Rachel leaned back against the soft velvet squabs of the
carriage seat and stifled a sigh. She glanced across at
Gabriela, who was curled up in a corner of her seat,
asleep. She envied the girl the easy sleep of youth.
Rachel had not been able to fall asleep, despite the
monotonous rumbling of the coach. She could not dismiss
the odd feeling of ennui, even sorrow, that had plagued
her ever since they'd left Westhampton yesterday morning.
When Michael had handed her into the carriage, she had
felt a distinct urge to turn back and say that she had
decided to delay her trip for a few more days. But, of
course, that had been impossible. She had already put it
off three days longer than she had planned. She had to get
Gabriela back to her guardians; they were waiting for her
at Darkwater.
A shout outside the carriage startled Rachel from her
reverie, and she lifted a corner of the curtain to look
out. She could see nothing but the dusk of evening, the
branches of the nearby trees a darker shape against the
grayness. Then there was a shout from the coachman, and
the carriage lurched forward. In the next moment, Rachel
heard the sharp report of a gun. She dropped the curtain
with a gasp.
The coachman's voice rang out, calling to his horses, and
the carriage jerked and jolted to a halt. Rachel grabbed
the leather loop beside her seat and held on. Across from
her, Gabriela let out a squeak of surprise as she tumbled
unceremoniously to the floor. The girl scrambled back up
onto the seat and turned to look at Rachel, wide eyed.
"What is it?" Gabriela whispered. "What happened?"
"I don't know." Rachel tried not to let her fear show. She
could think of no good reason for the sound of gunfire or
the coachman yanking his animals to a stop. What came to
her mind was highwaymen, although it seemed bizarre to
find them this far from London.
She heard voices and turned toward the door, her fingers
curling into the palms of her hands. She would be brave,
she thought, reminding herself that she had Gabriela now
to look out for, and she tried to envision what her
redoubtable sister-in-law Miranda would do β or her friend
Jessica, with her soldier's daughter's courage. But she
could not help a brief, desperate wish that Michael had
decided to accompany them to Darkwater.
The door opened, and a black-clad figure stepped inside.
Rachel struggled to keep her expression neutral. He was a
smallish man, she told herself, and it was only the black
attire and the scarf across the bottom of his face that
made him seem sinister. She would give him her money and
he would leave, and the incident would be over with no
harm to anyone.
The man's eyes above his mask looked startled, and he
glanced around the carriage, then returned his gaze to
Rachel. He looked, she thought with some astonishment,
puzzled.
""Ere, now," he said somewhat plaintively and jerked down
the scarf to reveal his entire face.
"Where's the guv'nor?"
Rachel's fear subsided dramatically as she looked at his
face, almost comical in its dismay. "I beg your pardon?"
she asked, pleased at how calm her voice came out.
"The lord," the man went on. "This is 'is carriage, ain't
it? I saw the sign on the door."
"This is Lord Westhampton's carriage," Rachel replied,
rather puzzled herself now. "His coat of arms is on the
door, if that is what you mean."
"Aye, that's the one. Westhampton. It's 'im I'm wanting."
"I am afraid that you are in the wrong place, then.
Westhampton is back at his estate."
Their visitor was silent for a moment, digesting this
news. Finally he asked, "Are you the missus, then?"
"I am Lady Westhampton," Rachel admitted. "Right. Well,
I'm thinkin' you can deliver the message to the guv'nor,
then."
"The message?" Rachel felt as if she had stepped bizarrely
into a scene from a play, one where everyone knew the
lines except her.
"Aye. Tell 'im Red Geordie sent it. Tell 'im he needs to
watch 'is back. There's some 'un wishes 'im ill."
Rachel stared at the man. "Excuse me?"
"E's gettin' too close, I'm thinkin' and there's them as
don't like it. Word's out that there's those as wants 'im
taken care of." He stopped, then gave a short nod,
seemingly satisfied with his words.
Rachel blinked, unable to think of an adequate reply.
The man grinned then and said, "Sorry. I'll be needin' to
take somemat β you know, for the boys." He nodded toward
Rachel. "Them earbobs'd do nicely."
Rachel gasped, her hands flying up to cover the emerald
studs in her earlobes. "No! Not these. Michael gave them
to me. It was a wedding present."
He paused, considering this information. "Oh. Well, I
wouldn't want to cross the guv'nor, that's a fact."
"How about money?" Rachel offered, digging into her
reticule and pulling out a small purse of coins, which she
offered him.
The small man grinned and took the purse, opening it to
peer inside. "Aye, that'll do it, my lady."
He gave a respectful tug of his cap toward her, still
grinning. "I can see you're a cool 'un, just like his
lordship. Pleasure doin' business with ye." He nodded
toward Gabriela. "Miss. Good evenin' to ye both."
He pulled up his scarf to cover his face again and turned,
opening the door and springing lightly down from the
carriage.
Behind him, Gabriela and Rachel gazed at each other in
stunned silence. There was the muffled sound of voices
outside the carriage, then the whinny of a horse, followed
by the noise of hoofbeats.
"What in the world β" Gabriela began, her eyes round as
saucers in her face.
"I have no idea," Rachel replied frankly. The door was
jerked open again, but this time it revealed the worried
face of her coachman, who peered up into the
carriage. "Are you all right, my lady?"
"Yes, we are fine, Daniels. No harm done."
"There were four of them, ma'am, with pistols. Jenks and I
thought it best not to challenge them, what with you and
the young miss in the carriage. His Lordship'd have my
hide if anything happened to you."
"You were quite right," Rachel reassured him, though she
knew that his statement was more hyper-bole than fact.
Michael was the most reasonable of men, not one to blame
his servants for something out of their
control. "Westhampton would not want you to risk your
lives or ours that way. You did well. Let us drive on to
Darkwater, if you please."
"Aye, my lady." The coachman gave her a respectful nod and
shut the door.
They could hear him climb back onto his high perch, and a
moment later the carriage started forward again. Rachel
looked over at her charge.
"Are you all right, Gabriela?"
"Oh, yes!" The girl nodded emphatically. "But it was
terribly exciting, wasn't it?"
"Rather too exciting, I'd say," Rachel replied dryly.
"Yes, I suppose," Gabriela said, sounding
unconvinced. "But I've never seen an actual highwayman
before."
"Nor I."
"Did you not know him? He seemed to know Uncle Michael.
Isn't that strange?"
"Very," Rachel agreed. "I cannot imagine how he could know
Michaelβ¦."
Michael was not the sort of man who had a passing
acquaintance with highwaymen. Now, if it had been her
brother Dev the fellow had claimed to know, Rachel would
have had little trouble believing it. Until he had married
Miranda and settled down, Devin had known his share of
unsavory characters. But Michael? The idea was absurd.
Michael was a quiet, scholarly man, kind, responsible,
reliable and generous β the very epitome of a gentleman.
His title was one of the oldest and most respected in the
land, and, unlike his father, Michael had never done
anything to tarnish it. He was happiest on his estate in
the country, overseeing the various renovations of the
house and outbuildings, and experimenting with the newest
innovations in agriculture and land management. He
corresponded with men of like nature and interests,
ranging from gentleman farmers on vast plantations in the
United States to men of science and letters at
universities here and on the Continent. He was hardly the
sort of man to have met a highwayman, let alone have one
deliver vague warnings about danger to him.
What was it the man had said? That Michael was "getting
too close." That some vague personage "wished him ill."
Too close to what? And who was this enemy?
Rachel could not imagine Michael having an enemy. Whatever
disagreements he might have with anyone, they were
courteous and usually concerned some scholarly subject
that few people had even heard of. The worst that she had
ever heard anyone say about him was that he was too
respectable, bordering on dull. Hardly the stuff of
threats to do him bodily harm.
"It's ridiculous," Rachel told her companion
firmly. "Michael doesn't have an enemy in the world. The
man must have made some sort of mistake."
She looked at Gabriela, who was still looking a little
troubled. The poor child had experienced too much death
for such an early age. Gabriela's parents had died when
she was only eight years old, and she had been raised by
her great uncle until he, too, had died last year, leaving
her in the care of a guardian who had been friends with
her father many years before. It was through this
guardian, the Duke of Cley-bourne, that Rachel had come to
meet the fourteen-year-old girl. The duke had been married
to Rachel's older sister, Caroline, who had died, along
with their daughter, in a tragic carriage accident. Rachel
had remained close friends with Cleybourne and often
worried about his descent into a black pit of grief in the
years after their deaths.
Then Gabriela had come to Castle Cleybourne last
Christmas, and with her, her governess, Jessica Mait-land,
a flame-haired beauty with a tragic scandal in her own
past. Jessica and Cleybourne had fallen deeply in love,
but even that happy time and the security it brought
Gabriela had been marred by the ugliness of violent death.
A killer had struck at the castle, doing away with one of
the other guests and even almost murdering Jessica herself.
© 2003-2026