Tales of Timeless Romance

Chapter Four

T here were so many things to check on now that they had arrived at the manor and the more Elizabeth looked into the details, the longer her list of things to do grew. It helped that keeping busy also kept her mind off her highwayman in the woods.

He had not at all been what she expected. At first, he had been rough and threatening, but something about him, about the soft way he looked at her and the understanding in his eyes when he spoke to her, those things swirled around in her head bringing up feelings she hadn’t felt in a long time.

She was more than intrigued by him. She couldn’t stop thinking about his strong arms or the feel of his legs against hers, about his firm mouth and dark eyes, and most of all, she couldn’t stop wondering about who he was.

It was hard work to stay on task and keep her mind on the things she was supposed to do. Scurrying across the hall, she halted as a footman ran past her to whip the door open.

The fresh, buoyant scent of the outdoors cascaded into the house and streaks of sunlight lit the brilliant world beyond. It was late afternoon but the long summer day shimmered with a welcome that tugged at Elizabeth’s will. She wanted to be outside.

A man burst through the door, his face contorted with rage. He was so contrasting to the peaceful day that she cried out and backed up a step to flee.

Their butler stepped forward to welcome their guest, his face impassive and in complete control. His demeanor was settling and she paused in the hall.

The man screamed, “Where is Timothy?”

The butler barely blinked as he murmured, “I am sure he will arrive any moment as the entire house has heard of your arrival, Mr. Thompson.”

The irate man stepped into the hall. Mr. Thompson was a plain man with a well-fed figure and a dusty, brown traveling ensemble.

Elizabeth spun to leave, bumping into Mr. Dawson who had emerged from the doorway behind her. He put his hands under her elbows and stood much too close while she found her footing. His slick voice said, “Careful, Miss Innsworth.”

He still hadn’t let go so she yanked her arms away from his and stepped back.

Mr. Thompson yelled, “Timothy! Grab your things! We will ride out to catch a scoundrel!”

Mr. Dawson stepped around her to meet his friend. “If you are referring to the highwayman, I must tell you that I have already attempted to find him today.”

Mr. Thompson threw his hat at the butler. “You didn’t search hard enough!”

Mr. Dawson’s lips quirked. “Why? Did he accost you?”

Only someone as callous as Mr. Dawson would find it funny when a supposed friend was accosted by a criminal. Elizabeth should leave and let them antagonize each other but she was rooted to her spot, listening to the drama unfold. She could nearly picture her highwayman, his strong body hauling Mr. Thompson to the side of the road to check him for valuables. It would have been mortifying for Mr. Thompson and Elizabeth was a little put out that she had missed the scene.

But now she was thinking of her highwayman again and she needed to focus on her tasks. She might need to direct the staff once the men settled. Mr. Thompson would need to be shown to his room and someone would need to confirm with the cook that Mr. Thompson had arrived in time for dinner.

“Aaagghhh!” Mr. Thompson threw a punch into empty air. “I will find him and I will rip his limbs from his body and feed them to… to…” Mr. Thompson blinked, unsure of what wild thing would want to eat the limbs of a highwayman.

Mr. Dawson cut in and said, “I already went out this morning and questioned several people around the village, some of the tenant farmers, and the staff here. The man vanishes without a trace.”

Mr. Thompson focused on a new threat. “I will find him and I will string him up to a tree just like his little ploy. I will not be satisfied until I see his feet swing!”

Elizabeth had heard enough. Imagining her highwayman swinging from a tree sickened her stomach, the repulsiveness of it slithering down her body and making her shiver.

Mr. Thompson held something up with a metal clang. It was a pair of handcuffs, just like the ones she had removed from Mr. Dawson. Mr. Dawson rubbed his hands together and his eyes glinted at the sight of the handcuffs.

Mr. Thompson yelled, “Do you know what he did to me? Why I have these? When I find him,” his voice rose even higher, spit spewing and his features irate, “I will snap these on him so hard, I will inflict ten times the pain on him for daring to cross me! I. Will. Find. Him!”

He twisted with a guttural grunt and threw the handcuffs. Elizabeth watched them sail through the air, the two ends unwinding as they rapidly approached.

They were coming straight for her. She cried out and put her hands up. Pain exploded in her cheek as the metal cuff smashed into the side of her face.

She heard Mr. Dawson swear, “Dammit, Miss Innsworth!” Then his hands were under her elbows again as he hauled her somewhere. She wasn’t even sure where, she was too disoriented as pain seared from under her eye and down her cheek, spreading up into her forehead, feeling like claws digging deeper underneath her skin.

Tears blurred her vision yet Mr. Dawson dragged her on. “Dammit, Elizabeth. What were you doing just standing there?”

Another set of hands, these firm but less invasive, grasped her. The controlled voice of their butler said, “I have her, sir.”

Mr. Thompson yelled, “What was the idiot woman doing just standing there?”

She wanted to fall to the floor and cry, every sound grating against layers of pain.

Mr. Dawson still hovered. “Suppose she deserves it for being in the way, eh?” Mr. Thompson continued tactlessly.

Their butler guided her forward. “I’ll take you down to the kitchen where Cook will know what to do.”

Yes. She understood but she couldn’t get any words out. She couldn’t speak. Mute, she allowed herself to be assisted to the kitchen.

Down the hall, she heard Mr. Thompson ask, “That will puff up into something ugly. I won’t have to see that at dinner, will I?”

*

The men liked meat and dinner abounded with plenty of it. Before moving to the manor, Elizabeth would never have eaten pork in the summer. Here, Mr. Dawson had an ostentatious display that would make any carnivore salivate.

She pushed a helping of creamed greens with her fork.

Mr. Thompson, with brown hair, dull brown eyes, and a casual brown coat with buff pantaloons, continued his complaining, his food slurping around as he talked with his mouth full. “I tell you, Dawson, if you had been with me, I am sure we could have taken him. Alone, I know when I am outmatched, but if we had been together, no number of vagabonds would have stopped us.”

Mr. Dawson pounded his fist on the table. His blue eyes honed in on his friend and he said, “You know, you’re right! That fool that accosted us doesn’t know who he is dealing with. And he started this mess, so it sounds only fair that we finish it for him, eh?”

Mr. Thompson gulped his wine to help him swallow his mouthful of food. “What do you mean?”

“I mean to defend my property! If this miscreant is stupid enough to hang about, then we will find him and exact more than justice.”

It was impossible to picture the highwayman as a miscreant. A miscreant made her think of a scrawny pickpocket. Remembering the feel of his hard body and muscular legs against hers last night, her highwayman was far from scrawny.

Mr. Thompson paused with his fork halfway up to his mouth. “He is the criminal. If he thinks he doesn’t have to play by the rules, then we don’t either.”

Dawson nodded.

Thompson’s brown eyes roved over the table to settle on Elizabeth. She quickly looked back down at her plate, realizing she had been smiling while she thought of the strengths of her highwayman’s body.

When Mrs. Dawson announced that the women would leave, Elizabeth took a shaky breath and used the table to help her stand on uncertain legs. She was so close to leaving the men but she wished they wouldn’t ogle her on her way out. She was glad her skirt hid how difficult it was to walk out of the dining room.

Out in the hall, she excused herself for the rest of the evening.

Mrs. Dawson said, “You may be excused tonight but I expect that you will help provide entertainment for future nights. You might as well get used to playing hostess as it will be part of your duties.”

“Duties?”

Mrs. Dawson nodded, her sharp gaze catching on the garish bruising on the side of Elizabeth’s face. “Cards, music, whatever the gentlemen may need.”

She swallowed. “I assumed you would want me to stay out of their way so they may enjoy their own style of entertainment.”

Mrs. Dawson squinted at her, the wrinkles around her eyes and forehead crinkling. “Did we not take you in when you had nowhere else to go? Has that changed, girl? Do you have some other family who would be pleased to feed and clothe you?”

“No, ma’am.”

The woman gave a crisp nod and then turned on her heel. Elizabeth pressed her hand into her stomach, trying to feel if she was even breathing. Her chest shuddered and she finally sucked in a large gulp of air, shaking on her exhale.

She traced her fingertips along the wall on her way to her room. She needed to feel as if something around her was solid and steady. But there she went again, thinking of her highwayman. She shouldn’t be fantasizing about him like this. She should feel guilty for being attracted to a criminal but his promise rang in her head. He had said he could help her and she desperately needed help.

Once in her room, Elizabeth quickly changed into her gray walking dress. Fastening the buttons of her bodice, she decided against her spencer and would wear her cloak again tonight. It would provide warmth and a layer of comfort over her unsettled body.

She raced down the service stairs, holding her skirt out of the way so as not to trip on the tiny steps. If she could just get out of the house and make it to the tree line, she would be fine. No one would find her and there was plenty of moonlight tonight to guide her way. One thing she had been blessed with was wonderful eyesight.

She emerged from the stairwell to a hallway at the back of the house.

“Ah! Elizabeth. I thought I might find you trying to scuttle away.”

Her body seized and she stood frozen, her escape mere steps away.

Mr. Dawson, his breath reeking with the yeasty tang of alcohol, leaned too close to her face. “Even that bruise cannot hide your beauty.”

Her hands shaking, Elizabeth hugged her cloak tighter around her, holding the front closed over her bosom.

Mr. Dawson stood in front of her, blocking the exit. “You understand that you are mine, right? That you belong to me and no one else?”

She couldn’t move. He wanted her to nod, at the very least, but she couldn’t do it.

His lips twisted with a snarl and he grabbed her shoulders, shaking her. “Mine! You stay away from Mr. Thompson. Do you understand?”

He didn’t want her to entertain his friend? This could be her out. The tiny flicker of hope spurred her to ask, “I can hide?”

At her words, he stopped shaking her and slid his hands down her arms. She was thankful for the thick layer of wool between them. “You will stay in your room.”

“Your mother wants me to provide entertainment.”

His gaze lowered to her lips and, without even thinking about it, she eyed his. They were chapped and thin under his beak-like nose. The thought of that part of him touching her made her squirm and try to step back.

His hands tightened on her arms. “I will speak to my mother.” He still stared at her lips and she pressed them together, trying to hide them from his gaze. He tucked his pointer finger under her chin and lifted her face higher. “You are mine.”

He suddenly released her and she was so stiff she nearly fell over. She stumbled and flailed back, away from him, then quickly gathered her cloak back around her.

Dawson looked at the door. “I know about your little spot in the woods.”

She gasped. “What?”

He was tall, his lean body tensing as if he expected her to run somewhere and he was ready to give chase. He said, “At first, I was furious that you were meeting some other man. But you weren’t. Then I worried you were performing some sort of witchcraft. But you don’t do that, either. You just wander your little clearing, sometimes talking to yourself.”

All those private moments, all those whispered dreams and wishes, all those personal sentiments that she had voiced out loud in the forest, they now felt tainted. Her stomach rolled and she sucked in a deep breath, worried she would vomit right here in the hall.

He stepped to the side and smirked at her. “I don’t follow you anymore. And I will allow this to continue for now, especially since I want you out of the way while my friend is here.” He opened the door for her and gestured that she could walk past him out of the house. “But when you do return, you will lock your door at night. Understand?”

She didn’t want to walk that close to him. She didn’t even want to go.

But he was there.

He was expecting her.

And she wasn’t sure what the highwayman would do if she didn’t return tonight.

She scurried past Mr. Dawson. For a moment, she thought he would grab her and not let her leave, but then she was suddenly past him and free.