Chapter 3
He must have shared his intentions with Penelope Somerville, for he was assigned to take Felicity in to dinner two nights in a row, and when they travelled into the village to patronize the local shops, Penelope sent Felicity to ride in a curricle driven by Captain Grant.
He also followed her around, partnering her in every two-person activity if she had not been quick enough to find another partner, joining any group she was in, sitting next to her at tea, and constantly speaking to and about her as if they were an established couple.
She managed to deflect any attempts on his part to turn the conversation in a personal direction, and truly, if it came to the point, she would simply refuse him again. But it was exhausting.
Also annoying, for she had had no opportunity to make another visit to the schoolhouse, and Justin had not tried to see her.
Robin, too, was playing least in sight, so she could not even recruit him to either carry a message to Justin or run interference with Captain Grant so she could be her own messenger.
“Penelope,” Felicity said to her hostess after breakfast on the third morning of the house party, “Please stop pairing me with Captain Grant. I do not wish him to think I might be amenable to his courtship.”
“But darling,” Penelope replied, “Captain Grant has done me the courtesy of discussing his intentions towards you, and they are everything honorable. He is a gentleman of means, and while his father’s family is nothing to speak of, his mother’s people are mostly highly connected. Most highly indeed.”
“Captain Grant has already proposed several times, Penelope. I have refused and will continue to do so.”
Penelope could not understand it. “But Felicity, you cannot have thought. He is most eligible, I assure you, and so elegant in his manner. I cannot see any objection. Indeed, I am certain the Earl of Hythe and your sister Sophia would be most distressed if I failed to urge you to reconsider.”
Penelope was quite out, there. Hythe disliked Grant, though he had declined to discuss why, which left Felicity with the impression it was to do with the secret work Hythe sometimes did under cover of his diplomatic positions. And Grant was not popular with Sophia, either.
“I have nothing personal against the man, Felicity,” Sophia had said.
“But I cannot warm to him. And His Grace has warned both me and James against becoming too familiar with Captain Grant, so I daresay he knows something to the man’s discredit.
” His Grace was the Duke of Winshire, father to Sophia’s husband James, the Earl of Sutton.
Even if Felicity had been partial to Captain Grant, she must have questioned her inclination once she discovered he had come to the attention, and not in a good way, of her brother and her sister’s father-in-law, both of whom were active in His Majesty’s service.
She could not tell Penelope any of that. It was probably some sort of top secret, and she did not have details, in any case.
“Neither my brother nor my sister would want me to marry where I felt no affection, Penelope. Indeed, and I know I can rely upon your discretion—I cannot like the man. No doubt a fault in me, but there it is. I am certain you would not wish me to pursue an acquaintance with a person I dislike, for you are so very fond of Sir Peter, and he of you.”
Penelope frowned, wrinkling her nose as if she might be about to cry. “Oh dear. Are you certain? Only, he seemed so certain you were merely showing maidenly reserve, and that his persistence would win you.” She sighed. “I did think it romantic he would try and try again.”
I find it disturbing. “I am certain. And truly, Penelope? Maidenly reserve? You have known me since I was eleven!”
Penelope giggled like the girl she had been when she first became friends with Sophia. “I suppose you are right, darling. You have always been very confident.”
Not when she was eleven, and Sophia, Penelope and a cluster of other girls had been eighteen.
Felicity had felt jealous, because Sophia, who had been both sister and mother to her since their own mother died, was part of a giggling group that Felicity was too young to join.
Then, when she was eighteen herself, she found that giggling over ribbons and beaux did not appeal to her after all.
Penelope sighed again. “Oh dear, I did hope you had finally found a husband, Felicity.”
So did Felicity. And it was not Captain Grant.
* * *
This stretch of the Brighton to Chichester Road had two advantages for a pair of highwaymen. It was isolated, with no dwellings for several miles in either direction. It was bordered on both sides by mixed stands of oak, elm and beech, with hazel, gorse, hawthorn and holly forming an understory.
As they waited for their quarry, Justin wondered what on earth he was doing here.
It was not as if he hadn’t tried to convince Robin this was a very bad idea.
For one thing, they had agreed to stop just a few days ago, after a run-in with a revenuer and a group of smugglers threatened to disclose their identity.
For another, rumor had it that there was a thief-taker out, determined to capture Captain Moonlight and win himself a fine reward and a place in history.
But Robin was determined, and Justin hadn’t let Robin go into danger alone since they were midshipmen together. The cause was just. Robin was right about that. Their target was the steward of an absentee landlord.
He had been using his position to try to force one of his employer’s tenants into an affair with him, telling the poor widow that he’d forgive the rent in return for her compliance. Each time she refused, he put the rent up.
Justin had found out and told Robin, and together they had found a new place for the widow and her two children—a position as housekeeper for another more prosperous widow, which came with accommodation.
To Robin, it wasn’t enough. He had discovered that the steward would be travelling back from Brighton this evening, and he wanted to teach the man how it felt to be powerless and threatened with disgrace.
What would Felicity think if she knew all? She had a wild streak, Justin knew that. She’d probably cheer Robin on. She hadn’t been back since that day at the schoolhouse. Had she given up on him? It would be for the best, whatever his heart said.
And here came another carriage—only the third since they had been waiting. The threat of rain was keeping most people at home.
“It’s him,” Robin reported. He nudged his horse out of the trees and onto the road verge.
Justin, watching from the gloom under the trees, saw the driver realize Robin was there.
He moved, reaching for something, but Robin spoke before he could complete the movement.
“Don’t try it. I would prefer not to shoot you.
Put your hands in the air and keep them there.
My companion back there…” he indicated Justin with a wave of his head… “is an even better shot than I am.”
The coachman cast a frantic glance at the shadows where Justin sat on his horse, and raised his hands. Justin rode forward to the head of the carriage horses, so they could not take off and spoil the fun.
Robin headed his horse along the verge and around the back of the carriage, to come up beside the door.
He turned the handle and backed his steed before the door could swing open.
They’d learned that trick on their second hold up, when the lady inside the carriage had hurled the contents of a bordeleau into Justin’s face as soon as he opened the door.
“Come out with your hands up,” he growled.
It all went smoothly after that, until it didn’t.
The steward was the only passenger in the coach.
He handed over his purse with only a small bit of bluster.
Under Robin’s stern gaze and unwavering pistols, he stripped to his shirt, though he blustered a great deal more, threatening all kinds of retribution.
When Robin instructed him to begin walking to the next village, he decided to make a stand.
“I will not,” he said.
Uh oh. Robin had been a ship’s captain for too many years to ignore such mutiny. He fired one of his guns, hitting the ground near the steward’s feet, so that the man’s bare shins were peppered with flying dirt.
The man set off at a run, but while Robin and Justin had been distracted by the steward, the coachman had found his courage and his weapon. He fired, and might have killed Robin if Robin’s horse had not taken exception to his sudden movement. Its nervous sidestep meant the shot missed.
Good. No one was meant to get hurt, especially not Robin.
Still, Justin couldn’t let the man hurt his friend, for the coachman was aiming again.
The weapon must be double-barreled. Justin pulled his own trigger, aiming to crease the man’s arm, and an oath proved he’d hit his mark, but it wasn’t enough for the man, for he swung toward Justin and fired again.
Justin felt half a dozen sharp stings and flinched. Damn, he thought. I’ve been shot. Just then his horse shied sideways and tossed him. As he fell, he was vaguely conscious of the coach thundering past. The blast past their ears must have spooked the carriage horses.
He landed badly, his head thudding onto something hard.
Hurt tumbled down on him—a thunderous pain exploded across his head, sharp stabs of agony lancing inward.
He could hear Robin saying something. His voice seemed to come from very far away.
Justin couldn’t make out any of the words.
He tried to tell Robin that, but darkness reared up and swallowed him.
* * *