a nobody like Byrne Worth.”

Fall in love. Had she truly fallen entirely in love? He was willing to grant that it could be the folly of summer love that he had experienced in his youth, certainly, but what had she said? That it was deeper.

It was more.

“But he’s not a nobody!” Charles cried. “I finally remembered where I know his name from!”

“And where is that?” Nevill asked.

“From the papers, of course. Right before we left London. It came out with the latest list of men honored with knighthoods. Byrne Worth and Marcus Worth are to be knighted by the Crown. For services performed during the war.”

“That doesn’t make him not a nobody,” Nevill argued, rolling his eyes as he stood up and walked to the window that looked out over the back gardens, where Hale and Thorndike had recently abandoned a game of horseshoes. “It just makes him Sir Nobody.”

“But he’s a gentleman of honor, certainly,” Charles argued. “No one gets knighted without being a man of honor.”

“Yes, well, Jase—that man of honor is cutting across your back gardens on horseback right now.”

Jason’s head snapped up, as he ran to the window beside Nevill. He just caught a glimpse of the black steed and the man who rode it like he was being chased out of hell.

“Where do you think he’s going?” Charles asked, coming behind them, jumping to see over their shoulders.

“I don’t know.” Jason narrowed his eyes. “But we are going to find out.”

“Victoria, what on earth do you think you’re doing?” Jane cried, shocked to her core, as the carriage rumbled along at a clip. The smaller blond woman was swallowed by the large black cloak, looking more like a child than ever—but the set of her mouth, the defiance in her eye . . . those were very adult, as if she finally saw the world as it was for the first time.

“My parents are wrong,” Victoria said, absolute conviction shaking in her voice. “You should have heard them, Jane—actually, I’m rather glad you didn’t. My mother was horrible, condemning you as if you were . . . a . . . a fallen woman!”

Jane didn’t feel the need to point out that technically, she was fallen. Fallen rather hard and publicly.

“But why would you stow away in my carriage?” she asked.

“Because you’re my friend,” Victoria replied, her eyes wide with astonishment. “And I could not let you be condemned and sent away alone! You don’t deserve it. And . . .”

“And?” Jane’s eyebrow went up.

Victoria bit her lip, hesitating. “And I realized something tonight . . . and suddenly I didn’t want to be in Reston anymore.”

Jane reached out and took her friend’s hand. Victoria smiled bravely, then looked down, started playing with the long sleeve of her oversized cloak.

“You knew the whole time, didn’t you? That Jason would never love me.”

Jane nodded curtly but not unkindly. She understood. Victoria’s realization would make anyone want to run away, to go to a new place and become someone different. Jane had tried it once, tried losing herself in the frivolity of London after her mother’s death. It hadn’t worked.

“Victoria,” Jane began softly. “Disappointment, and difficulty . . . you cannot deal with them by running away.”

“I know,” Victoria replied. “I feel nothing but foolish over the whole thing now, but . . . more than that, it made me realize that to find someone that looks at you the way Mr. Worth does, and to look back in the same manner—it’s not something to be ashamed of. And my parents and their friends in Reston, and the whole world wants to make you ashamed.” Victoria looked up then, her cheeks streaked with silent tears. “I do not believe you should be ashamed.”

Without thinking, Jane left her seat and went across the carriage to Victoria, wrapping her arms around her and holding tight. Victoria was no more surprised by this emotional display than Jane herself was.

“Thank you,” Jane whispered, her voice wobblier than she had expected. Oddly, they had been the first words of support she had received since she told the world of her involvement with Byrne, and it was so good to have someone on her side. Someone who wanted to be her friend, no matter the consequences. She hadn’t known she needed it, and she was so grateful. However . . .

“I can’t kidnap you, Victoria,” Jane said as she pulled back from the embrace, wiping away an errant tear.

“It’s not kidnapping if I come willingly,” Victoria protested weakly, making Jane smile.

“You know what I mean,” Jane said ruefully. “Your parents will be mad with worry.”

Victoria shrugged, then gave a small nod as she fell back against the seat, exhausted by her mad rush to get here and now resigned to returning home.

Victoria knocked on the roof of the carriage, then waited for the carriage to slow to a stop.

It didn’t.

She knocked again. When it still yielded no return, Jane set her mouth, and put her head out the carriage window.

“Excuse me!” she yelled against the wind up to the driver and his partner. “We must turn around!”

The second man (whom Jane recognized as Freddy, a footman) turned his bulky frame, leaning down cautiously as they moved at a gallop down the main road into and out of the district. “Apologies, ma’am,” he yelled. “We were instructed by the Marquis to not stop until we put you on a boat!”

Rolling her eyes at her brother’s unrealistic expectations (they would have to stop to change horses sometime, after all), Jane replied, “Circumstances have changed! We have a stowaway!”

“A what?” Freddy said, trying to hear over the wind and the sound of hooves beating against the dirt.

“Another person!”

Freddy looked at her for a moment, uncomprehending. Then he turned and exchanged a few words with the driver of the carriage, gesturing wildly. Finally the driver slowed to a canter, then to a stop. Once the carriage had stopped moving, Freddy turned back around in his seat.

“Thank heavens,” Jane breathed.

“I’m sorry, milady, I couldn’t hear what you were saying,” Freddy said. “What do we have?”

“We have a—”

But Freddy was never to hear the full answer, never to know that Victoria Wilton was hiding in the depths of the carriage. Because at that moment a shot rang out from the fells that lined the road.

Jane whipped her head around, but the echoes made it impossible to discern where the shot originated.

But it was easy to discover where the bullet ended up.

Jane looked back up at Freddy, confused surprise on his face. He reached his hand up to his chest, where Jane could see the patch of red growing, almost black against his white shirt in the spare starlight. He slumped over and fell off the carriage, just as the driver, scared beyond belief, whipped the horses into a lather, and they ran.